Friend Zach sent this snapshot from Rio, and yorkrules got non-exclusive North American online rights to share it with you. Check out Zach’s blog for the latest on his globe-trotting, zig-zagging journey.

The earliest trees are beginning to turn now. After over thirty years of insipidly eternal So Cal summer, these seasonal transmutations continue to exhilirate.

The Funlands are transitioning, too. Our progress from decade-in-residence Angelenos to cookie-cutter post-academic bohemians in Portlandia shows in the many minor signs that define our lives.

For instance: our forks. Those acquired during our stay in L.A., along with the matching knives and spoons, came from the nearby Century City Crate and Barrel. Sleek, simple Postmodern cutlery, suitable for post-premiere dinner parties and food magazine photo shoots.

We lost one or two over the years, so after moving to Bridgetown, we discovered their replacements at the brew pub down the street (I love this town.) Old Army-issued utensils, designed for S.O.S. and now destined for organic neighborhood potluck bicycling block parties.

We’re changing. Fun.

Happy birthday, MorningStar. For you, my most encouraging commenter, I present my favourite quotes from each of the 11 chapters of I Hate L.A. Click on the images to enlarge them.

You can read the rest here. Cheers!

The Funlands have been in Portland over a year now, and the traditions have begun to establish themselves. For one: the Bridge Pedal, which I recently participated in for the second time. In this annual event, 18,000 or so cyclists take over the freeways and river crossings of Stumptown, riding on roads where only cars typically tread. As I say several times a week, “I love this town.”

Another beer festival this weekend, and a bigger one next. Meanwhile, semi-anonymous email threats from the Bridgetown Old Guard have been received in response to my immigration-inspiring pro-Portland polemic: “Portland rules!”

dude, portland totally rules.  We northwesterners know how much the northwest rules.

But it can’t rule forever if TOO MANY PEOPLE FROM CALIFORNIA MOVE HERE.  SO DON’T TELL PEOPLE ABOUT IT.  =-)

Portland told me that you have passed the probation period with flying colors, and is happy to have you, so you’re all good, but I would be careful about opening the doors for more californians.  You wouldn’t want to fall out of favor.

So let’s just keep it our little secret.

SHhhhhhhh!

=-)

-G

Macleay Park is two blocks southwest of our place. This verdant scene, typical for the park’s main trail, is about a quarter mile further on.

I live near this.

This is the twilight view from the courtyard of our apartment building. Looking west, that ridge of silhouetted pines is Forest Park. It’s one of the largest urban reserves in the Nation. There’s a trailhead two blocks from here, just beyond the steel truss bridge and the sculpture garden.

Four blocks down our street is a brewery. I can smell its sweet scent carried upon the breeze that rolls up the river valley.

Three blocks up there’s a corner bar, a cafe, an art gallery, and a bike shop. Just your typical Portland neighborhood. I love this place.

“You should move to Portland. It’s great.” I said it because I meant it, but there was still that hint of desperation in the words, like when parent-friends say, “You should have kids. It would be great.”

So I’ve tried to stop talking up our 10-month-old hometown to SoCal friends. But I’m finding it hard to stay quiet. Portland rules, and in coming posts, I’ll explain why. First off:

I rode my bike down to the waterfront last night for the fireworks spectacular that kicked off this year’s Rose Festival. Weather: perfect. Downtown: a river. Show: spectacular indeed. I love this town.