This article by Bruce VanWyngarden originally appeared in the Memphis Flyer.

It had been a long flight. I dropped my bags on the floor, walked into the hotel bathroom, and snapped on the lights. There was a brief flicker, and then the room was illuminated. I looked at the lightbulbs. They were the curly-cue energy-saving kind. Hmmm, I thought, nice touch.

I relieved myself and flushed the potty. There was a small, quick gurgle that lasted about a second. Ah, I thought, water-saving loos. I sat on the bed and opened my laptop to check my e-mail. The little wireless icon popped and asked me if I wanted to connect to the Internet via the city’s free wi-fi system. Yes, I did. How convenient and simple, I thought.

I spent four days in Portland, Oregon, at a newspaper conference last week, and each day I saw clear evidence of what a difference in a city’s quality of life an enlightened and progressive government can make.

I took light-rail trains all over town. I rode in hybrid taxis. The streets were immaculate. Roses and other flowers bloomed on every corner. The downtown was booming. I saw no vacant buildings, no blighted blocks.

So how do they do it? For one thing, they started 30 years ago by forming Metro, a consolidated elected governing body that is responsible for all urban planning, county-wide. Portland has no sprawl, due to a strictly enforced “urban growth boundary” that separates urban from rural land. The idea is to encourage redevelopment of Portland’s inner core and preserve its tree-lined city neighborhoods.

The Metro consists of seven elected commissioners who oversee transit, waste and recycling, parks, the zoo, the convention center, and fish and wildlife management. There is a mayor, but his role is strictly limited and mostly ceremonial. The current mayor, Tom Potter, lobbied for a reorganization to a “strong mayor” form of government, a measure that was on the city’s May ballot. It was rejected by a three-to-one margin.

As far as I know, the mayor didn’t blame unnamed “snakes” for the defeat. Maybe he just took it as a sign from God.

Here are just a few of the moments I haven’t posted from this weekend’s AAN convention.
Thanks for everything all you AAN’ers. You were simply the best.
Love, Byron Beck (aka Mr. Portland)

“My hoodie smells like a lesbian dance club.”

There is a little known AAN convention tradition (and isn’t it better that way?) of holding an early-morning pickup basketball game. I first heard about the game in Memphis (’99) and have played every year since. So to speak.
This year a dozen of us found our way to a delightful park in the (Earl the) Pearl District (our cabbie ? more on him later ? let us know the court was partly paid for by NIKE). Because it was only a half-court, we opted for four-on-four, and the first game pitted East vs. West. The Beasts from the East won, of course, thanks to a strong inside presence from Eric Coleman (Memphis Flyer), Blair Barna (Charleston City Paper) and some guy I don’t know (who was that left-handed bull with the killer drop step?). It was a true honor to play with those guys and ride their coattails; I played three games before heading back to make it to the online listings session. As far as I know, there were no casualties. Somebody let me know if I missed anything.
Beyond the obvious fact that playing basketball before 9 a.m. on the last day of the convention, when we are all pretty much spent, is a highly ridiculous idea, it is a lot of fun. A little exercise is a pretty good antidote for all of the physical abuse we heap on ourselves for three days prior. It certainly makes you feel justified in doing it to yourself one more night.

If you’re a hoopster and haven’t gotten the word on the game, the man to see next year is John Morrison (AWN).
The same John Morrison, by the way, who got our cabbie all wound up. As we were getting ready to take the short ride over from the Hilton, John let him know we were waiting on someone and needed a few more minutes.
“Hey, time’s money, man. This ain’t New York.”
But the cabbie chilled out and eventually four of us piled in for the short ride.
“I’ve been driving a cab for 35 years in Portland,” he informed us. “I am the last of a dying breed. I speak English, I don’t have body odor and my windows are clean.”
The immigration thing seemed to be bugging him.
“What brings you guys to Portland?” he asked.
“We’re all with alternative newspapers, like the Willamette Week. We’re here for an annual convention,” I told him.
“God, we don’t need any more people in the world like that ? fucking liberals,” he said, and then shortly thereafter chastised a woman for not riding her bike in the proper lane. In his next breath he noted that, hey, she might end up being his fourth wife. Anything is possible, I suppose.
He followed up with a diatribe about Portland’s Catholic diocese ? taking pains to inform us that he is a good Catholic ? and how the church leaders here have been strong pro-immigration advocates. That’s fine, he noted, but first they gotta quit indulging pedophila. And so on.
You might think that is all the jocularity you could fit into a $7.50 fare, but he also shared his idea for discouraging murderers. “Suppose you kill someone,” he said. “We kill your mother.”
“What if you mother is dead?” Morrison asked from the backseat.
“Then we kill your father.”
“And if he’s dead?”
“We kill you girlfriend’s mother.”
I shit you not. It was kinda refreshing to know everyone in Portland doesn’t think the same. And you know what, he was pretty damn funny with his delivery. I think he was just having some fun. He did get a pretty good tip out of us. (CARY STEMLE/LOUISVILLE ECCENTRIC OBSERVER)

I asked Debra Silvestrin if I could have a booth next to Amy the Advice Goddess because I thought it would be fun, and maybe I would get some advice. (Dear Advice Goddess, why have so many of my ex-girlfriends become dykes?) But I did not realize how strategic a move it would turn out to be.

While the fun and advice were indeed flowing, I was also able to learn at the feet of a world-class schmoozer. As anyone who tried walking by her booth probably found out, it actually was not possible to walk by her booth. She says “Hi” the way a spider greets a fly, and even a single response tangles you in her net. I watched wide-eyed, and even managed to net a few of her leftovers, but it wasn?t long before the student became the master.

As some of you may have noticed, I brought a lot of food to my booth, hoping to bribe my food column into some more papers. I am happy to report that by day two the Advice Goddess had jumped on my bandwagon, so to speak, with a plate of cookies of her own.

We didn’t quite figure out why so many of my ex-girlfriends have jumped the fence, but we agreed it would have been hotter if I had waited until they had, and then dated them. We also agreed that she and I write about two of the most important things in the world.

When I donned my Michelangelo David apron, Amy suggested I get into television, which I think is Hollywoodspeak for “I want to get into your pants.” Maybe this means she wants to be a dyke.

We had a few minutes to kill, so Byron and I wandered a few blocks down to a local bakery (Elephant Bakery?), and encountered many suits, microphones and cameras. The hub bub? GOP hopeful Rudy Giuliani, in town on some junket or another. Byron and I paid for our bread and, as we started to leave, so did Mr. G. He came over and shook our hands and then, somehow (I don’t really know; I think I blacked out), the next thing I know, Rudy has his arm around me and Byron is snapping our photo. That crazed wide-eyed look I’m sporting reads as such: “All I wanted was a bagel and now Rudy Giuliani has his arm around me.”
We did not ask Mr. G to come back and be our guest at AAN. We might have, but a woman yelling, “What are you going to do about Guantanamo bay?” at Giuliano made it kind of hard to get a word in.

AAN delegates burn off their hangovers at Balch creek in Forest Park this morning. On view were 5,000 acres of chlorophyll, banana slugs and the world’s tallest urban tree. Strip clubs not included.

Photo by Reuters.

Call this a coincidence? Or just high school irony?

As March Fourth Marching Band led hungry AAN-ies to the Portland Art Museum party, the parade passed the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall, where local Grant High School was holding graduation.

That’ll teach high schoolers to make fun of band geeks.

You came. You conquered. You drank. A lot.
Here’s a little memory refresher of a night some of us won’t soon forget (even though we probably should).

We figured that yesterday before the programming started would be the best opportunity to take a bike ride along the river.

The dudes at CityBikes Workers Cooperative were friendly and helpful, and very patient. The shop is on Ankeny Street, which I knew I’d seen the night before on a walk around the SW neighborhoods. But it’s on SE Ankeny, so the walk itself was an estimated, and unnecessary, five miles. I’ll have a good attitude about it and say it was needed exercise but really it got me off to a late start, put me so far behind that I missed one of the programs I’d most wanted to see. So here’s some advice. Simple really, unless you’re like me and somehow find ways to make everything difficult.

Really, if you’re staying anywhere in the SW quadrant, take Burnside east across the bridge and take a right at the first street on the other side (you’re now in the SE part of the city). Go one block to Ankeny, then walk down a coupla blocks and CityBikes is on the right side of the street. The facade is colorful so you won’t miss it.

We paid $20 for a bike, helmet and lock included. And a map, with clear instructions on how to get to the nearest access point of the river trail.

Once fully down the east side of the trail (which rolls you through a wildlife area), cross the Sellwood Bridge to loop back up the west side of the river.

Here’s the real advice: Watch closely for the access point to get back on the trail once you get to the other side of the bridge. If you don’t, finding a way back to the trail is not an easy feat, and you’ll end up on the road or sidewalks. They’re well maintained so it never seemed dangerous. But the point is to ride along the river, no?

I’m guessing the entire trip would be around one hour and fifteen minutes. Unless, of course, like me, you disregard or misread the map and get off trail. All told, it’s an easy ride, and worth it if you have the time.

Finally, I’ll be very mom-ish: Don’t forget water.