March 10, 2014
long live portlandia, part i
For those of you who haven't bothered to investigate about every little detail about me---I live in Portland, Oregon, USA. In the last few years, my city has become....let's say "notorious".... because of the IFC series, Portlandia. We are portrayed as hyper-environmentally aware, hyper-socially conscious, hyper-crazy-mindful about every aspect of living in "harmony" with this world. And of course: hyper-ridiculous.
Some of these things are exaggerated and, unfortunately, some of them are not. I myself recently was telling a friend of mine about an expereince I had in a local shop and she, a Marylander, said, "God--that sounds like some sort of Portlandia sketch."
I realized she was right. So, here it is, in all it's non-exaggerated glory:
Some of these things are exaggerated and, unfortunately, some of them are not. I myself recently was telling a friend of mine about an expereince I had in a local shop and she, a Marylander, said, "God--that sounds like some sort of Portlandia sketch."
I realized she was right. So, here it is, in all it's non-exaggerated glory:
My Trip to The Rock Shop
The title itself should inform you of my first mistake: going to a shop that sells rocks and crystals. However, I must immediately point out that I had a very valid* reason for going there. It was the Winter holiday season, and I wanted to get my son some bona fide hunks of rocks, minerals and gems. Not only is he a massive Minecraft fan he is also an appreciator of All Things Real. I figured he would really love a real piece of iron and a piece of Lapis Lazuli, etc. I knew I was going to have to fudge the whole diamond and emerald thing--but really--who cares? The joy in a child's heart is all that matters...
So, I go to a shop whose name I WISH I could in good conscience reveal, but I am not actually trying to hurt anybody's feelings or reputation. But let me say, based on the NAME of the shop it would be silly indeed if I feigned surprise at my experience there. Like a lot of the shops they've created for Portlandia, the show--you just can't help but wonder "What did they expect going into a store called "Artisan Knot Shop"?
But motherhood has its challenges--and I will walk through fire for my child. Or a rock shop--whichever.
Before I tell you my experience, which spans three, that's right, three visits--let me make this clear: I am not really interested in challenging anybody's belief system. If it works for you--and you are causing no real harm in its practice--great--I am all for it. Rocks, crystals, gems, what-have -you--I love that stuff in terms of aesthetics. I used to go rock hunting, often, with my dog on the Washougal River--a wondrously colorful and stratified area of geography. I love beautiful gems around my neck or wrists--I love sparkly things. My birthstone is Amethyst and I have jars of them, including a gigantic crystal formation given to me by a person very dear to my heart. It sits on my dresser in my room and I dust it dutifully and admire it often. I also believe that everything has some sort of inherent energy or vibratory level that gives it a unique signature in this world. That whole belief systems are structured around rock formations or geological wonders does not surprise me in the least. I easy marvel at the natural beauty of this world.
However. I have a limit. I do not actually PERSONALLY subscribe to some sort of "crystal philosophy" and I have yet to have an outstanding crystal healing experience. But--to each their own--no harm done and I go, innocently, naively, into the Rock Shop.
Besides the smell (overwhelming incense) it is kind of cool---there are rocks and crystals and gems everywhere. There are a lot of things to read--pasted on the walls, standing in frames or taped to surfaces--not all of the info actually relates to rocks and gems directly...but I suppose one could draw a connection between any two things in this universe of ours. I wish I could remember some of the signs verbatim but I do not have that type of memory these days. Let's just say the information was both informative (technically) and interesting (philosophically) and intimidating (use of warnings). I should have just left.
I need to comment more clearly on the environment.
Outside: freezing cold--not typical for Portland. So, I am wearing layers of clothing along with a heavy scarf, hat and faux-fur-lined boots.
Inside: A thousand degrees, heavily perfumed air---heav-i-ly---smelling of Nag Champa all within a pretty small-by-anybody's-standards space--cluttered and crowded and contained.
I start rock hunting. I have a list in my head:
This is going to be AWESOME. My son is going to freak out. Right away I find a giant hunk of real iron ore and I get all excited. As I move slowly and carefully around the shop, I start peeling winter layers off--I would rather not take my hat off because my hair is all freaked out but very quickly vanity loses out. So now I have a book bag, a hat, a scarf and my heavy coat in tow along with my iron ore and something I have just designated as "redstone". There is nowhere to go or turn without bumping into something so I figure I should get out of there sooner rather than later which means only one thing: I have to ask for help finding what I need.
I shuffle over towards the center of room. There is a kind of donut-constructed shaped "glass case island" of sorts there in the sea of rocks and in the center of the donut hole is a small space and a tall man presiding over his shop. He is helping someone--the only other customer in there besides me. I rest my rocks on the glass counter and overhear their conversation--it would have been impossible not to. The woman is making...what the hell was she making?....some sort of healing....dream...rock.....pillows....or pouches? Essentially, she had a large tray in front of her, and on the tray were dividers and she was assembling different collections of crystals and rocks which she was then going to put into these special cloth pouches. Then, she was going to give these as gifts to her friends who, if they knew what to do, would keep the pouches of rocks under their pillow at night while they slept. What she needed assistance with was some healing specifics she wasn't sure about.
I listened and watched (and sweated) as he carefully explained that the gem she had picked wasn't good for asthma specifically, but breathing in general and if she wanted to address asthma she should look at this mineral this instead. They went over each and every selection confirming or refuting the helpfulness of each choice. She was going to cure the whole fucking world with bags of rocks, apparently. Peace of mind, self-love, arthritis, allergies, self-esteem, abundance, obstacle removal, foot problems, dry skin, weak fingernails, fertility, generosity....and on and on. Part of me wanted to be impressed: Right on! Sign me up! Put me down for a whole bunch of those bags! Let's get this sucker on the road! But the other, larger part of me, saw a woman with a large tray of rocks and a whole lot of hope. I decided to not yet hoard minerals in my bed.
Well, fuck--this was taking forever. I decided to push on. I couldn't put my stuff anywhere and I really wanted to leave but I also really wanted to get this present for my son--and I figured I would NEVER come back if I left now. I managed to find a few more things, Lapis Lazuli (expensive!!) and these things in a case that looked exactly like Minecraft diamonds after they were mined--round and floaty. The excitement of these finds was enough to renew my commitment stay in the Rock Shop.
Finally, Rock Bag Lady left and the man inside the glass island turned to help me. Please, understand--the physical environment of this shop played such a large part in my experience. If I haven't conveyed "Cluttered" yet, I must do so again--including all the stuff hanging down from the ceiling. You see, there was a whole GIANT floating ring of necklaces hovering above the glass case island thing. As a result, it was kind of hard to see into the center of the glass-case-donut to where the tall man was. So, I hadn't observed him very closely until he turned his attention my way.
"Can I help you with something?" he asked kindly.
I turned toward him, smiling, "Yes, Plea--"
I faltered. "Yes, Please."
What had happened to this guy's face? It was all splotchy and shiny and covered in really pronounced acne or boils or something. I used all of my emotional energy to look him in the eye.
"I. am. looking. for. some. specific. minerals. --For my son for Christmas. He's a fan of Minecraft." Don't stare at his forehead, don't stare at his forehead, don't stare at his forehead....
His forehead seemed to be glowing with some preternatural red glow---poor guy. Concentrate, Gillian, concentrate.
"I am really interested in things that look like diamonds or emeralds or gold--but of course are not diamonds or emeralds or gold. Ha. Ha..."
I was making light of my lack of ability to purchase such expensive items, but this man, while kind, did not seem so quick to laugh about his rocks.
I pressed on, "I figured I'd just tell him they are whatever they're supossed to be--it is not like he's going to know the difference. Ha. Ha..."
Now this admission, that I was planning on lying to my son about the rocks, caused a certain kind of pause in the man--the kind of pause where you are trying to determine if the milk has gone bad or not.
Had I gone bad?
Picking up on this I started quickly back peddling, "Not that I NEED to lie--I mean all the rocks are so NICE just the way they are--it's not like I have to PRETEND they're something they're not. I'll just lable them as diamonds and stuff and then LATER I'll tell him what they really are. In FACT, you'd better make sure I have all the propers NAMES--so we can talk about how wonderful they are. For reals."
I paused. "I love rocks," I added lamely.
He took me around the shop showing me what I wanted to see--things that looked like "diamonds" or looked like "emeralds" all the while extolling the virtues of the mineral in its own right. A couple of times I would point something out and he would get a grave look on his face and shake his head as if to say: "I will NOT let you bastardize THAT one." He would explain certain qualities or enchantments or whatever dismissively as though any sane mother would never give such a thing to her child. I just went with it.
I continued, for some reason, to try and surreptitiously convince this man that I was not the enemy! That I respected his rocks very much! He wouldn't have to worry about these rocks--no siree--they were going to a good home. A home where eventually their names would be known...
Finally, I had amassed a small pile of potentials when another customer came in looking for a silver necklace chain. The shiny red-faced man excused himself while I rifled through my pile. The only thing throwing off the whole budget was the Lapis Lazuli. Almost 50% of the cost was going toward this blue mineral--plus it was "shaped"--it appeared that Lapis in the rough was not as common. I put it back.
While I continued to make decisions, I overheard yet another illuminating conversation: the relevance of the length of the chain suspending your crystal around your neck. I suppose it makes sense that it will "do" different things according to what body part to which it is in closest proximity. This guy HAD been wearing his necklace at THIS length and wanted to discuss what would happen if he wore his necklace at THIS length.
Suddenly and swiftly my attention was shifted away from this conversation to the fact that I WAS SO FUCKING HOT AND OVERWHELMED WITH INCENSE THAT I WAS GOING TO DIE, RIGHT HERE, ON THE VERY CLUTTERED AND VERY LIMITED ROCK SHOP FLOOR. Without ceremony, I dropped everything I was holding on the carpet (not any rocks), which, since there was no room, I simply surrounded myself with a pile of woolen winter clothes --not improving my situation at all. My feet! My feet were on fire! Looking around me and the sheer amount of space I was occupying, I didn't have a lot of options. I probably should have stepped outside and just taken a moment to recover. I felt weird, however, about leaving such a mass of evidence behind. So I did what any normal person would have done in this situation: I took off ONE boot. Now, why I thought removing one boot made any sense at all, I still have no idea. I do know it is likely I reckoned taking off TWO boots, and thus ALL of the boots, might look weird. So, logically, removing one should only look HALF as weird. What I wasn't counting on was the fact that I decided to stand on on foot, raising the freed foot up and out of the pile of woolen winter clothing heaviness. This, I think, did not look so "normal." By the time the customer had determined what length of chain with which he was going to cure his fucking cancer and both men turned toward me posing like a stork with one boot off, flushed with heat and toxins, hair everywhere. I croaked out, with as much grace as possible: "I'm ready to check out, please."
The poxed man crossed the two foot expanse of his glass donut hole and smiled kindly, "Of course, would you like boxes for these?" (Nothing throws these Crystal-People off--especially if they are surrounded by crystals)
I stared at him and his glowing face boils and thought, Isn't there some fucking crystal you can rub on your fucking face and be done with it? I answered, "That would be wonderful, thank you."
I don't know if he suddenly changed his mind about wanting me gone as much as I wanted to be gone, but he decided to start packing each of my purchases in tissue, finding the perfect box under the counter, putting the rock in the box, getting a pen and very carefully writing the proper name of each mineral/crystal/rock on the bottom of each box while giving me a very kind and unwanted speech about each one and how amazing these naturally occurring wonders were in there own right, and that telling my son they were something that they were not might not be necessary, and there was so much each rock had to offer, blah blah blah. I only say blah blah blah because at this point I felt like I was going to barf all over the place. I am probably agreeing with everything he says just to get him to stop talking. A bonus factor is that the man with his single silver chain is also ready to go, but apparently I am going to be attended to first, which is great because I want to leave, but not great because I have like 12 rocks each "in need" of wrapping, placing, labeling, documenting twice (once of a hand written receipt for me and once on a hand written inventory sheet for him) and off course explained. I so badly want to say, "Please, help this guy first." but the words won't come out of my mouth. The fact is, I am dying. I am not going to make it out of here alive. I probably have the pox. I can feel the boils forcing their shiny red heads out of my face as I stand there. By the time everything is wrapped in small individual boxes and then wrapped again in a larger box to hold the smaller boxes and the diseased man has told me how much each rock cost, how much of a holiday discount I was receiving on each one, and how much my total came to, I am just starting to hallucinate.
No, wait I am not hallucinating; I am actually IN a Rock Shop.
I paid and left. I stood outside--my arms overflowing with coat and scarf and sweater and hat and box of rocks--in my shirt sleeves and breathed in the cool, un-incensed, un-poxed air. I figured I would never return.
I should just stop figuring things.
*Are there degrees of validity? Can something be somewhat valid or very valid? I will investigate.
So, I go to a shop whose name I WISH I could in good conscience reveal, but I am not actually trying to hurt anybody's feelings or reputation. But let me say, based on the NAME of the shop it would be silly indeed if I feigned surprise at my experience there. Like a lot of the shops they've created for Portlandia, the show--you just can't help but wonder "What did they expect going into a store called "Artisan Knot Shop"?
But motherhood has its challenges--and I will walk through fire for my child. Or a rock shop--whichever.
Before I tell you my experience, which spans three, that's right, three visits--let me make this clear: I am not really interested in challenging anybody's belief system. If it works for you--and you are causing no real harm in its practice--great--I am all for it. Rocks, crystals, gems, what-have -you--I love that stuff in terms of aesthetics. I used to go rock hunting, often, with my dog on the Washougal River--a wondrously colorful and stratified area of geography. I love beautiful gems around my neck or wrists--I love sparkly things. My birthstone is Amethyst and I have jars of them, including a gigantic crystal formation given to me by a person very dear to my heart. It sits on my dresser in my room and I dust it dutifully and admire it often. I also believe that everything has some sort of inherent energy or vibratory level that gives it a unique signature in this world. That whole belief systems are structured around rock formations or geological wonders does not surprise me in the least. I easy marvel at the natural beauty of this world.
However. I have a limit. I do not actually PERSONALLY subscribe to some sort of "crystal philosophy" and I have yet to have an outstanding crystal healing experience. But--to each their own--no harm done and I go, innocently, naively, into the Rock Shop.
Besides the smell (overwhelming incense) it is kind of cool---there are rocks and crystals and gems everywhere. There are a lot of things to read--pasted on the walls, standing in frames or taped to surfaces--not all of the info actually relates to rocks and gems directly...but I suppose one could draw a connection between any two things in this universe of ours. I wish I could remember some of the signs verbatim but I do not have that type of memory these days. Let's just say the information was both informative (technically) and interesting (philosophically) and intimidating (use of warnings). I should have just left.
I need to comment more clearly on the environment.
Outside: freezing cold--not typical for Portland. So, I am wearing layers of clothing along with a heavy scarf, hat and faux-fur-lined boots.
Inside: A thousand degrees, heavily perfumed air---heav-i-ly---smelling of Nag Champa all within a pretty small-by-anybody's-standards space--cluttered and crowded and contained.
I start rock hunting. I have a list in my head:
- diamonds
- iron
- gold
- coal
- emeralds
- redstone
- lapis lazuli
This is going to be AWESOME. My son is going to freak out. Right away I find a giant hunk of real iron ore and I get all excited. As I move slowly and carefully around the shop, I start peeling winter layers off--I would rather not take my hat off because my hair is all freaked out but very quickly vanity loses out. So now I have a book bag, a hat, a scarf and my heavy coat in tow along with my iron ore and something I have just designated as "redstone". There is nowhere to go or turn without bumping into something so I figure I should get out of there sooner rather than later which means only one thing: I have to ask for help finding what I need.
I shuffle over towards the center of room. There is a kind of donut-constructed shaped "glass case island" of sorts there in the sea of rocks and in the center of the donut hole is a small space and a tall man presiding over his shop. He is helping someone--the only other customer in there besides me. I rest my rocks on the glass counter and overhear their conversation--it would have been impossible not to. The woman is making...what the hell was she making?....some sort of healing....dream...rock.....pillows....or pouches? Essentially, she had a large tray in front of her, and on the tray were dividers and she was assembling different collections of crystals and rocks which she was then going to put into these special cloth pouches. Then, she was going to give these as gifts to her friends who, if they knew what to do, would keep the pouches of rocks under their pillow at night while they slept. What she needed assistance with was some healing specifics she wasn't sure about.
I listened and watched (and sweated) as he carefully explained that the gem she had picked wasn't good for asthma specifically, but breathing in general and if she wanted to address asthma she should look at this mineral this instead. They went over each and every selection confirming or refuting the helpfulness of each choice. She was going to cure the whole fucking world with bags of rocks, apparently. Peace of mind, self-love, arthritis, allergies, self-esteem, abundance, obstacle removal, foot problems, dry skin, weak fingernails, fertility, generosity....and on and on. Part of me wanted to be impressed: Right on! Sign me up! Put me down for a whole bunch of those bags! Let's get this sucker on the road! But the other, larger part of me, saw a woman with a large tray of rocks and a whole lot of hope. I decided to not yet hoard minerals in my bed.
Well, fuck--this was taking forever. I decided to push on. I couldn't put my stuff anywhere and I really wanted to leave but I also really wanted to get this present for my son--and I figured I would NEVER come back if I left now. I managed to find a few more things, Lapis Lazuli (expensive!!) and these things in a case that looked exactly like Minecraft diamonds after they were mined--round and floaty. The excitement of these finds was enough to renew my commitment stay in the Rock Shop.
Finally, Rock Bag Lady left and the man inside the glass island turned to help me. Please, understand--the physical environment of this shop played such a large part in my experience. If I haven't conveyed "Cluttered" yet, I must do so again--including all the stuff hanging down from the ceiling. You see, there was a whole GIANT floating ring of necklaces hovering above the glass case island thing. As a result, it was kind of hard to see into the center of the glass-case-donut to where the tall man was. So, I hadn't observed him very closely until he turned his attention my way.
"Can I help you with something?" he asked kindly.
I turned toward him, smiling, "Yes, Plea--"
I faltered. "Yes, Please."
What had happened to this guy's face? It was all splotchy and shiny and covered in really pronounced acne or boils or something. I used all of my emotional energy to look him in the eye.
"I. am. looking. for. some. specific. minerals. --For my son for Christmas. He's a fan of Minecraft." Don't stare at his forehead, don't stare at his forehead, don't stare at his forehead....
His forehead seemed to be glowing with some preternatural red glow---poor guy. Concentrate, Gillian, concentrate.
"I am really interested in things that look like diamonds or emeralds or gold--but of course are not diamonds or emeralds or gold. Ha. Ha..."
I was making light of my lack of ability to purchase such expensive items, but this man, while kind, did not seem so quick to laugh about his rocks.
I pressed on, "I figured I'd just tell him they are whatever they're supossed to be--it is not like he's going to know the difference. Ha. Ha..."
Now this admission, that I was planning on lying to my son about the rocks, caused a certain kind of pause in the man--the kind of pause where you are trying to determine if the milk has gone bad or not.
Had I gone bad?
Picking up on this I started quickly back peddling, "Not that I NEED to lie--I mean all the rocks are so NICE just the way they are--it's not like I have to PRETEND they're something they're not. I'll just lable them as diamonds and stuff and then LATER I'll tell him what they really are. In FACT, you'd better make sure I have all the propers NAMES--so we can talk about how wonderful they are. For reals."
I paused. "I love rocks," I added lamely.
He took me around the shop showing me what I wanted to see--things that looked like "diamonds" or looked like "emeralds" all the while extolling the virtues of the mineral in its own right. A couple of times I would point something out and he would get a grave look on his face and shake his head as if to say: "I will NOT let you bastardize THAT one." He would explain certain qualities or enchantments or whatever dismissively as though any sane mother would never give such a thing to her child. I just went with it.
I continued, for some reason, to try and surreptitiously convince this man that I was not the enemy! That I respected his rocks very much! He wouldn't have to worry about these rocks--no siree--they were going to a good home. A home where eventually their names would be known...
Finally, I had amassed a small pile of potentials when another customer came in looking for a silver necklace chain. The shiny red-faced man excused himself while I rifled through my pile. The only thing throwing off the whole budget was the Lapis Lazuli. Almost 50% of the cost was going toward this blue mineral--plus it was "shaped"--it appeared that Lapis in the rough was not as common. I put it back.
While I continued to make decisions, I overheard yet another illuminating conversation: the relevance of the length of the chain suspending your crystal around your neck. I suppose it makes sense that it will "do" different things according to what body part to which it is in closest proximity. This guy HAD been wearing his necklace at THIS length and wanted to discuss what would happen if he wore his necklace at THIS length.
Suddenly and swiftly my attention was shifted away from this conversation to the fact that I WAS SO FUCKING HOT AND OVERWHELMED WITH INCENSE THAT I WAS GOING TO DIE, RIGHT HERE, ON THE VERY CLUTTERED AND VERY LIMITED ROCK SHOP FLOOR. Without ceremony, I dropped everything I was holding on the carpet (not any rocks), which, since there was no room, I simply surrounded myself with a pile of woolen winter clothes --not improving my situation at all. My feet! My feet were on fire! Looking around me and the sheer amount of space I was occupying, I didn't have a lot of options. I probably should have stepped outside and just taken a moment to recover. I felt weird, however, about leaving such a mass of evidence behind. So I did what any normal person would have done in this situation: I took off ONE boot. Now, why I thought removing one boot made any sense at all, I still have no idea. I do know it is likely I reckoned taking off TWO boots, and thus ALL of the boots, might look weird. So, logically, removing one should only look HALF as weird. What I wasn't counting on was the fact that I decided to stand on on foot, raising the freed foot up and out of the pile of woolen winter clothing heaviness. This, I think, did not look so "normal." By the time the customer had determined what length of chain with which he was going to cure his fucking cancer and both men turned toward me posing like a stork with one boot off, flushed with heat and toxins, hair everywhere. I croaked out, with as much grace as possible: "I'm ready to check out, please."
The poxed man crossed the two foot expanse of his glass donut hole and smiled kindly, "Of course, would you like boxes for these?" (Nothing throws these Crystal-People off--especially if they are surrounded by crystals)
I stared at him and his glowing face boils and thought, Isn't there some fucking crystal you can rub on your fucking face and be done with it? I answered, "That would be wonderful, thank you."
I don't know if he suddenly changed his mind about wanting me gone as much as I wanted to be gone, but he decided to start packing each of my purchases in tissue, finding the perfect box under the counter, putting the rock in the box, getting a pen and very carefully writing the proper name of each mineral/crystal/rock on the bottom of each box while giving me a very kind and unwanted speech about each one and how amazing these naturally occurring wonders were in there own right, and that telling my son they were something that they were not might not be necessary, and there was so much each rock had to offer, blah blah blah. I only say blah blah blah because at this point I felt like I was going to barf all over the place. I am probably agreeing with everything he says just to get him to stop talking. A bonus factor is that the man with his single silver chain is also ready to go, but apparently I am going to be attended to first, which is great because I want to leave, but not great because I have like 12 rocks each "in need" of wrapping, placing, labeling, documenting twice (once of a hand written receipt for me and once on a hand written inventory sheet for him) and off course explained. I so badly want to say, "Please, help this guy first." but the words won't come out of my mouth. The fact is, I am dying. I am not going to make it out of here alive. I probably have the pox. I can feel the boils forcing their shiny red heads out of my face as I stand there. By the time everything is wrapped in small individual boxes and then wrapped again in a larger box to hold the smaller boxes and the diseased man has told me how much each rock cost, how much of a holiday discount I was receiving on each one, and how much my total came to, I am just starting to hallucinate.
No, wait I am not hallucinating; I am actually IN a Rock Shop.
I paid and left. I stood outside--my arms overflowing with coat and scarf and sweater and hat and box of rocks--in my shirt sleeves and breathed in the cool, un-incensed, un-poxed air. I figured I would never return.
I should just stop figuring things.
*Are there degrees of validity? Can something be somewhat valid or very valid? I will investigate.
