Writing

My Portland

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If anyone was to ask me where I’m from, I’m immediately proud to say “New Jersey.” Several times in my life, when people first meet me and ask where I’m from, they tend to assume England for some reason. I’ve never been able to explain why except for the joke response that when I was little my parents let me watch a lot of Monty Python and that I tend to be very polite. Dropping a few F-Bombs seems to clear it up though:

“Oh, I thought you were from England or something.”
“The fuck made you think that?”
“Okay, THERE’S the New Jersey, I hear it now.”
… Thanks, Sopranos.

Of course, I don’t live in Jersey right now. For the last six years, I’ve been happy to live in Portland, Oregon. Maybe you’ve seen it on TV or heard about it from your hipster friends. You might even have some ideas about what life here is like from the news of the last few years. Words like “war zone” and “anarchist jurisdiction” were thrown around a lot. For the rest of my life, I will remember riding in a bus around Walt Disney World in March of 2019. Sitting across from Emily and I was an elderly couple, and we started talking about what every tourist at Disney does after the heat, food, and bugs:

“So where are you visiting from?”
“Portland Oregon! Yourselves?”
The old man visibly bristled and scoffed- “Oh yeah, I hear that’s a great place to live.”
“Oh it is! Beautiful nature, amazing food and beer- you should visit sometime!”

I have never seen a man deflate so fast. Pro-tip: if someone’s looking for an argument, the easiest way to win is not to play. That said, when my little sister and her partner came to visit a few weeks ago, they expressed interest in seeing my Portland. Not the hellscape creatively described on Fox News or the goofy version on Portlandia. They wanted the Portland that a local loves/hates. A few years ago, I wrote a little post for people that wanted to move out here. Consider this a more-experienced addendum, and a helpful guide for anyone who wants to visit but is afraid of running afoul of roving bands of Nazis and/or anarchists.

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Clear Your Space, Clear Your Mind

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I am definitely not a “neat freak.” Cleaning up my desk and bedside area today were proof enough of that.

A garbage bag was filled with old mail, flyers, documents I thought were too important to throw out (until I realized that I didn’t need three year old insurance mailers,) and probably every time slip and receipt I’ve gotten in the last two years. Some actually important stuff was moved elsewhere, and my desk now faces a wall rather than out into the room. The floor got vacuumed, the surfaces wiped down, and reorganized.

Yes, I am writing this from a corner table at Belmont Station with a short beer at my side (I did promise myself, after all, and rewards are important) but much like a kitchen, cleaning up your workspace (and keeping it that way!) may do more for your productivity and motivation than all the little quote calendars filling your waste bin.

See? Even an actual trash panda can clean.
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Why I Write in Restaurants

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It’s possible for a space to feel too comfortable.

Looking at my own “workspace” at home, it absolutely looks like I spend a lot of time sitting there. There’s an art print on the wall behind my comfortable high-backed chair from IKEA. There is a minimalist desk lamp (also from IKEA) that illuminates the space directly between my laptop’s keyboard, the coaster for my tea mug, and the stand where my iPad or phone controls my Pomodoro timer and music selection.

It is my preferred space for book work. It is my preferred space for editing and tweaking my own work. Beyond that little ring of light and cheap wood, though, the rest of the desk is chaos. It is too comfortable. One of my culinary teachers warned us that our workspace reflects our minds- if you have a messy workspace, you have a messy mind. Beyond my laptop, thar be dragons.

When it comes to this weekly blog, I feel like I have to go mobile. The wanderlust of the “nomadic entrepreneur” seizes on me, and I need to pack everything in a satchel and “find a place to write.”

Today, my “office” of the moment is My Vice. It has cocktails and a really good beef sandwich. The table is empty except for my typing machine and a late lunch. Arguably, I could save money and do this myself by cleaning my friggin’ desk up- but what’s the fun in that?

My name is Matt Strenger, and I do a lot of writing in bars.

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Sometimes It’s Just Like That- The “Second Arrow” and Equanimity

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Hello everyone. This week’s lackluster blog post is brought to you by more medical bullshit and me trying to make the best of it.

It all started around Sunday. I woke up feeling a strange tightness in my chest and a headache. I did my best to go through my normal morning routine, but after eating breakfast my body made quite clear what it wanted.

“SLEEP.”

”But, I need to exercise, otherwise I won’t have the energy for work. It’s the start of the work week, I’m the guy in charge, I need to-“

”No. No no no NO NO FUCK YOU, YOU’RE GOING BACK TO BED. We are sucking all the energy out of your muscles until the LAST possible instant, so if you don’t want to pass out on the carpet you don’t vacuum enough, GET BACK IN BED NOW.”

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The Month That Lasted A Year

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We’d gotten a notion that things were gonna be a little off on the plane down to Florida.
It was our first vacation with my family in years, and one of Emily’s student’s parents gave us two N95 masks “just for the plane because of the new virus going around.”

The new virus. Some bullshit about about people eating bats in China or something? We’d joked around the kitchen about it, and gently teased a hypochondriac friend of mine. I said I’d get to the airport and lick someone’s eyeballs on the way back, catch it and get a bit more time off.

On the plane, there were a few older folks in masks. I’d been asked at a doctor’s office earlier in the year if I’d recently been to Wuhan China or was in contact with anyone who had. “God I wish,” I half-jokingly told the receptionist. “Anything to travel for a bit and take some time off of work!”

At Disney, there were hand sanitizer and washing stations sprinkled around the property. My parents switched on the news in the mornings, and we heard that it had spread on the West Coast. The day after we left, Disney closed it’s properties and sent everyone home. When we arrived in the late afternoon, PDX- one of America’s best airports- was nearly deserted.

This was no joke. It’s still not one year later.

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