One more for the road?

I caught a story in the Seattle P-I last week about a waitress at Emerald Downs that really got me to thinking.

Apparently this waitress has been working at Longacres & Emerald Downs since 1968. Now well past the normal retirement age, she never misses a day of work and advises younger co-workers to “hustle” when they complain about poor tippers.

It inspired as well as depressed me.

Here was a woman who at 85, had more life and energy about her than I have exhibited in the entirety of my 28 years on this planet. She had found her passion and ran with it.

It’s truly inspiring.

As depressing as the thought of my life lacking a passion/purpose is. It was encouraging to think, I’ve got a hell of a lot of time to figure it out.

This story really hit home for me given my “second stab a retirement” this summer. I had all the time in the world to dedicate to my life’s passions, both figuring-out what the hell they were and what I would do once I had identified them.

I no longer had work to get in the way of fulfilling all those plans/dreams that just I just “didn’t have time to get to” when I was employed.

And here’s the really depressing part: I Got Bored.

The comparison is pretty funny: here’s this 85 year-old lady schlepping drinks to booze-hounds and problem-gamblers and she’s found her place in the world. And there I was the aspiring writer, free to roam the streets of Seattle or the World in search of fodder for the next great American novel…

And what did I do with this valuable free time?

Instead of soul-searching or reading for inspiration, I headed to the bar with my buddy.

The next great American novel, not so much.

The only world travelling I did was from a bar stool and the only exotic things I saw were the import beers I imbibed as I guzzled away my creativity.

Not to say that I regret any of it. Life is meant to be lived and enjoyed. Some of the best writers in the world were alcoholics as well. (Yes, I just said I am an alcoholic, but I’m saying it more to build my mystique as a great writer, than to state a sad, sad reality.)

Perhaps life needs a pair of beer goggles to be interesting.

But I digress, I am simply saying I am not sure that writing is my life’s passion/purpose. But the fact that I sit here on a regular basis plunking away at a keyboard means I must be on to something.

One thing I discovered in my ample free time this summer is that it’s important to know what you don’t like as well as what you do like. It’s that whole addition by subtraction thing.

I got into writing for the same reason I do many things in my life: Efficiency.

I had failed many of the “weed-out” classes in the majors I really liked in college, when I came across journalism. A buddy of mine recommended I try it out, so I did. I actually did pretty poorly in that class as well, but caught the eye of the department chair who took a liking to me. The more I got into it, the easier it seemed to be.

The next thing I knew I was a columnist and people were referring to me as a writer, in much the same way I referred to my technology-class taking friends as engineers. The only difference between my engineering friends and me, is that they took jobs in their fields and loved their work. I, on the other hand, went into finance and am now working in IT…enough said.

Yet here I am stumbling along trying to figure-out what I am here for. And more importantly, what I want to be remembered for.

I know one thing for certain; Working in a call center ain’t the legacy I am shooting for.

I’ve always said that I never want to work doing something I love. Meaning I never want work to be something that consumes me. But I am now discovering that work is no longer just a means to pay my mortgage and keep the fridge stocked.

Sadly, it is what defines you.

So does that mean my legacy is one of being a phone-answering cube-monkey? So far…Yes.

But looking at this 85-year-old as an example, there is hope for me yet. I just need to keep looking. She didn’t stumble across her dream job until her late-20s/early 30’s.

Which means I better get crackin’.

I hope you do the same, if you haven’t already.

Portland, oh Portland...

So here I am on the train. Headed to Portland.

Some would call it Seattle’s sister city…

I am not one of those people.

Sure, it rains a lot in Portland. And sure, it’s not unheard of to see Birkenstocks and socks or parkas and cargo shorts.

It, like Seattle, is a bastion of Blue in an otherwise Red state.

But outward appearances aside, there are some pretty big differences between the towns.

I haven’t quite put my finger on it, but something is just a bit off in the Rose City.

I was recently counting the few perks Portland has going for it with a buddy who now lives down there. (Listed in order of importance, #1 being the most important.)

1) Bars. Portland is a drinking man’s town. I love the place. My Portland buddy calls it Disneyland for adults, due to its multiple and plentiful watering holes. And for those who still kill themselves, Oregon is NOT smoke-free.

2) Wings. Fire on the Mountain. If you’ve never been to this seemingly hole-in-the-wall joint in No. Po., you are missing out. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 20 sauces and DEEP-FRIED TWINKIES. (I couldn’t finish the twinkie, though I really wanted to.)

3) Strip Clubs. Somewhere I heard that Portland has the most strip clubs per capita than any where else in the country. And Washingtonians, you can drink in them! I will say most are pretty seedy, but then again they are freaking Strip Clubs. What else would you expect them to be?! One other note, you can order food in them, which is one of the things I find to be a little off about the town. I must admit, I was intrigued by the phenomena on previous trips to Portland. And only recently crossed the streams. And I gotta admit, for something that sounds so good on paper, steak and titties just ain’t right. Maybe it’s just me, but if I want a cheeseburger I want a cheeseburger. I can’t be distracted by naked women prancing around. But on the flip side, if there are naked women prancing around, the cheeseburger can damn-hell-ass wait until later. It’s quite the conundrum.

4) No Tax. This was so cool when I was a youngster. I remember taking weekend trips to Portland to do school shopping or to buy my Sega Gamegear (yes, people bought those things…though it seems like I was the only one who did). It made for some fun trips, but once gas is factored in, not so much on the actual savings.

5) Public Transit. Portland does have a better transit and existing light rail/street car lines. Both of which I have used, find pretty simple and don’t break down. Seattle is way behind the 8-ball on that one.

So there, Portland does have some cool qualities to it.

Though you’d have to be in your mid-20’s or at least act like you are still in your mid-20’s (most Portlanders) to find these reasons valid.

“Portland is a land where people move to become jackasses,” a quote from my recent Portland-transplant buddy.

And I agree.

That is where my problem lies with Portland, a smugness/air of superiority that looms over the city like a big wet blanket. A staunch refusal to admit, that maybe, just maybe, Portland isn’t the best place on Earth.

The war? That’s G.W.’s fault. Portland knew better.

The environment? We watched Al Gore’s movie on TV's powered by wind, drive hybrids and ride bikes…We aren’t the problem.

Music? “Oh, you’ve heard of them? We saw them play here in Portland like three years ago.”

You get the idea.

It’s like all of the kids who wanted to be cool in high school, but couldn’t quite make it happen, somehow found each other and started a town. (I am willing to bet that the average Portlander hated high school for just that reason, “Everyone was so uncool.”)

There is a holier-than-thou aspect to the average Portlander that just grinds my gears. I could go on for awhile, but I figure you have work to do so I’ll cut it short.

However, if you like beer, enjoy naked ladies, want some tasty wings, hate paying taxes and were cooler than everyone else at your High School, (but they just didn’t know it) head on down to Portland.

Oh yeah, you better like PBR, black-rimmed glasses and Democrats as well…

Portland is pretty open-minded, as long as you agree with everyone else.