Powell’s Bookstore And Officer Jenkins For The Win

Posted on by
4

From the “Keep Portland Weird” Facebook Page.

MAN ARRESTED AFTER BREAKING INTO A FAMOUS BOOKSTORE ON BURNSIDE AT MIDNIGHT TO FINISH A BOOK HE “WASN’T GOING TO BE ABLE TO SLEEP WITHOUT”

Leonard “Lenny” Whitaker, 67, of Portland, Oregon, was charged Tuesday with breaking and entering after slipping into a closed famous bookstore on Burnside through a propped emergency exit at 12:10 AM—all to finish the final 47 pages of a thriller he had been quietly working through in the armchair section for four straight afternoons.

According to the report, Whitaker discovered the book on day one, read for several hours, carefully re-shelved it spine-out for easy retrieval, and returned daily like it was a part-time job. On day four, he was politely asked to leave at closing with 47 pages left—at what he later described to officers as “an absolutely unacceptable emotional cliffhanger for a man my age.”

Details from the police report:
Located the book in complete darkness using his phone flashlight in under a minute (“muscle memory,” he claimed)
Returned to his exact armchair like a seasoned professional
Came prepared with reading glasses, a granola bar, and what officers described as “focus”
Finished the remaining 47 pages in 1 hour and 14 minutes
Re-shelved the book properly (alphabetically, no less)
Found seated calmly with the book closed in his lap, staring into the middle distance like he’d just unpacked something personal
When officers asked if he was okay, Whitaker replied,
“Yeah… I just thought it was going somewhere else.”
He declined to elaborate.

Officer Jenkins noted in the report, “He didn’t run. Didn’t panic. Just… needed closure. Honestly, we’ve all been there.”

The bookstore has declined to press charges, despite the abandoned granola bar wrapper, which management described as “mildly disappointing but understandable.”
The book has since been purchased by three customers. Whitaker has not returned.

He came for answers. He left with… complicated feelings.

Postscript: Alternative Title, “Powell’s Bookstore, Officer Jenkins, And Whomever Left The Emergency Door Propped Open For Whitaker For The Win”

Little League Legend

Posted on by
2

Sometime in the middle of my recent California cycling adventure, I wondered, what are we even doing, turning the pedals, for hours, every day?

The only thing I could come up with was extending our childhoods. We were men and women consciously choosing to be boys and girls of old.

Then, my peabrain shifted to my earliest memories of cycling in Louisville, KY in the late 1960s. When first learning to ride a bike, I remember someone, guessing an older sib, holding the seat and running alongside me until they weren’t. And then I remember swerving bigly, a few times right into metal mailboxes that dotted the edge of the road. Like Louisville’s own Cassius Clay, down goes Ron! Eventually, I swerved less and less.

My earliest, most vivid, fullblown cycling memory, was a year or two later, when I was dominating the kickball field at Zachary Taylor Elementary. It was this exact time of year, April, and Little League baseball tryouts were right around the corner.

Six or seven years old, my pals and I knew we needed a few hours of spring training before tryouts, so we laced our gloves onto some Louisville sluggers and laid them across our handlebars which we balanced precariously with balls bulging from our pockets. And then headed to a very nice, very large park, about a mile or two from our dented mailboxes.

Once we got to the park, we noticed the tennis courts sat under about 10 inches of water that had, until recently, been snow and ice covered. Maybe, we thought, as we took off our shoes and socks, we should splash around the courts a bit before officially starting spring training.

Within a few minutes, I sliced the bottom of my foot by stepping on a metal twist off beer top. The water turned red and I grew faint-headed. Someone hurriedly called my mom who lit into me. Since I’m the youngest of four, she was DONE with emergency rooms. On the way to get ten stiches, she got all up in my grill and said, “IF YOU EVER TAKE YOUR SHOES AND SOCKS OFF AND CUT YOUR FOOT AGAIN, DON’T CALL ME!” Which is pretty damn funny now, given how kind and caring she normally was. Everyone has a breaking point.

I think this was a Thursday and tryouts were all day Saturday. Even though Spring Training was cancelled on account of blood, I rallied, and showed up at tryouts on crutches. Shagging fly balls like a young Ken Griffey and even chucking the crutches and hobbling into the batters box to take some ferocious cuts like a young Andy Pages. A legend in both Louisville Little League history and my own mind.

Needless to say, the coaches were impressed with my pluck. I vaguely remember a bidding war breaking out. I told the coach that finally landed me that I didn’t want a bag, but if he could do something nice for my mom, like maybe comp her snow cones for the season, I’d greatly appreciate it.

The legend, with a scar on the bottom of his foot, fourth from the left.

Paragraph To Rue

Posted on by
Reply

From “Swalwell’s Stunning Downfall Creates a Reckoning for Democrats“.

“In late March, two content creators started posting allegations from women against Swalwell. With each post, new women reached out with allegations of abuse, said Cheyenne Hunt, one of the influencers. They helped connect the women with a lawyer and with reporters. Hunt said more than 30 women have now reached out to her to share experiences ranging from uncomfortable messages to sexual assault.”

More than 30. Just might be a pattern.

Shrinking Isn’t Even Remotely Believable

Posted on by
Reply

Charisandra Perez is forgiven for getting lost in the feel good Apple TV series Shrinking. For the exact reasons she outlines.

But, come on CP, as the Brits say, wake the feck up. The show should be labeled “fantasy”. It’s a cool show only in the sense that it’s hopelessly aspirational. Wouldn’t it be great if we could somehow, miraculously, throw a switch and suddenly rise above all the “bullshit that divides us”.

“Warm and familiar”? Kidding, right? Raise your hand if having an intensely diverse inner circle of especially close friends is “warm and familiar”. I think CP meant, “seductively strange and unfamiliar”.

Newsflash. We’re all insecure, in different ways and to different degrees, but insecure nonetheless; as a result, we surround ourselves with people who are more like us than different than us. People from similar backgrounds who tend to look, think, and mostly act like us so we don’t have to work too hard to get along.

At least we have one thing in common. We’re lazy, and when relationship building, almost always choose the paths of least resistance.

Best President Ever, Except For Maybe Lincoln

Posted on by
1

President Trump on Thursday expressed real appreciation for Tucker Carlson, Megyn Kelly and two other leading conservative podcasters who oppose the war in Iran in a heartfelt 482-word Truth Social post that celebrated the fact that a few conservatives had the courage to criticize him and help him see all the mistakes he has made in the Middle East over the last month.

Trump went on to say it’s only through the thoughtful constructive criticism of friends like Tucker and Megyn that he can course correct and begin undoing the damage he has done. Trump apologized to the American people for getting distracted from more pressing domestic issues like affordability, strengthening the social safety net, and job creation.

He also apologized to the Iranian people for threatening their civilization, a moment he deeply regrets. He vowed to never use such bombastic language again and hopes one poorly worded Truth Social doesn’t detract from his legacy of ending wars not starting them.

He also apologized to all our NATO allies and Europeans more generally for criticizing them for not going along with his war and for all of the unintended negative economic consequences.

Future Presidential historians will marvel at how DJT was able to pivot and model personal accountability and growth so profoundly in only 482 words.

What I Believe

Posted on by
6

A new friend I’m enjoying spending time with asked me recently, “Do you go to church? Did you? How were you raised, religiously?”

I can quickly and easily answer those questions. No. Yes. Semi-religiously. But those cryptic responses beg follow up questions, especially, what happened that caused you to stop attending church? But instead of explaining that here, I’m guessing she was most curious about what I believe.

I appreciate the meaning many people find in being active church goers. The way the music, liturgical traditions, friendships, and community service enrich their lives. Organized religion is almost always a net positive.

For me though, the ancient hymns, and too often patriarchal liturgies and prayers, combined with a dearth of opportunities for intentional and democratic small group communication, made church participation less and less compelling post-Covid. I also believe anyone who thinks their own faith tradition is the one and only true one needs to see more of the world.

I am not explaining my thinking to persuade you to think similarly. I do not need you to think similarly to me for me to be secure in my beliefs. I am all for church participation for thee, just not for me. But, as the numbers clearly show, I am not alone in finding transcendence elsewhere.

And although I am dechurched, I believe in the supernatural, more specifically in a holy spirit if you will.

I seek transcendence in three places primarily: nature; the arts; and close interpersonal relationships.

I believe in the Salish Sea, Aspen trees, the Cascades, the Pacific coast, and all of Western Canada.

I believe in words and imagination, and emotions and stories, and how some people combine them in ways, that for me, are truly transcendent. I believe in Ian McEwan, Richard Russo, Joan Didion, and Jonathan Franzen. And I believe in modern dance, painting, and the power of film. Artists convince me, over and over, that things will be okay in the long run.

And I believe in family, the kind that’s based on birth and the kind people thoughtfully cut and paste together over the years. I especially believe in caregivers, like Olga, Abigail, and Fufu, who hold families together.

And I believe in the emerging social scientific consensus that says well-being mostly consists of making close friends and then spending time with them. I believe in the simplicity of that formula.

And I don’t just believe, but know in the depths of my soul that tomorrow is not guaranteed and I cannot afford to put off being in nature, reading ebullient stories, celebrating art, hanging with family and friends, and loving deeply.