11 years down, 1 month to go

I pity you, dear reader. I pity you because this blog is about to take a drastic turn towards the sentimental. I've lived in Eugene for eleven years, arriving in town on a cool summer evening in 1996. That Monday evening in June was the first time I ever tasted Terminator Stout. Within a month's time, I had tried my first Terminator float (stout with a scoop of Prince Puckler's mocha almond fudge ice cream smuggled into 19th St.).

See? Sentimental.

So I'm writing a big old mash note to those who made Eugene such a special place to live, and such a formative part of my being. And by "big old," I mean over a series of posts, loosely organized around something significant. Jeebus, I don't know.

Emily is the woman I moved out here with, ostensibly as a couple, although she disabused herself of that notion far before I did. Somehow, after a rough first few months of living in the same massive flophouse, we became good friends again. She decamped for PDX years ago, but she remains the catalyst to everything that's occured since that weird summer.

When I arrived in Eugene, I initially crashed with my friend Andy (short for Andrea). That summer, she patiently supported my ass on Phish tour in August, got me back to Eugene, whereupon we rarely spoke to each other until she left town, late in 1996. Since then, we've had waves of communication. I'd piss her off, we wouldn't talk for three years, all of the sudden we'd have a reason to talk again, we'd regularly correspond, I'd piss her off, etc. We're in one of the communication black-outs right now.

In 1996, I saw rain like I've never seen before, nor have seen since. Three straight days of torrential downpour in early November, causing a lot of flooding. And my ass, straight from Florida, was thus thrust into my first Oregon winter. I lived in the basement of a house on Willamette street at the time, and came home from work to an inch of water in my bedroom.

I shared this house with 7-12 other people. We scavenged dumpsters and returned bottles to buy food.

We spent an inordinate amount of time at the Vets Club. And on drugs.

Christmas in 1996 was the worst I've ever experienced. Five days before the holiday, I adopted the DeeOhGee from Greenhill.

New Year's eve was ok, but I didn't have anyone to kiss.

Thank you for indulging my reminiscening. More to follow.