Electric Car

Where is R2?

A Millennium Called Wanted

A young girl in her room records a song on the computer. Her dad comes home. She gets in trouble for playing music when she’s supposed to be doing her homework.

A teenage skateboarder brings in the horse at his uncle’s farm. He watches videos of skaters on city streets and practices on a patch of concrete by the barn. The boy comes across the girl’s song online.

The boy asks his uncle about music. “Do you know anyone who plays?” His uncle tells the boy about an old hermit. The boy goes and visits him and the hermit gifts him a microphone and says, “It was your father’s.”

The boy’s best friend moves away to college. The boy works on the farm and tries to learn to sing. He goes to see the hermit and asks him to teach him.

The boy comes home from the hermit’s house and the uncle’s marijuana crops are on fire. The uncle goes to jail. The boy goes to live with the hermit. The boy wants to meet other musicians and play.

The hermit takes the boy to the town bar. They ask around for a drummer and a bass player. They find a smooth talking musician who’s in arrears on some gambling debts. A collections agent comes. They have to run (with a promise to meet the boy the next day).

The girl is in a catholic school. She sings in the choir. The teacher discourages her from playing rock music. The boy sends her an email and she agrees to meet him after school. He goes there and waits out front.

The boy sings her a song and dances a bit. He asks if she wants to join the band. They run to escape the teachers. Her father drives up. The hermit confronts the father. The father slays the hermit verbally, cutting him down. The father says, “You’re nothing but a bum. You don’t contribute to society.”

The band plays in a club and the live TV crew broadcasts it. The father’s confounded. In summer, the girl and boy leave on tour with the band.

Cyan, a High-rise Apartment in Downtown Portland: A Green Building is Building Community

What would green building look like on Easter Island? The question applies to Earth. If people use material resources to define their status, the natural world must provide the monuments to our satisfaction. Portland developer Gerding Edlen takes the long view. From outer space, green building would look blue. That’s the idea behind calling their new high-rise apartment, Cyan. The watchword is sustainable. But what is green building, really?

Green building is people using environmental resources to build in an energy efficient way. Let’s break it down: people, environment, and economics. The building site is the first consideration in developing a green building. It must be central to people’s lives. That makes downtown Portland an ideal place to build green. Cyan is at 333 SW Harrison St. near Pettygrove Park. Both the Max and the Streetcar pass out front, and there’s a nice walk to the Park blocks. Shared spaces near Cyan have enough natural beauty to attract people to relax and enjoy their surroundings. Green building is community building.

For the complete article with photos follow this link to Neighborhood Notes.

How Do You Feel About This, Rick?

I hear her on the phone in the kitchen. “He’s gay,” she says. Stopping at the foot of the stairs, I try to figure out if I am gay. I have my right hand on the handrail, and it looks gay. My right hand is definitely the gayest part of me. I take my hand off the handrail, stand there a minute and listen.

“He’s nice, but he never tells me I’m beautiful. He never admires my body.” I walk into the kitchen. Jill covers the mouthpiece and tells me under her breath, “I’m talking with your mother.”

Passing the kitchen table, I take a banana from the fruit bowl and pull a chair around and sit backwards on it.

“We really look forward to seeing you,” she says to my mother in New Jersey. I don’t want to go to New Jersey. I don’t know what Jill is talking about. She isn’t talking about me.

“Do we need to talk?” I ask when Jill hangs up the phone.

“I’ve been sleeping with your brother,” she says, “and I think he’s gay.”

“Why do you sleep with Rick?” I ask.

“Because he always comes home drunk and sometimes I help him into bed,” she says. My younger brother can’t be blamed for his indifference to my wife’s body.

“He’s okay,” I venture. “Of course he won’t allow himself to get it on with you.”

Rick comes in the kitchen. His hair is flat and sticking up on one side. His eyes are puffy and half-open.

“Hey,” he says.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Hi Rick,” Jill says.

“So what’s going on?” I ask Rick.

“What?” he counters.

“Are you gay?” I ask. Rick looks in the refrigerator a minute and takes out a jug of apple juice.

“Maybe that’s what I need to figure out,” he says and sits down and drinks out of the jug. None of this really matters to me. I stand up and walk over to Jill and kiss her on the cheek.

“See you,” I say to Rick. I leave the house and then I think: maybe, this does matter. I walk over to the kitchen window and watch Jill drop her robe and start to make breakfast. Rick just sits there.

I go back in the house and holler out, “Hey, did I forget my keys in there?” In a minute, Jill walks out with her robe tied. I am standing in the nude with an erection.

“Let me try,” I say and walk past her into the kitchen.

Willy Vlautin: settles into St. Johns to write Lean on Pete

“I like the work ethic of writing a lot more than I like the work ethic of being in a band – which is traveling and playing gigs,” Willy Vlautin says. “Writing is just work.” Vlautin would rather work on his books, but it is nearly springtime. His alt-country band Richmond Fontaine tours three months of every year – half in Fall and the other in Spring. Their new album is 13 Cities.

“I live in Scappose, Oregon. Last month I got an office in St. Johns for a while. I live out in the middle of nowhere, and for this new book that I’m writing I need a city. St. Johns is the type of place for me. It’s got great bars and a great feel to it.”

“Do you portray the self-destruction of alcoholics in the books?” I ask.

“If you haven’t read ‘em then you don’t know.”

“You don’t look like you’re about to destroy yourself,” I observe.

“No man,” Vlautin launches. “I try to keep my shit together. I don’t know, you’d have to read the books to see what you thought.” Vlautin composes himself. I see the expression of his soul written on his face. “They’re not all alcoholics. Alcohol is one line. It’s a sliver of somebody. Really.” Vlautin shifts in his seat to look me in the eye. His face is gentle. “I can write a lot about drinking because I grew up around heavy drinkers. They say you write about what you understand and I understand that. I can understand alcohol and violence.”