we were THIS close, i mean THIS close, to hopping on an airplane this weekend and going up to Portland. So close, but so far away. I woke up on Saturday morning to hear a message from the delightful Ms. Stacia saying that a friend of ours from way back was in Portland for the weekend looking for flats to rent and they were participating in much debauchery on account of such a splendid event. THIS close. But work once more got in the way. So now I am desperate to get up to Portland as soon as possible for some much-needed reunions, visitations, pilgrimages to Powell's Books. Still, it pointed to a growing trend among friends of mine, that is, the mass exodus to the free state of Cascadia, nestled in among the winding PDX steets. It seems every day that more friends I know, from vastly different groups of friends. One of my old roommates in Hawaii has relocated to the City of Dreams, along with a friend who used to live on our couch. Not to mention the huge flock of people form Eugene who've transplanted themselves further up the Willamette. Now friends from way back are finding their way to the Rose City. Portland, the Seattle of the 21st century. If only it would avoid raining for six months out of the year, I would be there in an instant. I am made for warmer climes these days.

In other news, Wilco kicks much ass. Bill Fay is possibly the greatest musician that you have never heard of. Moby has sold his talent to the devil for his one-time mainstream breakthrough on 1999's Play, and it shows so clearly on his newest album "Hotel." Ted Leo and the Pharmacists will rock your world. And I don't know what is up with these musical collectives such as "the Go Team" or "Animal Collective," but I like their style.