Today's officially the second rainiest day on record in Seattle, northbound I-5 is flooding, a good portion of the coast is shut down and Highway 26 is littered with fallen trees. The Klootchy Creek Giant is dead, rivers are flooding everywhere and high water is trapping cars on swamped roads here in Portland. My front yard now has a shallow lake, the ancient drainage system in my basement has created another relatively harmless creek and my copy of the latest issue of Rolling Stone is soaking wet because a postal carrier failed to close the door of my mailbox this afternoon. And it's still %$%@!#! raining outside.

On behalf of the entire Pacific Northwest, I'd just like to say that you suck poopy dog butts, Winter Wind Storm '07.

Labels: weather

The initial wave of this winter's first "Storm of the Century" is due to arrive overnight, my house is above the 500 foot mark and I've got to be at work in the morning. Due to weekend routes, transportation on Tri-Met isn't an option and neither is calling out for the day. In my line of work management doesn't close the office for something that typically shuts down 95% of all services in Portland. It might sound strange to anyone else who lives in this city but it's the nature of the business.

It's going to be an interesting weekend and I can drive in the snow about as well as any native Oregonian. That means my skills are just a hair about this guy's. A predicament? You could say that. Nothing to do now but hunker down with the last few episodes of Battlestar Galactica's third season. If I don't get lost in the two inches of snow due tomorrow morning and provided my little house isn't blown down in phase two of the storm set to hit on Sunday, I'll be back around here with more of the same next week.

Until then, somehow I think this random You Tube clip is oddly appropriate. I've heard that there's a cleaned-up, broadcast version of The Big Lebowski that has several terrible edits that cover up the movie's numerous f-bombs. I'd never seen so much as two seconds of that cut until someone passed along this:

Finally, here's hoping this is the only Tin Man anyone in the Willamette Valley will come across in the next few days.

Labels: The Big Lebowski, weather

By my best guess, summer ended in Portland right around July 21st.

A month later, during a time when the weather should be in the high 80s and the sky should be free from cloud clover, the Rose City is experiencing yet another overcast day with temperatures hovering around 70.

It all started with a full week of rain at the end of July. In the days since, we seen the occasional string of clear days but they always occur during the middle of the week. When Saturday comes around, the clouds inevitably roll back in and the air temperature becomes cool enough to warrant a hoodie.

The sun hasn't been out since Friday. I already have dead leaves in my hammock. Elsewhere around town, kids are pestering their parents for hot chocolate while others are content, happy that they can spend the remainder of 2007's summer days on the couch, free from the nagging feeling that they should be running around outdoors.

But not me, dammit. I want the heat. I want sunburns and sweat marks under my arms. I pine for the ability to lounge around on the decks of various restaurants and taverns without getting hit by raindrops. I need a reason to drink crappy homemade margaritas and that reason is a 87 degree day (preferably with low humidity, a light breeze and little auto traffic on my street). Like many, I begrudgingly put up with Portland's nine months of rain clouds because it always comes with the promise of 2.5 - 3 months of idyllic summer weather- weather that doesn't require me to wear socks between July 5th and the early part of October.

It's an inalienable right that comes with living in this town and we've been swindled. If there were a legal system for this sort of thing, I'd file a class action suit against the sky. I'm not entirely unreasonable. I'd be willing to accept an out-of-court, non-monetary settlement provided that the sky makes up for these days of murkiness. If it couldn't give us sunny days in August, that means it should make up for them in October. If there is any justice in this world, come Halloween we'll all be carving pumpkins in 90 degree weather.

Labels: Portland, weather

We don't seem to get many thunderstorms around Portland. When one passes through, it's cause to head to a window to watch the show. Last night I went out on a field trip to Syun, AKA "the sushi library." On the way back, a storm hit.

We pulled over near the Hillsboro Airport to watch lightening flash every thirty seconds. A runway allowed us enough of a vista to catch the storm's spectacle as it rolled towards Portland. We're talking about lightening worthy of a Weather Channel special, the sort that bursts into three parts and fills a chunk of the sky without seeming to reach the earth.

I tried to get a shot with my cell phone camera. Mission? Impossible. We didn't see any nickel-sized hailstone on the way back to town though, as was predicted by at least one local weatherman. Probably for the best though.

Labels: weather

This time of year Portland weather can be weird. In 2005, the temperature mysteriously hovered in the 70s for over a week. We've been known to get hit with weather ranging from friggin' cold to friggin' frigid to friggin' warm with a light breeze. The thermometer hit 62 in PDX on Saturday while Jet Blue's staff were still trying to trying claw their way out of an icy tundra at JFK.

When warm weather hits in February, locals start acting like they've just escaped from a snowbound cabin. Clothing is shed, flowers immediately bloom the second the temperature rises above 50, the streets downtown are filled and weirdness typically ensues. Since the weather warmed up last week (albeit temporarily) this year has been no exception. Here are a few odd moments and signs of spring I've encountered around downtown Portland over the past week:

A sure sign that spring has sprung or is at least trying to spring: on Friday night I caught the aftermath of a street fight near the Hotel Lucia. PPD had one guy handcuffed, while the other was being tended to in an ambulance blocking traffic.

The crowd waiting for seats at Sushi Takahashi was no less than three hipsters deep on Friday night. 24 hours later, the line at the bar at Old Town Pizza was no less than six yuppies deep.

I'm pretty sure I watched Ghost Rider with Joel Pryzbilla on Saturday night. Or maybe it was his 7-foot tall clone. The alleged Pryzbilla sat in the row in front of us but his height was no match for Pioneer Place Cinemas' stadium seating. His response to the Nicholas Cage/flaming skull biker/tour-de-force? He laughed his ass off during the first half and looked like he was going to fall asleep during the final hour. That was the general reaction around the theater. That's one way to kill an All-Star Weekend when you're not an All Star.

People I talked to on the way to Powell's from Old Town on Friday: a crackhead (wanted change), a very-stoned hippie guy (wanted directions to the Roxy) and a guy from Montana (it was his first time in Portland, he was looking for the Crystal Ballroom and he described West Burnside as "a lot like Mars").

Spotted on NE Sandy: the Gypsy Jokers. I've heard about this once-notorious motorcycle club and, supposedly, they were the local equivalent of the Hell's Angels during the late '60s and '70s. According to Willamette Week, they're still raising hell. A recent investigation turned up allegations of home invasions, gun hoarding and methamphetamine possession.

I went out to eat with my parents at a Chinese restaurant last week. On the way into a parking garage, a disoriented female clubhopper tried to flag down their car and open a passenger-side door. Later, as we headed for a table, her and a friend were pushed outside by a flustered manager. One spun around and pulled off one final "WOOO!" before they headed outside to dance on the sidewalk. The two of them spent the next twenty minutes performing a sort of dinner theater for bemused diners. They kept everyone entertained by posing for each other's cell phone cameras, getting kicked out of a cab across the street and shouting at passers-by when they weren't busy trying to re-enter the restaurant to hug the manager. Before PPD could get around to hauling them to a drunk tank, they wandered off down 1st Avenue while pestering a bald gentleman in his 50s. Seeing that it was only 7:30, it was pretty early for that level of drunkeness. My guess: they were first time ecstasy users.

Now, a few days later, the temperature is back in the 40s. The wind is blowing and the rain is coming down. Come back, spring, come back.

Labels: Portland, spring, weather