JHW asserts that this blog needs fewer rants and more incisive critism and philosophy, and I agree; however, this weekend cannot go without comment. I mean, Jesus Fucking Christ, we caught a hooker finishing up with a wheelchair-bound client on the sidewalk less than a block from our house Thursday night. And then John watched in horror from our living room window as she proceeded to douche herself in the bushes lining our parking lot.

We met some friends of friends for dinner Thursday night – prior to the incident – and they also live in St. John’s – the good part. When we told them where we lived, they replied, “Oh, you’re in the thick of it!” That’s putting it… mildly.

This weekend proceeded maddeningly as sweltering temps Friday and Saturday made our stuffy, unairconditioned apartment stuffier and muggier, and as the neighborhood – we assume fanned-on by the raging full moon above us – erupted into screaming matches, crashing noises, and mightily revved racing engines. By the time I managed to fall asleep, it was almost 4am Saturday, and by 530am our next door neighbors began washing vomit – from the party they had the night before – off their trashcans with a pressure hose – right outside our bedroom window. Saturday proceeded less as a story of lunar jackassery and more of as a comedy of errors as we tried to escape the 105F heat in Portland for the milder temps along the ocean – which turned out to be fogged solidy and chillily over for the day. No matter: A nap and several hours of reading listening to the crashing waves in the fog were really quite nicely spent, and the drive home as pretty great.

Of course, there was the eighteen-wheeler that nearly drove up onto the sidewalk where our open air table was positioned while we were dining Saturday night – at least the driver had the good sense to stop and jam the intersection with his rig – rather than run us over.

~

The semi incident was the last of the madness, and Sunday gave us hope – largely because we made an effort to really enjoy life in the Mississippi – currently our top choice for a new home when our lease is up in March. Dinner with a fabulous couple and their son Sunday night further confirmed that greater Portland is, indeed, quite sane and friendly – we’ve just landed in its batshit-crazy red-necked theme park. JHW described it as, “a haven for hookers, heroin addicts, harridans, harpies and homeless teens.” Indeed.

That said, as JHW and I reflected in our time in some of Chicago’s rougher neighborhoods (I lived in Roger’s Park for a while, JHW in Hyde Park), we agreed that the bravado and posturing of these neighborhood’s locales, while intimidating, was never so troubling to us that we felt unsafe – it was just bravado, afterall. But a neighborhood peopled by folks trying to out-crazy one another? There’s a scenario for uncertainty – we agreed that we’d be wise to fear it more than we do, but the insanity has reached a point where we just have to laugh at it to stay sane.