the oregon coast and making the best of things...

i updated the following status to my facebook page before i left on this coastal adventure with my brother and parents, for our first "family vacation" since i don't even know when:


off to gold beach, where time surely stands still, though the oregon coast is a beautiful, but cold, but still beautiful, thing...

my favorite lady pointed out that it was almost poetic, and rereading the post with that in mind, i actually thought so too. without being pretentious, cos i'm no f. scott fitzgerald, it reminded me of the way he may have phrased something in his book the great gatsby, which i highly recommend to anyone who's not yet read it. it's funny how other people seeing things in your allows you to see them as well.

as i write this blog from a bar, the only place open with free wireless internet in gold beach, the sun peeks through a ramshackle skylight, where a malapropos state of california flag and some sort of kite in the shape of an old bi-plane hang. the song "here comes the sun" comes on the radio, which would be incredibly kitsch to write were it not true, followed by the oh so familiar voice of the one and only hank williams. it's no later than 2pm here but the bar already ebbs and flows with people much, like the ocean that one can see through the bay windows behind the bar. 2 women come in, order a white russian and some sort of mai tai looking drink and sit down to try their luck at the video poker and slot machines. a saturday afternoon indeed.

before landing here, my brother and i made more of a status quo attempt to get on the internet at a local cafe, only to find that they, in addition to drink prices, charge $2.50 for 3 hours of internet. welcome to 5 or more years ago where wireless internet was a luxury and not a necessity as it is in all big cities, hell, just about any size city, now. while waiting on my freshly ordered coffee, a dark italian roast that my palate was greatly looking forward to, an elderly woman, who had apparently just ordered the same thing and who was holding a mug containing the fruits of that labor, extends it towards me and says, "smell it. that's the dark roast." welcome to small town america. i lean towards the cup, and against my current big city protocol of how one interacts with people, i feign to smell it. this brand of rehearsed kindness is due to a dormant, small town politeness that manifests itself upon occasions when one finds themselves in similar situations to their childhood/adolescence.

imagine asking someone in paris, san francisco, new york city, or even berlin where i currently live, to smell your cup of coffee. i'd love to be a fly on the wall for that reaction. maybe the idea of mine in a big city, where personal space and private property can be so scarce, is much more pronounced and fiercely defended. i try the coffee. it's awful. not in a snooty, "this isn't my big city, organic, fair trade, french roast" kind of way, just in an "oh my god, how do they make money selling this" kind of way.

once i discover the internet is not free, we pack up our things and head out. dutifully sipping my coffee, we make our way the couple blocks to the other place in town with internet: the crow's nest. who saw that coming?? a bar in a coast town with a vague reference to some sort of seafaring theme?? go figure.

this is all happening on the day after our night out at...wait for it... "the sea shell" (see aforementioned reference to seafaring bar themes in towns on the coast...). this place had a very strange dynamic to it. there were quite a few scurvy characters in there (lots of carhartt clothing), however, being spring break, there was a contingent of 20 or so osu students in the bar, bravely brandishing their identity, err...school colors. they were doing this in the form of sweats, sweatshirts, hats, jackets and anything else that would help them belong. it's not enough that you pay about 20 grand a year for school, you also want to drop an extra grand on clothing throughout your college career to fit in and/or prove to people you go to that school. people should really just walk around with their official "student loan" receipts in their pockets and they can whip those out in order to prove that they belong. oh yeah, you belong buddy, to the tune of 40 grand in student loan debt....

after listening to a surprisingly good, read: accurate cover band, playing several games of pool at 75 cents a game (what!!?? it's cheaper in manhattan) and for sure being mistaken for "gays" a few times, my brother and i decided to call it a night. where are we off to tonight though after the parents call it a night you may ask? well, probably the sea shell, for round 2.

until the next time....

-r-