Mattress World, Portland, OR

Each city has its own distinct commercial jingles, and the one that most reminds me of Portland is the one this man is advertising- Mattress World.

The lyrics go like this: "Mattress world, it's not too late to sleep like a baby. Mattress world!" Then, a little bell chimes and the camera zooms in on a sleeping baby on a mattress.

This man is standing on MLK boulevard, near the Rose Garden and the entrance to Interstate 84. I used to live in this area in a studio apartment above a Lebanese/Brazilian restaurant, not far from the newest Mattress World store.

Thanks again to my fabulous photographer parents for taking such nice pictures.

Rudy's, New York, NY

Ah, Rudy's Bar and Grill, Hell's Kitchen, New York City. I will never forget you. I'll never forget your smoky perfume, your free hot dog charm, your juke box that played random 80's music along with old jazz. Your hell hound at the front door -James. James was a chubby, leather clad, bouncer that sat in a chair outside Rudy's. His sat near the plastic, welcoming, six-foot tall pig statue. No matter how many times I came to Rudy's, James would sneer at me

as I walked past him.

This place is a dive as in, you dive in and you spill out stained with smoke and drunk on pitchers of watery Miller Lite. My drinking buddy at Rudy's once told me, "there was a period

when the Victoria Secrets models would come in here at 3:00 in the morning."

As my four years in New York flew by, Rudy's lost its edge. They added two TVs, took out the foot rail so when you sat on a bar stool -your feet just sort of dangled down, they cleaned it up,

and brought more lighting in.

But in the day, no dive was better. Often I would stop in on Thursday nights at around 11:00. Rudy's wasn't so packed on Thursdays. I liked going to Rudy's because the crowd was so eclectic. It didn't cater to any specific person or group. It was comfortable the way a worn out

couch in your basement is comfortable. I miss it.

Thanks, wonderful guest blogger #3, Joey Amdahl.

The Barn

Debbie, owner of this property, made special feeding pens for my horses, Traveler and Lucky. Both horses lived to be ancient, and for their last few years, these corrals were where I fed them buckets of soaked grain pellets- their diets consisted of beet pulp, Equine Senior, rice bran, probiotics, and hay pellets.

This pasture stretched up the hill behind the pens, and bordered the Talent Irrigation Ditch and the Rogue River National Forest.

Ocean World, Crescent City Ca.

78A. Ocean World, Crescent City Ca.
Originally uploaded by robertr2006

I was a member of my high school's debate team when I was a freshman. A nice lady donated a ton of money to the school so the debate team would have the same budget as the football team, and as a result, we got to do a lot of traveling.

Crescent City, California, is a meth-fueled town on the California-Oregon border. As a debate team member, I remember walking in the pouring rain to this aquarium, where sad starfish were manhandled by grabby kids on a regular basis. Our hotel was right around the corner from this aquarium.


During our 3-day debate tournament stint, my friend Brielle got locked in the bathroom in our hotel. The Magic Fingers feature on the bed wouldn't turn off. We watched MTV and listened to two songs on repeat: "Lovefool," by the Cardigans, and "One Headlight," by the Wallflowers.

Thanks to my dad for the use of his picture.

Maybe the only ghost left will be my own

I think about that house- the McKern House, located outside Newberg, Oregon- now and then: on rainy days, when I smell woodsmoke, when I hear a spooky story, or am just feeling nostalgic. I somehow wasn't too surprised when I got an out-of-the-blue email from an old friend- "Your house is being turned into a museum!" with a link to a newspaper photo of my old house looking sad and worn-down, shorn of its grove of trees and, thus, air of mystery and menace I'd always associated with it. The house and the barn were scheduled to move to a new location after more than a century of standing in one place. I've never lived anywhere longer than five and a half years, and all five and a half of those years had been spent in this farmhouse. The article accompanying the picture is terse and made me realize that, while my memories of the house itself are crystal clear, I do not know any real details about its past.

Thanks to amazing guest blogger #2, Angela Robinson!

241 East 73rd Street, New York, NY 10021

For two months, I lived with my friend and her brother in a one-bedroom apartment. The toilet was in a closet, the shower in the bedroom, and the one window with no screen faced a tenant that worshipped techno music.

Joy and I slept on bunk beds. Anthony claimed the couch, but every weekday at 7:00 a.m. he woke us with "get-the-fuck-out" so he could take a shower. Joy and I would move to the living room and share a blanket.

I started smoking when I lived there, started swimming every morning, started eating alone at the pizza place across the street — anything to not be inside.

Thank you to my lovely guest blogger #1, Tiegen Kosiak.

explanation

When I moved to Ashland, Oregon, I was a very grumpy six-year-old. My bedroom faced the street, and I complained about the streetlight blaring in my window. I think my parents thought this was just a way for me to express my contempt for the new house and the new town, and they were probably right.

A year went by, and I loved my streetlight. "Goodnight, streetlight," I'd say, whispering under my breath so parents or visiting cousins wouldn't hear me and think I was totally crazy (if the personification of stuffed animals, blankets and pillows wasn't enough).

We moved to a different house when I was in the seventh grade. Now, when I drive past my streetlight, I always look up and wish it a silent hello.

The picture above has nothing really to do with my house and my streetlight, but it's downtown Ashland, and you can see some streetlight cousins as examples. My house was a few blocks away, and I spent many hours loitering on the plaza. More on Ashland to come...

First post!

Hello hello!

I've always been an overly sentimental person, so I've created this blog to write about places I've loved. Hopefully, some of my pals will contribute their snippets (200-300 words, but I'm flexible) about places they love, too. I'm interested in short nostalgic anecdotes about towns, restaurants, truck stops, bars, houses, etc. I like photographs of favorite places, too.

Portland residents will recognize the octopus above. He's located on the Greek Cusina building in Southwest Portland, right off the Morrison Bridge. I've always wanted to be this octopus for Halloween. It wouldn't be such a hard costume, right? At first, I thought this octopus was a decoration, but he's weathered years of rain and the transformation of his Greek restaurant home into a meat-market dancey-dance club. The first time I saw him, I was in high school, and I thought, "Portand is the best city ever."

Thanks to my mum for this picture.