MORE PORTLAND PLEASE

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In a snap shot of urban life, Portland looks best in large format. Walking the northwest streets of The Pearl a few hours before the curtain rose inside The Armory showed a city with connections between the dots, enough dots to create the web of destination we read about all over the country.

‘Is Portland special’ is no longer the question. More like, ‘How special?’ It was a more Portland moment.

Park a car in the right garage with an elevator and you’ll find yourself leaving under a soaring entry. Even a parking garage is an experience? It is in more Portland, or too much? The first thing I heard on the street was a guy with an guitar. Nothing special there, except he played a Martin acoustic through a Roland PA with a loop machine. He sang his own harmony in key, on time, and clean.

The guy was as pro as anyone inside and on stage in any bar or concert house. He even whistled the lead on my request, Paul Simon’s ‘Me And Julio Down By The Schoolyard.’

The parking garage looks like a temple and a professional singer greets me? What is there not to like? While I asked him about his gear, a man straight out of an 19^th century Dickens story walked past bent under a huge bag slung across his back. The calendar pages and the globe spun in two directions, from modern Portland troubadour extraordinaire to gritty London all at once.

If that wasn’t more Portland enough, it was just getting started.

As regular fans of The Armory theater, my wife and I love more Portland time. Tonight was special because of our wedding anniversary, which felt like more time travel. We met on NW 21^st and Lovejoy in the early 80’s when I was one of the bike riders flying down Everett St. and she was a new doctor in the neighborhood.

Three decades later, and counting, she continues to show her entrepreneurial spirit as Dr. Mole PDX, and I’m a blogger writing a cancer memoir. ‘How To Lick Cancer In The Beaver State’ is the working title.

Times have changed for us and Portland and we all seem headed the right direction. But not everyone is on the same page. During the play a stylish couple in front had their ‘get a room’ moment when the man decided to try for a kiss. It was awkward and funny to see a sixty year old man botch the attempt, then make up for his lameness by rising up in his chair for another run.

The woman was just as funny.

She knew how to handle a frisky sixty with head fakes and an arm bar. Very polite and direct. She whispered in his ear, gave him a polite peck. At intermission he jumped up and hustled for another drink. She pulled out her phone and started swiping through headshots on a date site until she found the right one.

She texted a new guy a time to meet later that night. The musician on the street was a pro; the date night lady in front of me was an equal pro.

Major Barbara on stage wasn’t the only show in town. More Portland, please.