'Faster', 'Quicker', and 'More' Are Assassins of the Soul (Thoughts After a Teen's Tragic Death in Portland)

A 15-year-old girl was killed outside one of my favorite cafes in Portland a few weeks back. She crossed Hawthorne Boulevard in the cross walk and was hit by a reckless driver who drove off while she was bleeding to death in the street.

The following day I talked to a young barista in my cafe who had witnessed the crash. "It's the most gruesome thing I'd ever seen in my life," she said, "I'll never forget it, but we have a good community here. People are really coming together."

A few hours after the girl's death, hundreds of flowers were gathered on the sidewalk. The middle lane was occupied by protesters and a sign read, LANE CLOSED UNTIL THE KILLING STOPS. People brought candles, teddy bears, and cards. A few people even camped out. The dead teen from Franklin high school had been in a chorus, and the chorus sang where their friend had died.

The reason why I witnessed some of this is strange. I had attended a medium class in the back room of the cafe where we receive messages from those who have passed. And no, I don't claim to be in touch with her soul, but I know this with 100% certainty: There are no coincidences when it comes to death, and something extremely important will come out of the tragic crash.

First of all, thousands of people have been touched by what happened, and every single of us received a gift: Once more we're reminded of the insane way we live - how dangerous our own impatience is; how easily we get caught up in our self-absorbed problems, and how we forget to appreciate the love and the abundance everywhere: the invaluable gift of a gorgeous dawn, a child or a cat sleeping on our lap, the way the light falls through the window.

There is so much beauty in this world, but we don't see that because we're too busy texting, shouting at the mailman or blaming politicians for the ills of our society. 'Faster', 'quicker', and 'more' are assassins of the soul. Is it really that important we're ten minutes late?  Do we hate our fellow man so much we think we have the right to drive 70 miles down a busy street and take our anger out on the world that hasn't given us what we think we need?  For Christ's sake, let's all slow down, breathe in the sun set, and be human beings first and zombies second.

So yes, fifteen year old Fallon's death was unbelievably tragic, but it wasn't meaningless. Pedestrian safety will improve on the busy street, and her awful demise touched the soul of thousands of people in Portland. Death always serves a larger purpose. We're all here to help each other, and sometimes we become teachers by sacrificing our life through a tragic traffic accident.

None of us know why it's meant to be like that, or why Fallon had to leave her family and friends, but at first any tragedy seems senseless and will be a challenge and a wake up call to a community. So what do we do when the shock and the understandable anger pass?  Do we continue to see life as unfair and brutal (which it definitely is at times), or do we understand that the only way we can honor the dead is by living  more compassionate lives ourselves?

Luckily, the barista who witnessed the fatal crash understood the latter, and even though I don't know her, I got a strong sense that the scar on her soul will make her an even more compassionate soul than she is already.

PS.  Let's all send loving thoughts and prayers to Fallon from Franklin high school and to her grieving family and friends. If this post can help anyone please be kind enough to share!


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Floating - A Healthy Trip Into Your Mother's Womb and Your Own Twisted Mind

Floating is the new craze. Or if it isn't, it should be. It's the closest you get to tripping in a salty environment.

So you go to this place called Float On on SE Hawthorne in Portland, Oregon that looks like a gay sauna club from 1977. They have six float tanks, sell legal drugs over the counter, and if you don't watch your back they'll get you juiced up on herbal tea. Then you're put in your own saltwater tank that's the same temperature as your body. It's totally dark inside, no sounds reach you except for the beating of your heart (if you have one). After a few minutes you feel you're back in the womb of your mother or being embraced by stress-free archangels.

I've floated six times, and it's a great meditation unless you suffer from claustrophobia or a fear of imaginary sharks. The first time I got so bored I tried to drown myself though, but the salt keeps you afloat no matter what - and slowly you melt into the darkness like a humid little demon. Every muscle relaxes, and after a while your neck learns that the water isn't dangerous; it's your friend, your lover, your muse.

Some people get in touch with unknown anxieties when they float. Others have lucid dreams, or just empty their bladders into The Great Unknown. I've had two small flashes from past lives, and at one point I thought I'd invented the toaster, but when I came out somebody told me I was sixty years too late. I also DID empty my bladder, hoping it was a rite of passage because I don't want to be a Danish pig. But man, the water is SO relaxing, and the float hipsters clean it afterward with their state-of-the-art filtering system.

That's right, you get your own water to soil, including visions, longings, and ideas for your next novel or snack. Floating is not a trip down memory lane but a journey into altered states you had no idea existed  - a scenic drive on the freeway of your subconscious. Or at the very least, you get saltwater in your eyes, which can be a religious experience, too.

So friends, followers, health nuts, I can wholeheartedly recommend an anti stress floating to anybody who can stand their own company for an hour and a half. Most people can't, of course. That's why they get iPhones, but that's another story altogether.

(Check out www.floathq.com here in Portland. However, they have float tanks several other places in the world)

This is a picture of the float I did this morning (it's me in the middle). Float On in Portland offers three kinds of rooms, two ocean floats, two oasis tanks, and two float pools. I like them all and they seem to like me.

Dammit, Why Did We Miss The Naked Bike Ride in Portland? (Sweaty Balls and All)

1.
I'm still disappointed I didn't make it to The Naked Bike Ride Saturday night in Portland. All those bloated bellies and saggy balls flapping in the wind.

My Pale Beauty and I wanted to go, but as everybody knows it's hard work getting naked. First you have to take off your clothes, then you need to make sure that your genitals are behaving.

But if God has blessed you with a great body, you have a responsibility to flaunt it. We belonged in that race, and I wasn't going to wear a sissy helmet or a g-string like all the Germans I know. No, I was going to get Danish and dirty, ripping off my helmet and shouting obscenities at Volvos.

The ride is supposedly part of The World Naked Bike Ride, an annual occurrence in Portland, San Francisco, and several pornographic cities in Europe. I've heard they even have one at Guatanamo bay. This year thousands of Portlanders biked through downtown to prove that riding naked is the thing to do when it's 56 degrees and your nipples are as hard as kidney stones.

2.
But as I said we never made it. My Pale Beauty and I had just stripped naked when we found a mouse in the house. The mouse raced through the apartment and hid under the sofa. I tried to get it out with a broom. When that didn't work I went New Age on the rodent. "I see God in you, so get the fuck out of there before I call Rent-a-Cat, okay?"

And it's true. I don't want to kill sentient beings; it's only people I feel like terminating. God, we did everything in our power to get rid of the mouse. First, we put on a noisy fan, then we ran around screaming like maniacs.

"No, we have to do something nastier than that," I said to my girlfriend and put on the latest Justin Bieber CD, but the mouse still stayed put. Later we found out that it had built a nest under one of the cushions. It was quite comfortable there, munching on tofu crackers and baba ganoush - the rodent even enjoyed watching Dancing with the Stars.

3.
So yes, My Pale Beauty and I missed The Naked Bike Ride. And we wanted to go so badly - not to show off, but as an homage to naked cyclists who are killed every day - by truck drivers wearing too much clothes.

So it's high time that we take action - and Saturday thousands of cyclists in Portlandia made the kind of political statement that can bring world leaders to their knees - at least if we hand them a pair of binoculars.


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This is a rewritten and updated version of my blog about The Naked Bike Ride in 2009. We still haven't caught the mouse, by the way.

Supertramp's Roger Hodgson in Concert at the Oregon Zoo: Even The Giraffes Got So Excited They Tried To Headbutt This Musical Genius

Sometimes I can't stand all the beauty in the world.

Nine days ago was one of those days.

Roger Hodgson, the lead singer from Supertramp, had the audacity of visiting Portland, where he played some of the classics he wrote in the Seventies and Eighties. If you don't know what songs I'm talking about, let me just mention Give A Little Bit, Breakfast in America, The Logical Song, Dreamer, It's Raining Again, and Take The Long Way Home

The concert took place at the Oregon Zoo in front of orangutangs, leopards, and an enthusiastic crowd of aging hippies. The giraffes got so excited they tried to run up to the stage and headbutt Roger Hodgson, but he was probably protected by Babaji and a hundred other saints.

Goddammit, I don't want to admit how much I was moved by that concert. Not just because Roger Hodgsons songs were the soundtrack to my pimples, but because he is one of the most spiritual singers around.

Listening to Roger is like being in the company of an archangel of music. Like all truly great artists, Hodgson downloads songs from Heaven. I was crying when the old hippie played Hide In Your Shell, one of the most beautiful songs ever written. Equally great was Lord Is It Mine, a modern psalm. Johann Sebastian Bach probably gave it to Hodgson in a dream, and I don't think Bach regrets that!

So, Roger Hodson, I'm very impressed with you. But don't you dare come back to Portland, Oregon! Frankly, I'm not sure the giraffes and I can stand that much beauty.

                                                                                     Guitar photo of Roger Hodgson by Gregory Weinkauf

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Joan Rivers in Portland - The Most Hilarious and Adorable Sewer in America

1.
It doesn't get much better. Or worse.

Saturday night Joan Rivers was in Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall in Portland where she did her stand up comedy. It's totally impossible to think of a comedian more outrageously judgmental than this queen of the zinger. She almost makes Ricky Gervais look like a choir boy.

For an hour and a half, 77-year old Joan Rivers told us about all the people she hates and despises: Lesbians, kids on airplanes, Victoria Beckham, Mel Gibson, cripples who slow everybody down, women suffering from breast cancer, dead people, beggars, Mother Teresa, The Three Wise Men, Jackie Kennedy, obesity, Oprah's ass, Chinese women, and men with balls that look like tea bags.

For reasons unknown to mankind, Joan Rivers appeared with the Oregon Symphony Orchestra at her show in Portland. "A sick and stupid idea," she told the audience. And it sure was. But it worked. No one wants to be offended for two and a half hours, but 75 minutes are a fucking delight!

By the way, when Joan Rivers was a small Jewish girl in New York, she wrote a letter to Hitler begging him to find a place for a classmate in his concentration camps. She also makes important confessions: "Do you know why I love anal sex? Because you can do other things while your man is at it. You can read a book. You can check your email..."

Joan hates people with annoying disabilities as well: "Why do blind people need an apartment with a view? They can't even pay you a proper compliment like 'you look wonderful today'. Blind people are so self absorbed. It's all about them."


2.
So was this show in poor taste?  Absolutely not. We all have a dark judgmental side in our heads that pop up when we don't feel well - a voice that tells us how irritating and disgusting other people are. So the show is actually an interesting and hilarious study of our dark side. It's only those self righteous people who identify with being 'all good' or 'true Christians' who will be extremely offended by a show like this.

People with self awareness are painfully aware of their own Inner Joan Rivers - that gorgeous and angry sewer that most of us learn to control, so it doesn't do serious damage to our environment.

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