I had a real turning point in this life about 7 years ago. I was living in this big old blue house in a recently gentrified neighborhood called the Mississippi District in North Portland Oregon. I had been there for some years, it was the old Jackie O house aka The Michigan Avenue Social Club.
I had my shop one block away on Mississippi Avenue, a killer commute through the Re-Building Center in my back yard. Life was so easy, my rent was $225 a month, rent in my shop another $300.
I had fallen into this routine of getting up at the last minute and racing to the coffee shop (The Fresh Pot) and having some crazy coffee drink and a croissant, buzzing faster back home and then flying through the Re-Building Center to work. My adrenal glands depleted from caffeine and sugar, I wouldn't get anything done for the first 2 or 3 hours.
The Mississippi neighborhood was one that was flipped in record speed. It was once the center of black Portland, still is, and much like most of these United States, that harsh history of racism and red-lining caused it to be economically depressed. As an artist, well, this is where we choose to live. The rent is cheaper. When I first moved to Portland I moved to North East Alberta Street, that took about 4 years to flip. I know that just the presence of myself and my friends was a part of that change. We got priced out. This is just what happens. It hurts to see it happen again and again.
We moved to the Mississippi neighborhood because it seemed safe from all of that. Don't get me wrong, I like a good coffee shop. I like balance. What happens is balance doesn't happen. But we got about 4 years of peace in the Mississippi hood before the developers found us. Then, BAM! Whole new scene. Very hard to not get bitter and resentful about it. But bitterness and resentment kill and dying for change simply isn't helpful.
So back to my story. As I was walking back from The Fresh Pot I noticed a tow warning on my lovely '69 Ford Falcon. My ego at the time couldn't imagine it was real so the first thought that flashed through my little brain was "Ha! I wonder which of my friends put that on my car? What a great practical joke!"
I grabbed it off the windshield and read it about 5 times. It was a tow warning, a real tow warning. I was picked for having an abandoned vehicle. Me? Abandoned vehicle? Nonsense! I drive this baby daily! At the bottom of the tow warning said in all caps "MUSHROOM GROWING ON THE FLOOR!"
Go on, laugh. It was true. My car had a leak in rainy Portland and yes, there was a mushroom growing on my floor.
But rather than do anything sane I chose to become temporarily insane. I went into a 3 day rage. Couldn't sleep, called the city and screamed at some unfortunate but very patient employee. "I AM A BUSINESS LEADER IN THE COMMUNITY!!!" Yuck. I wrote to the local Cascade Community paper about this injustice. (Man, talk about 1st world problems!) Thankfully that letter never made it. It read something like "I go this tow warning and I WAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!"
I remember the person on the phone sounding like he doubted my story, I mean the part about I drive this car daily. This made me furious! I even called the meter maid and left her some venom.
3 days, I couldn't work, couldn't sleep, couldn't eat cause I NEEDED to be right. I never felt more horrible. Over a little tow warning.
Then one of my friends who identifies himself as an anarchist said "It's the war on the poor man!"
Szzzctnnejxmklflmnwq scratch!
Say what? "Who the @$#^ are you calling poor????" said a small part of my small brain. Aw hell no.
I don't like this word poor to describe people. Poor to me means poor quality, second hand, made in China under forced labor and usable one time. I don't like the idea of calling people poor because of simple economic status. Some of the richest people I know have no money and some of the poorest I've met have millions.
But I went along still angry. Got out of bed the next day and went to the car wash. Vacuumed out my car, cleaned it, burned a little sage in it and was driving home still fuming saying in my mind "Man, @4&* this city, my car's all clean now, and it smells nice, and I like driving it, and my car is shiny and looks sharp, and my car is happy cause it's all clean and $*(# all this change and WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME???"
I had to admit I felt good driving my shiny '69 Falcon and maybe that meter maid was an angel who was saying to me "YO, GET YOSELF TOGETHER!"
I cried. I knew I had a serious problem with my ego. I needed help, fast. If I were willing to get this stretched out over a little car problem, god help me if I have a real issue to deal with.
I went to my shop and called the Meter Maid. I didn't get her on the phone so I left a message saying, "hey this is Jef with the Ford Falcon on Michigan Avenue. I need to say I'm really sorry about my behavior, that was terrible of me. And i also want to say thank you for pointing out a real problem I was refusing to see, take care." She left me a message saying "Hey don't worry about it, I removed your name from the tow list. And thank you for the call, I really appreciate that. I understand, sometimes I let myself go and don't take care of myself too."
That was a lot better. All it took was to put myself in the shoes of a Meter Maid. She has a job where she gets lied to all day by people who don't want to take a little responsibility for themselves and say things like "but I'm a business leader etc." Why should she believe me? Especially with all that hostility? And frankly, my car looked like it had one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel.
I can't associate with folks that don't embrace change any more after this experience. If I am to make a difference in this world, I can't accept truth as a static idea, I can't accept my neighborhood as a static idea, I can't accept my life as a static idea. Truth, neighborhoods, life, these are alive. None of this makes any sense without taking care of myself and that includes washing a dirty old car.
Love, JB
I had my shop one block away on Mississippi Avenue, a killer commute through the Re-Building Center in my back yard. Life was so easy, my rent was $225 a month, rent in my shop another $300.
I had fallen into this routine of getting up at the last minute and racing to the coffee shop (The Fresh Pot) and having some crazy coffee drink and a croissant, buzzing faster back home and then flying through the Re-Building Center to work. My adrenal glands depleted from caffeine and sugar, I wouldn't get anything done for the first 2 or 3 hours.
The Mississippi neighborhood was one that was flipped in record speed. It was once the center of black Portland, still is, and much like most of these United States, that harsh history of racism and red-lining caused it to be economically depressed. As an artist, well, this is where we choose to live. The rent is cheaper. When I first moved to Portland I moved to North East Alberta Street, that took about 4 years to flip. I know that just the presence of myself and my friends was a part of that change. We got priced out. This is just what happens. It hurts to see it happen again and again.
We moved to the Mississippi neighborhood because it seemed safe from all of that. Don't get me wrong, I like a good coffee shop. I like balance. What happens is balance doesn't happen. But we got about 4 years of peace in the Mississippi hood before the developers found us. Then, BAM! Whole new scene. Very hard to not get bitter and resentful about it. But bitterness and resentment kill and dying for change simply isn't helpful.
So back to my story. As I was walking back from The Fresh Pot I noticed a tow warning on my lovely '69 Ford Falcon. My ego at the time couldn't imagine it was real so the first thought that flashed through my little brain was "Ha! I wonder which of my friends put that on my car? What a great practical joke!"
I grabbed it off the windshield and read it about 5 times. It was a tow warning, a real tow warning. I was picked for having an abandoned vehicle. Me? Abandoned vehicle? Nonsense! I drive this baby daily! At the bottom of the tow warning said in all caps "MUSHROOM GROWING ON THE FLOOR!"
Go on, laugh. It was true. My car had a leak in rainy Portland and yes, there was a mushroom growing on my floor.
But rather than do anything sane I chose to become temporarily insane. I went into a 3 day rage. Couldn't sleep, called the city and screamed at some unfortunate but very patient employee. "I AM A BUSINESS LEADER IN THE COMMUNITY!!!" Yuck. I wrote to the local Cascade Community paper about this injustice. (Man, talk about 1st world problems!) Thankfully that letter never made it. It read something like "I go this tow warning and I WAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!"
I remember the person on the phone sounding like he doubted my story, I mean the part about I drive this car daily. This made me furious! I even called the meter maid and left her some venom.
3 days, I couldn't work, couldn't sleep, couldn't eat cause I NEEDED to be right. I never felt more horrible. Over a little tow warning.
Then one of my friends who identifies himself as an anarchist said "It's the war on the poor man!"
Szzzctnnejxmklflmnwq scratch!
Say what? "Who the @$#^ are you calling poor????" said a small part of my small brain. Aw hell no.
I don't like this word poor to describe people. Poor to me means poor quality, second hand, made in China under forced labor and usable one time. I don't like the idea of calling people poor because of simple economic status. Some of the richest people I know have no money and some of the poorest I've met have millions.
But I went along still angry. Got out of bed the next day and went to the car wash. Vacuumed out my car, cleaned it, burned a little sage in it and was driving home still fuming saying in my mind "Man, @4&* this city, my car's all clean now, and it smells nice, and I like driving it, and my car is shiny and looks sharp, and my car is happy cause it's all clean and $*(# all this change and WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME???"
I had to admit I felt good driving my shiny '69 Falcon and maybe that meter maid was an angel who was saying to me "YO, GET YOSELF TOGETHER!"
I cried. I knew I had a serious problem with my ego. I needed help, fast. If I were willing to get this stretched out over a little car problem, god help me if I have a real issue to deal with.
I went to my shop and called the Meter Maid. I didn't get her on the phone so I left a message saying, "hey this is Jef with the Ford Falcon on Michigan Avenue. I need to say I'm really sorry about my behavior, that was terrible of me. And i also want to say thank you for pointing out a real problem I was refusing to see, take care." She left me a message saying "Hey don't worry about it, I removed your name from the tow list. And thank you for the call, I really appreciate that. I understand, sometimes I let myself go and don't take care of myself too."
That was a lot better. All it took was to put myself in the shoes of a Meter Maid. She has a job where she gets lied to all day by people who don't want to take a little responsibility for themselves and say things like "but I'm a business leader etc." Why should she believe me? Especially with all that hostility? And frankly, my car looked like it had one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel.
I can't associate with folks that don't embrace change any more after this experience. If I am to make a difference in this world, I can't accept truth as a static idea, I can't accept my neighborhood as a static idea, I can't accept my life as a static idea. Truth, neighborhoods, life, these are alive. None of this makes any sense without taking care of myself and that includes washing a dirty old car.
Love, JB
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