Everyone needs to see this:

"DELAND, Fla., Nov. 11 - Something very strange happened on election night to Deborah Tannenbaum, a Democratic Party official in Volusia County. At 10 p.m., she called the county elections department and learned that Al Gore was leading George W. Bush 83,000 votes to 62,000. But when she checked the county's Web site for an update half an hour later, she found a startling development: Gore's count had dropped by 16,000 votes, while an obscure Socialist candidate had picked up 10,000--all because of a single precinct with only 600 voters."

Halloween is in seven nights, so I thought I'd count down with seven scary movies. We just finished watching tonight's feature, The Sixth Sense. The rest of the list:

Stir of Echoes
Stigmata
Ghostbuster (hey, gotta have comic relief)
The Ring
The Amityville Horror (more comic relief)
Fallen
Dominique

I had to narrow down the list from about 30 scary movies I pulled out of the collection. I love this time of year.

The view of our balcony from the street:

I am dissatisfied with the state of online haunts. What I want are some nice, creepy flash adventures. How hard can that be?

Well, here's what I did find.

• Silly haunted mansion the first
  
• Silly haunted mansion the second
  
• Do yer dance with the devil, do yer hoochie coo
  
• Christopher Radko's haunted house
  
• Reg Tait's Haunted Biscuit

Went wandering down First Avenue today, taking pictures of old buildings. Of course we had to stop at Saturday Market and take in the ambiance. Click on the thumbnails for big pics:

I keep a restaurant blog just so Bill and I can keep track of our culinary adventures around the area. I thought this one was worth reposting here:

Appetizer: Vegetable dumplings, steamed
Bill: Ma po tofu
Kitty: Sweet and sour pork
Veggie fried rice for both
Cost: would have been about $30

Uh, no.

The decor is pretty, though a bit overdone. The waiters, though green, are attentive. But the food.

There really was nothing wrong with the dumplings. I'm allergic to large amounts of ginger (and it tastes awful to me), so I passed, but Bill enjoyed them very much. Not so with the tofu, which was too salty and had little to counteract that taste. The S&S was very fatty, and grossed me out after a few pieces. The fried rice had a smoked flavor added, and was also very greasy.

And then it hit me.

Well, he hit me. I was getting ready to pay the bill, when one of the waiters swung an empty tray and connected quite solidly my skull, just behind my left ear. I almost went down, and I'm ashamed to say I was a bit cranky with the waiter (who felt awful--I don't really blame him). We got our meal for free, but boy howdy, we are so never going back.

Waiter: I'm so sorry, is there anything I can do?
Kitty: Don't hit me again. And go away.

I recovered my manners soon after, but I still feel kinda bad about the "go away". I have a nice sore spot on the back of my head today.

Also, I'm beginning to wonder if Bill and I just don't like Chinese food. We can't seem to find a place downtown that we really like. We used to order delivery from Ming's, but we made the mistake of actually eating at the restaurant once, and it put us off. I dunno, maybe it's us.

Every Portlander knows that Hawthorne Boulevard is a fun place to hang out, and that the Hawthorne Bridge is lovely and pedestrian friendly. But do they know anything about James C. Hawthorne, after whom these things were named?

Hawthorne is a true hero, not only of Oregon history, but of America's psychiatric history.

In the 1850s, when a mentally ill person was discovered, they were rounded up, judged insane or not by a jury, and remanded to the care of an individual. The patient's belongings were sold to help pay for care, and the rest of the burden was shared between the county or State, and the caretaker. Contracts for care were renegotiated yearly. It was an extremely burdensome process, no good for either caretakers or patients, and caused endless tugs-of-war between the counties and the State for funding.

In 1861, Dr. James C. Hawthorne put in the only bid for the care of the mentally ill, and won the contract easily. He founded his Oregon Insane Hospital in temporary quarters on SW Taylor between 1st and 2nd, moving later to a permanent home at what is now 12th and Hawthorne. The street was called Asylum Avenue at the time.

Hawthorne ran his hospital with caring and diligence, earning high marks from even the critical Dorothea Dix, a pioneer of psychiatric care. Hawthorne was endlessly scrutinized by the State, as his hospital was expensive to run--at one time taking half the State budget! Nonetheless, he was always able to show a good cure rate, which he attributed to the excellent location (at the time, it was a wooded setting on the edge of town) and conscientious care. Often, when patients were well enough to leave but had families far away, Hawthorne would pay for their transportation back home out of his own pocket, so they didn't just end up on the streets of Portland--and often back in his care because of it.

He also paid personally for the burial of 132 of his patients at Lone Fir, Portland's first cemetery. Hawthorne himself died in 1881, and is buried in the same section as his patients.

Sources:
A History of Psychiatry in Portland
A Self-Guided Tour of Lone Fir Cemetery
Oregon Public Library Online History Project
Oregon Department of Human Services

Seven towering policemen filed into the elevator behind me.

First policeman: You've got to stop dating my wife. I've got you in this elevator, there's nowhere you can run!

Second policeman: That was your wife? Yow.

Third policeman: You can keep seeing my wife. I don't mind.

I've had a bee in my bonnet about Portland history lately. I have many questions and ideas, but the first thing I wanted to address was why was the police force replaced twice in the space of of two years?

I suspected an interesting story, and I was right. It revolves around then-Mayor Sylvester Pennoyer, aka "Silpester Annoyer." He'd already been governor for two terms--you'd think we'd learn. But no. This charismatic rapscallion became Mayor at the age of 65, and per his usual M.O., he was iconoclastic, eccentric, loud, and brooked no dissent.

Pennoyer was Mayor during the presidential election year of 1896. McKinley stumped for the republicans (and found considerable favor with The Oregonian), and Bryan was the Dem, and in deep cahoots with the Populist party. The election was about coinage. Bryan was campaigning for "free coinage", meaning he wanted to take us off the gold standard of the time. To paraphrase a contemporary editorial: "We now have a 200-cent dollar. Under Bryan's plan, it will be a 100-cent dollar--half the value! Is there any question about this math?"

Silpester was a Bryan man, and wanted everyone within his reach to vote the same way. Members of both the police and fire departments were threatened with firing if they did not become "bryanized". Indeed, that's exactly what happened--those who were intent on voting for McKinley were sacked, and replaced with firefighters and patrolmen of questionable competence.

I'm still in the middle of the saga, and need a bit more time with the microfiche. There are still gaps to be filled--did Mayor Mason put the old police force back in? What happened to Pennoyer? What happened to everyone after McKinley won the election?

This, and the Kenealy murder, are on my list.

Related, Bix! shares my interest in history, and has some great entries. Also, for an engaging overview, I've just started Jewel Lansing's Portland: People, Politics, and Power, 1851-2001.

Dear California,

You're my hero.

It seemed that the bullies would never stop. They said I was full of halfwits. That I was corrupt. I was even called the "armpit" of the country. I know words shouldn't hurt me, but they do. Thank you for stepping up to the plate. It's courageous of you to take on the laughingstock mantle. You'll always have my admiration and gratitude.

Your friend,

Florida

A belated First Thursday post. I took Bill to his first FT. I hadn't been in about two years myself. Things have changed. Last time I went, you kind of followed a mid-sized pack from gallery to gallery. With the development of the Pearl District, there really is no pack, just packed. Wall to wall people--people in galleries, people at sidewalk cafes, people everywhere. I loved it. I know there are a lot of naysayers regarding this neighborhood--I used to be one of them. But now, I just shaddup. I do hope more diversity moves in eventually, but that's my only complaint. This has become an amazing, vibrant place.

Okay, enough of that. We hit a handful of galleries, and this is what we saw and heard (disclaimer: I am not even in the same galaxy as an art critic, this is just how I feel about things):

At Soundvision, we saw TJ Noriss's final installation: Genometrics. When I think of art made organic, I think of things that are, well, disgusting yet beautiful. Think Cronenberg. This is why Norris surprised me by creating organic images and shapes that were, at the same time, pristine and simple. I enjoyed the visuals, and I loved the soundtrack. Down a few stairs from the installation was a flyer saying the music was available, and almost as soon as we started hunting for a source, Norris came up the stairs with a stack of CDs.

We chatted for a while about the installation, and Norris's experience with Asmus Tietchens, who contributed to the soundtrack. To our dismay, this is the last installation at Soundvision. Just when we found it, lack of funding ruins everything.

Next we went to Backspace. Chris had mentioned a graffiti show and we were looking forward to it, but instead, it's comic book art. I know it's unhip of me, but I failed to be captivated by walls full of black and white pages. I can appreciate the skill, it just doesn't float my boat.

Just around the corner is Butters, where we braved the upper crust to take in some beautiful work by Ted Katz and Richard Martinez. Katz does geometric abstracts with large, simple shapes, rich colors, and just a hint of realism. You generally know what he's trying to express before looking at the title, which is no mean feat. I was also keen on Martinez, who is more playful, shaping the canvas to an almost flowery whim. The atmosphere at Butters is always a little tiring though--all social, very little thought for what's on the walls.

We wandered through this and that, landing in Mark Woolley Gallery. There was a large piece in front called "Persistent Garden". Damned if I can remember the artist. It was mostly black, but through the murk you could just see waterlilies and koi--it was like trying to see a garden at night. The goth in me loved it. The main event here was Tom Cramer, and I would almost say don't bother with photos. These are impossible to capture. Cramer takes a slab of wood, carves it with veins and geometries, then gilds and/or paints it. The result is something unique. On first viewing, Bill and I were both enchanted with many of the pieces. The enchantment faded when we went back a few days later, but still, these are remarkable artworks, and must be seen to be appreciated.

Our last stop was at a giclée shop, where we fell utterly in love with the work of Robert Cook. We lusted and drooled, but in the end, we are notnotnot paying $2,500 for a print, no matter how good it is. I mean yeesh, these weren't even a numbered series. We hunted down his website, and will eventually get an original.

We then crawled home and collapsed.

I did not realize that I suck at the job of being an Eels fan. I have only two albums out of, er, a lot. Now that I know it, I shall try to do better.

But that's not what I'm here to talk about. I'm here to talk about the planets. Uncle E would gladly give them interesting names. Or mostly interesting names. I like Puddin'.

Via Kaf.

I'm a bad person. I didn't tell you about Backspace's showing of Troy Klebey's work until it was too late. Now you'll have to look for him elsewhere.

I was admiring the "prints of Klebey's lovely abstracts" when Bill pointed out to me that they were, in fact, photographs of walls. "Look, there's a crack in that one." My eyes got big.

Klebey, who seems to be making a career of wall studies, went several steps further than the photos in the link--literally. His close-ups of the multi-layered wallspaces we see every day give them life as art--unintentional on the occasion of its first creation, then elevated through the photograph. It is work I want badly to own.

So, I'm sorry for not speaking up sooner. If I spot him again, I promise to post right away.

For most of my life, I had shitty birthdays. I'm not saying I didn't get what I wanted, or that other people were bad to me (well, okay--except that one time when my dad forgot. Bastard.). Quite the opposite. For some reason, I would get all depressed--yet try to go out anyway--resulting in some social disaster that left me wishing I never had the original birthday to begin with.

Bill knew this when he married me. He enacted a Make A Fuss of Kitty act, in an attempt to get me through my birthdays unharmed. So far, it's worked. I've had the best birthdays the for the last two years (the current day being still in progress), and I wanted to post a public thanks to the man responsible:

Bill, I love you. Thanks.

And happy birfday to me!