Things are a little off again...

The new traffic lights being installed all over the city are doing strange things. The light on the far right at almost every intersection is a fraction of a second slower than the others. It's a little disconcerting. Is it just me? Is it some LED electrical synchronicity problem? Or is it something more ominous? Something more sinister? Is it a sign that the nine-dimensional, quantum string super-symmetry is out of whack? Is it a small glitch in the Matrix?

Is this just the beginning..?

Saturday, October 11, 1:30am... At Dante's I got word that a friend from the county medical examiner's office was trying to get a hold of me regarding a possible death of an employee. The only person who hadn't shown up for a couple days was Morgan. I immediately called his roommates and they confirmed the worst. Morgan had been found dead in his bedroom. Another heroin overdose.

Tuesday, October 21, 2:10am... "Frank, I'm gonna go to jail..." A message on my voicemail from Isaac, our friend in the wheelchair who guards "our" corner of Third and Burnside. He was audibly upset, and he said he was sorry and he'd see us in about three weeks. Something about his cell phone and how they don't want him in the "drug free" zone. He told me to let everyone know he loves them.

Tuesday October 21, 5:45am... Inside Plaid Pantry an old, slow-moving, gray-bearded guy walked in and started knocking the pastry displays over. Then he shuffled over and started knocking another display over. Then he just stood there while the clerks yelled at him and called 911. The customers, including myself, stood and watched. There was no sense of danger from the man. It was almost funny. Kind of sad. He just stood still in the middle of the floor with a blank look on his face. I finished buying my hot chocolate and newspaper with a picture of California Governor-Elect Arnold Schwarzenegger on the front page. As I left, stepping over and around the various donuts and maple bars scattered over the floor, I noticed the old guy had an open fanny pack with at least three empty prescription medicine bottles plainly sticking out of the top.

Tuesday, October 21, 3:37pm... It's 81 degrees. The humidity is 93%. That's all fine except it's almost fucking November. The jet stream is doing some strange things as well...

Tuesday, October 21, 11:30pm... Sitting at the bar at Magic Gardens, supporting "The Arts" by watching Viva Las Vegas perform onstage, I got a phone call from a friend in LA... Elliott Smith, one of Portland's most amazing gifts to the world of music, was found dead. To the people who knew him, the fact that he finally succeeded in killing himself came as no surprise. Elliott was known for his depression, his drug problems and his alcoholism, as well as his unequaled mixture of ingeniously simple and heartfelt writing and superbly sweet melancholy music. But what was surprising was the way he ended it. When we first found out, we all assumed it