Once upon a time - 36 years ago, to be exact, when Gov. Tom McCall signed a bill making Oregon the first state to decriminalize possession of small amounts of pot - our state was a forerunner in the fight for sensible marijuana policies. Since then we've fallen behind, but we may have a chance to play catch-up next year.
Kroger Takes a Stand Against Pot, Moderately
Posted inOpinion
Got It Backwards
Could someone please explain why if we, the people, want
more education we have to vote to raise our property taxes, but if we want to
vote for more "lock up your neighbor laws," those are funded out of the general
fund. Why can't we vote for "educate your neighbor" laws to be enacted out of
the general fund? I wonder if measure 57 would have passed if voters would have
had to agree to pay for those estimated 3.
Posted inOpinion
The Stain on Farrah’s Name
Mr. McMenaminuses, (Of course this is your "ghost-writer"
name.
Posted inOpinion
Don’t Ignore Honduras
Central America is a blind spot in America's consciousness,
a region that can hardly be thought to matter much in the face of economic
meltdown and two wars in the Middle East. But few regions have as direct an
impact on the USA as Central America does.
Posted inOpinion
Too Quick to Dismiss Facebook
Mr. Lockwood,
I just got done reading your article from this week on
Facebook.
Posted inCulture
A Peach at 40: A day at the Oregon Country Fair
Andre the Giant's basket weaving tutorial starts at noon. Twenty years ago, I attended my first Oregon Country Fair. It was a spontaneous adventure, unsanctioned by my parents, who believed me to be waterskiing. I've still never waterskied, but I've returned to the OCF numerous times over the past twenty years. I've escorted first-timers and have accompanied savvy fairsters, I've gone for multiple days and for just afternoons, have camped in some truly strange situations, and I have many memories - and some lost memories - from those past jaunts. This year was the 40th anniversary of the OCF and not a lot has changed.
It's true that you can wear whatever you want or as little as you want (best to paint those parts). Costumes, masks, and stilts abound. People-watching and shameless eavesdropping are de rigueur. This year, I saw a white-faced bozo-clown smack a loin-clothed, lovely and manly hippie-boy on his bare derriere. I saw whimsically painted pregnant bellies and naked parts I'd have preferred to have ignored. I love the loops of maze-like trails, the pockets of peacefulness along the stream, and the shady dragon-benches to take a respite from the shuffling, meandering masses, constant streams of dusty, compacted, variously scented fairsters searching for something special-a lantern, a massage, spiritual inspiration. Honestly, I was tempted to stop and talk to the shaman; what might he have advised?
Posted inOutside
Weak Wood Derby
We almost didn't tune into the Home Run Derby on Monday night because, well, ever since those stupid Congressmen almost made Mark McGwire cry on national TV, thus convincing everyone that steroids were somehow bad for baseball, what's the point?
But we did, however, watch the Derby - mainly because we wanted background for our pursuance of the argument that Ichiro would have beaten all of these jokers had he accepted the novelty-based invitation to compete. This was clearly a post-steroid Derby, as evidenced by the fact that Detroit's Brandon Inge didn't hit a single dinger and hometown favorite Albert Pujols (who looks pretty 'roidy, if you ask us) barely made it into the second round. The power outage was so blatantly boring at times that ESPN producers opted to show Prince Fielder's first-round, 11-homer performance on split screen while Chris Berman fumblruskied his way through a rambling interview with Pujols.
Posted inOutside
The Wreck of the Westy: My Volkswagen goes head-to-head with an elk
My VW "Westy," killed by an elk. That poor old busted VW "Westy" in the photo was a lovely old thing. It was built in 1984 by some pretty smart German engineers, it has a newly rebuilt engine in it, and only a little over 140,000 miles on the odometer, and now, according to Farmer's Insurance, it's dead after meeting up with a yearling elk.
After driving hundreds of thousands of (mostly) wildlife accident-free miles around Central Oregon for over 50 years, my luck changed. I killed a yearling elk, and here's the way it came about:
A week ago, my wife, Sue, and I were down at Lava Beds National Monument helping out in the first annual Butterfly Count. We finished the compilation about 7 p.m., and after a great chicken barbecue, decided to head for home – a four hours drive from Lava Beds. That meant that two-thirds of the trip would take place in crepuscular conditions, then darkness.
Perhaps the wreck wouldn't have happened if I had done what I always did when I was flying for a living and paid attention to the Federal Air Regulation that states, "The pilot in command of an aircraft is directly responsible for, and is the final authority as to, the operation of that aircraft." What that means is that the pilot (driver) shall make him or herself aware of all conditions that will affect that flight (trip). Had I done that, perhaps that yearling elk would still be alive, and so would my Westy.
Posted inOutside
Right Place, Right Time: The role of serendipity in running rivers and racing bikes
An umbrella drink vacation, Idaho style.When I got invited on a trip down the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, I had no idea how lucky I was. My friends had been trying for 12 years to score a permit. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Which, I've learned, is the secret to running rivers, racing bikes…and much of life.
MIDDLE FORK
The put-in for the 99-mile, six-day Middle Fork trip is at the Boundary Creek Campground in the River of No Return Wilderness in Idaho, about a nine-hour drive from Bend. Like water evaporating and returning to a river as snowmelt, sometimes people recirculate in our lives. At the put-in, I was reunited with my roommate from grad school in the '80s, Carol Cady, who now lives in Missoula. Carol was an Olympic discus thrower in '84 and '88 who went on to earn an M.D./PhD. Anything Carol decides to do, she excels at. She turned her focus to whitewater kayaking about 15 years ago, so I felt pretty good following her down the river.
Posted inCulture
Brilliantly Baffling: Japanese auteur delivers on the DS
Take the briefcase and run.I was clear-headed and sane when I arrived, driving Giggs my Toyota Celica and carrying my briefcase Catherine. But on Lospass Island, everything shifted towards the strange. The sun sat perpetually overhead, casting a never-dilating disc of shadow beneath my feet. Trees, lush and tropical from a distance, thinned into non-existence, then emerged obliquely as I passed. And the island itself looked as though a tiny digital image had been enlarged and laid upon the ground, the pixels assuming monstrous proportions, stretching into a blurred and bloated landscape that was only sensible if viewed from far above-say, from a jet plane moments before it exploded.
Every day concluded with that horrific bloom overhead-plumes of flame and a stain of smoke. I knew it was a disaster that I had been summoned to stop, but I couldn't even leave my hotel, the "Flower, Sun, and Rain," with guests blocking my way, insisting that I help them find things they had mislaid-briefcases, balls, cocktails, afro wigs. Only the girl in white didn't trouble me as she glided through my dreams trailing my trail after her pink crocodile Christina. And then the phone would ring, my coffee would arrive and the day would begin again until again it ended-BOOM-up in the bright turquoise sky.