The Real Portlandia. . .

. . .is a lovely giant statue that looms over the entrance of the Portland Building in downtown Portland. According to the Heritage Preservation Institute, oh hell, you can read it yourself.

So why "Scottley's Portlandia"? I like the name, for one. It evokes Sibelius' magicalificent "Finlandia". It goes well next to "Scottley". It is stately, promising, archaic and, best of all, wordplayish-- which my regular readers know is a soft spot of mine.

So I have moved to Portland. And in the process, I am making observations, discoveries and out-loud annoyed rambles that I intend to collect here.

I am well aware that much of what I will say has been said before-- indeed is probably being said right this moment by other eDave Eggers wannabes on their mactops in McMennamins all over town.

I am also mindful of the image of an internet cafe in Irkutsk, filled with backpackers, each posting notes and pics from their travels- the smelly, dark internet cafe- down a flight of narrow slippery stairs- manned by surly Russian cafemasters--- while above, in the light, the weather was beautiful and all was right in this bustley heart of Siberia. Suddenly, it all seemed like a big waste of time.

It's been three months since I blogged anything-- I was burnt out. Yet I feel like there's room- maybe only in my skull- hopefully, at least, amongst my friends and family- for another blog about life in Portland.

Speaking of which, I actually have no idea how many blogs there are about life in Portland. A quick google would probably show me just how retread this idea is.

Which is why I have no interest in making any effort whatsoever to find out just how retread this idea is. It's mine. That's good enough.