you know to be honest, eugene, OR is exactly where i want to be spending christmas.
not jersey. even though every year it gets a little bit more comfortably awkward, forced and glacial, the semiotics of jersey – which for me are also the semiotics of memory as such – will always yank me like i’m told whale boat’s harpooners would yank whales back to the big boats.
not portland, because even though portland has infinitely better restaurants, and probably better coffee but i’m not ready to committ….. well, portland also is the arena of my little universal struggle, as some of you know. thus, being “comfy” or even “thankful” in portland is currently a little bit impossible.
no, i’ll take eugene, OR. every time it rains for four months and i’m prancing around in flooded converse, i’ll be manic and afraid in a grocery; then, i’ll see some hippie dad hand a canvas sack to an ambiguously-sexed, adolescent snowboard hippie. the sack will consist of a radish; some sort of flabby, gory sliver of seaflesh; carob-flavored soy nuts; a purple-labeled liter of beer named after a (ziggy) marley song, and maybe another canvas sack.
i see that scene and think, see, this is where i can hop from lilypad to lilypad without being seen by anybody but who i want to see me. of course, that only holds true once in a while. but that weird feeling, the one i’m trying to evoke but cannot accurately describe… that feeling comprises the thing about eugene that reminds me most of sewanee. and it may be more of a ‘people’ thing than a ‘place’ thing.
happy holidays to all beloved friends, especially those who’re celebrating while simultaneously advancing the secularist vanguard’s War On Christmas.