February update.

I feel like the second half of January and the first half of February happened so fast. 

What is time?

What have I been up to?

I took a little break from Writer's Forum.

I've been reading quite a lot (as the library in Portland is phenomenal).

I started a second babysitting job.

I cat-sat some more.

I've consumed a lot of coffee.

I've been writing.

I've been making YouTube videos.

I went to St. Honoré on Division with Emily and we had a delicious French feast for lunch.

I've been missing Europe.

I've been drinking.

I've been hanging out with friends.

We've had some good life/philosophic/travel-related chats.

I've been Instagraming.

I've been hanging out with Sunny, Emily's dog.

We have gone on several walks.

I used the dog-treat bowl at my bank.

#banklocal

And that pretty much brings us up to date.

Oh, and I've been copy-editing as well.

I'm turning 24 in 9 days.

Ew.

A Year of Listening: Audiobooks I Consumed in 2015

I drafted an outline on this topic for a YouTube video, but when I finished writing it, I realized I had too much to say for one video. I decided to write a blog post instead.

Early last year, many YouTubers made videos sponsored by Audible in which they discussed using a free trial and what their experience listening to audiobooks was like. (Amy Poehler's Yes Please had just come out, so many people reviewed that book; I haven't listened to the audiobook, but it's read by Amy and I hear it's great).

This exposure to Audible and some other various factors persuaded me to get an account. And thus, I started my audiobook journey.

I first downloaded Rooms by Lauren Oliver. This is the story about two ghosts who watch as a family cleans out its late father/ex-husband's house. Gretchen at ChicNerdReads had recommended it in book form, but for some reason I decided to listen to it. I think I thought it wasn't the type of book I'd normally read myself, but I'd be willing to have someone read it to me. Whatever my thinking, it doesn't matter: this audiobook is fantastic. The vocalists' performances make the book come alive. Rooms has multiple points of view, and each point of view has its own vocalist. The drama of the story is based on who knows what information and each speaker does a wonderful impression of the other characters--it's not corny at all. I would take long walks home from work just to listen to Rooms, and it really left me with a positive impression of audiobooks.

After Rooms, I tried picking up Etta and Otto and Russell and James by Emma Hooper, but I really didn't like the performer's style, nor was I partial to, to be frank, the sound of his voice. I think I'd enjoy the story--a woman, who has never before seen the ocean, decides to go see it and just packs a gun and some chocolate and starts walking--but in text. I took a lengthy hiatus from audiobooks after this mishap.

I had purchased The Casual Vacancy by J.K. Rowling the previous year for when my mother and I cleaned and painted our house in Vermont. We put it on in the background, but we were always in different rooms and could never really commit to the story. I am so glad I gave it another go because it is incredibly heart-breaking and important. The writing is an example of Rowling's range as an author. Just because she's known for a heart-warming fantastical children's series doesn't mean she can't point out and look directly at so many messed up things in the very real world. Tom Hollande is a wonderful vocalist--each character sounds distinct and is recognizable without sounding artificial. Also, this story made me cry to the lyrics of "Umbrella" by Rihanna. The detail and complexity in this book is remarkable. However, it is not for the faint of heart. A listener must be in the right mindset.

Next, I dipped an ear into The Girl With All The Gifts by M.R. Carey. It is a fresh look at the zombie apocalypse. I'd heard about this book through Jen Campbell on BookTube and was determined to give it a listen. Sadly, it took me forever to get through it. Partly because I was busy, and partly because I went back and forth between listening to music and listening to the audiobook while I was in transit, which is where I get most of my listening done. I do think, however, that the story itself is somewhat slow. While it is beautiful and sad in an eye-opening way, the tension takes a while to build. There is steady psychological and mental conflict, but the action is sparse. This does not necessarily make it a bad book, but maybe this style of book isn't conducive to a positive audiobook experience. By the time I got to the conclusion, I felt let down. It makes sense, but it didn't touch me in any lasting way. I wonder if I would have felt differently if I had read it, and in a shorter span of time.

I took a couple-month break before diving into The Girl On The Train by Paula Hawkins. This is a sort-of-psychological crime thriller, and I don't want to say too much more because it is best to go in knowing very little. I adored this audiobook. And, I'd go so far as to recommend you listen to it in lieu of reading it. There are three female vocalists and they all do an amazing job. So amazing that they got in my head and made me question my own sanity.

Next, I listened to Why Not Me? by Mindy Kaling. This book is great fun--Mindy reads it herself, and as a professional comedian, she delivers. Her advice and experiences are intriguing: this book is a solid choice for anyone interested in Mindy's work, the entertainment industry, and how to be a successful person. Mindy's writing has such a distinct voice that if I had read the book, I would have been able to hear her on the page. Her actual reading of it adds a nice touch to the whole experience.

Finally, I have listened to The Art of Asking: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Let People Help by Amanda Palmer three times now. This audiobook is changing my life. You should listen to it. Everyone should. I talk discuss The Art of Asking in more detail here: Feel free to check it out.

So, what have I learned about audiobooks from my year of listening?

There is not necessarily a particular genre of book that is more or less compatible with the audiobook format; however, slower-paced books, such as The Girl With All The Gifts, might be more enjoyable in book form.

A vocalist's performance can make or break an audiobook. Rooms by Lauren Oliver isn't a book I would have normally picked up, but the vocalists kept me interested in the story they were telling.

I want to listen to more psychological thrillers, because, during The Girl On The Train, I enjoyed feeling connected to the characters--like I was gaining access to the inside of their minds--through an audible voice.

Listening to an author read her own non-fiction piece can have its perks--Mindy Kaling makes one or two side-notes that aren't in the book-version of Why Not Me?, plus some of her friends read parts of the book where appropriate, including B.J. Novak. In The Art of Asking audiobook, some of Amanda's songs are played in-between sections. And yet another bonus? You get to hear her Neil Gaiman impression.

It's difficult to say which books should be listened to instead of read. Of course, as a reader-listener, you have your own taste--you have to experiment to see which things work for you. Some people really like listening to memoir or other non-fiction books, but I'm not sure I'd be able to pay attention for that long. Some wonderful books have terrible vocalists; often you can sample a piece of the audiobook before purchasing it. I'd recommend listening to these clips--it's pretty easy to tell how you like someone's voice right off the bat.

I'm going to continue listening to audiobooks to see where they take me. If you're an avid audiobook listener, what sorts of things do you prefer to listen to? Do you have any recommendations? Let me know. Either way, happy listening!

On Being Homeless.

Yesterday, I slept in my bed for the first time in a week, then promptly re-packed my bags and headed out again (after a load of laundry, a stop at the bank, a cup of coffee). Point is, I've been moving from house to house for dog-sitting, and now that I've done it for several days, I have a system down:

1. Always pack extra socks.

2. Take the bus when you're transporting your laptop and soluble instant coffee from house to house. (I don't know if anybody's ever told you, but it rains Portland. A lot.)

3. Do not pack food. That shit is heavy, and there are several grocery stores in walking distance from where you are staying. 

Bonus from dog-sitting (besides cash dolla dolla bills bills)? I've learned that I love dogs. I'm still more on the cat-person side of the pet-owner-identity spectrum, but let's say I'm a Part-Time Dog-Person...literally...it's my job.

When I moved to Sellwood at the beginning of December, I was delighted to have a room of my own again. My own bed. My own space to think in. A place to display my books (read: NOT stuffed in my suitcase). However, I quickly recognized some drawbacks to living in Sellwood: it's sort of far away from everything. And the buses are expensive and run irregularly. And even with the Springwater Corridor bike path, which cuts travel time in half, it often (surprise!) rains here, which I'm not about to bike in.

So, if I want to go out, I either have to leave early enough to catch a bus, get a ride, or sleepover at a friend's house. Sleepovers can be fun, but there's that moment the next morning when all you want is your bathrobe, or a clean pair of socks (which you forgot to pack), or your own bed to laze around in.

Before Sellwood, I'd been crashing on friends' couches for extended periods of time, and I am grateful. I would not be where I am now without their abundant hospitality and aid. I've enjoyed living in their living rooms, on their futon and couch, curled up with their furry friends. Seeing them every day--getting a chance to chat about whatever--has brought us closer, and it has also helped me process my headspace as I barrel onward in my life-journey. (Thanks again, guys. You know who you are).

Before that, I'd stayed at my parents' house for several weeks. Before that I'd moved from Daphne's flat in Nice, to another Niçoise flat--taking residence in a friend's room to split rental costs. I had my own bed, and lived there for several months, but it still felt temporary. In Scotland, I stayed in a hotel, a hostel, Natalie's parents' house, and one night, after a jaunt in Glasgow, on her friend's couch. In London, I stayed with Tom. I have not really not lived out of a suitcase since residing at 5 rue delille.

College was a longer-term temporary situation. I knew I'd be there for a while, but I was also aware of an end date. Hartwick is where I perfected my moving skills. That first semester, I co-inhabited a dorm room with my randomly-assigned roommate, Danielle (we're now nerd-compatriots), yet I quickly realized I needed to join the environmental campus, Pine Lake, after my tennis teammate took me there for a day trip one weekend and we made pumpkin soup with Ashley and Casey in Outback 1 (or was it Outback 2? I can't remember). After finals, Emily's mom helped Emily and me shuttle our belongings to our double in the Lodge. Summers, I boxed up my stuff and either packed it in the trunk of my mom's Toyota Highlander, or moved it, one or two parcels at a time, to my room in the Farmhouse (the Pine Lake summer staff house). Each semester I schlepped my books, bedding, random array of collected furniture (a rocking chair, a beat up arm chair, a rug) from Lodge room to Redwood 1, back to the Lodge. I went to Paris and packed minimally, taking on the French mentality of employing several basic, essential items of clothing, and accenting these with the orange and green scarf Shannon brought me from India, and my Salvation Army trench coat, and my sturdy black clogs (which served me well, carrying me across miles of Parisian cobblestone). 

I came home to the Cozy house in Oneonta with my one suitcase, stuffed with the books I'd acquired from patroning Shakespeare & Company. That was a great summer of barista-ing, beer, and trampolining. Then, one late-August morning, Shannon lent me her car so I could bring my many (sarcasm) possessions to townhouse A5 for senior year. I made a home with three hooligans: Olivia, Ben, and Aaron, and enjoyed providing refuge for stranded Pine Lakers whenever they needed a place to chill on campus. I stayed in townhouse A5 all year, and that was the longest residence I'd kept since moving to Litchfield, Connecticut with my family in 2009. 

Litchfield sucked. I managed to get a part-time barista position at Common Grounds Café, which allowed me to save my own money--(most of which would go to a J-term trip in New York City the following year), but I was still battling my parents for independence; I underwent non-stop identity crisis (there was never a dull moment); and it took me the entire year to find people I could be myself around. I still resent Litchfield to this day. I'm trying not to be so bitter about it, and in many ways the struggles I endured have helped shape me--for the better. What I struggle to understand is why so many of the people I met in Litchfield were assholes. Maybe my judgement has been clouded by retrospective, residual angst, but I feel like my peers could've been more inviting. Sure, there was the brief let's all meet the new girl phase, but no one really cared to get to know me. Not for a while, anyway. I just wanted to be seen, and very few people took the bait. (That being said, here's a huge shout out to Katie, Bridget, and Chris for encouraging me to air my freak flag in their presence. Thank you, guys, for making me feel not so alone).

Vermont, although it's going on six years since I've had an 802 area code, has the closest semblance to home. This is where I grew up. Where I fell in love with bookshops. Where I became a vehement devotee of cheese, maple syrup, poetry, mochas, skiing, New England weather in all four of its glorious seasons, sustainability, and community (although I wouldn't be able to articulate my appreciation for some of these things for some time). It's where I met my best friends, started second families, and built pockets of support systems. Vermont is where I first planted the seeds of wanting to become an artist.

Syracuse, the city in which I was born, feels as foreign to me as Mars. I have a mild interest in it, but no burning desire to visit any time soon.

This pattern of migration didn't start with me: I come from a family of nomads. My grandfather on my father's side was the son of a marine officer, and they moved from place to place all his life, until Granddad started a family with my grandmother in Ithaca, NY. My grandmother moved from Decatur, Georgia to Miami, Ohio, to Ithaca--this is where she raised her children and began her role as a grandmother--before moving to Sarasota, FL. And, of course, my mother, youngest of eight siblings, saved her money to leave Brazil and move to America...where she met my dad. My parents began their relationship in Washington D.C., went to Cincinnati for a bit, and then lived in Syracuse, which, if you've been following the story, you'll correctly guess is where me and my sister came along.

You can probably see why I have a difficult time answering the question, "So, where are you from?" When I'm living abroad, I have the opportunity to respond simply: Je suis américaine. But if people inquire further, things get messy. "Oh, I grew up in Vermont, but I've been living in ______," or "I grew up in Vermont, but my parents moved to Connecticut when I was a senior in high school," or "I went to college in upstate New York before teaching English in France last year and then for a couple of months I lived in a small town nearby where I went to college before moving to Portland. Cooperstown? It's where you'll find the Baseball Hall of Fame." I've always struggled with this question, never able to give a one-word answer.

Where am I from? If I'm being honest, I think the truest answer is that I'm not from anywhere. I'm homeless. Or, hometown-less.

I was talking to Tom about my hometown-less-ness, and he mentioned that the nomadic thing is an American thing. He has a point. The draw to discovery and adventure--to the west! To fortune! To fame! is an American quality. Plus, America has a wonky workforce narrative. People follow jobs, and jobs crop up depending on opportunity--across miles and miles of country.

For a long time, I'd been sort of sad about not having a hometown. But I've realized that many people aren't necessarily proud of their hometowns. In fact, a lot of American short stories, novels, poems, and plays all depict youngsters desperate to leave wasted-away, one-stoplight townships in search of something bigger. I need not cite fictional stories; my aunt Robin left small, college-town Ithaca for the Big Apple. I actually wanted to leave Vermont while I was living there. Everything is SO FAR AWAY. NOTHING happens here. I'm so BORED. Of course, promptly after leaving I realized Vermont is a beautiful, liberal utopia.

Many people leave the place in which they grew up in search of something else. Something grand. Something that fills them up and forces them to grow. People may not know why they want to leave, exactly, but they feel a call. So they go. And by leaving, they turn to homes fabricated, nestled in-between the cracks of the road. Sometimes home is on the road, in the form of of a car, ox-drawn wagon, minibus, or motorcycle. Many of the homes I've found and co-created I mention, in some form or other, in the story above: Pine Lake is a big one. 5 rue delille. Cozy. My friends' living rooms. But more so, many of these homes haven't been in actual houses. They've been found in relationships with people. I feel part of and rely on communities when I need support, comfort, a shoulder, a pillow, a ride, a conversation, a coffee, a hug, a kiss, a memory, a dream. These connections, lasting or temporary (oftentimes dormant for months before resurging when I need them most), are my homes. My many various, montage-y, bespeckled homes.

So, I'm not really homeless at all. Not really. I'm home-a-lot.

As I continue through life, I hope to maintain my open membership of these magical places. At some point, I'd like to have a homebase--where there are shelves to store my library, an open bed for a visiting friend, a kitchen for cooking Thanksgiving and Christmas meals, a table for hosting pot lucks, a pillow to rest my weary head, a desk for working, etc. But home, simply, will always be, as it always has been, where the heart is. Awwwww. Aren't clichés nice?

I love so many of you and I hope you find the comfort and warmth you seek from your various homes; I hope you keep making new ones; and you are always welcome at mine.

Be well, and here's to a home-filled 2016!

***

Bonus. Have a poem I wrote:

I love you. I'm glad I exist.

Merry Christmas 2015!!!

Happy Boxing Day!

I hope you are having/had a lovely time with friends and family even if you couldn't make it home (like me). There were a couple of moments where I was quite sad about being away from my family, but I'm happy with how my festivities went down.

I have made a vlog in which I take you with me out and about on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, which I will link below. I'm currently dog-sitting two dogs, Indie and Sunny, and they have been wonderful company. (Professional furry cuddlers are always welcome). The house I'm staying in has a beautiful tree, and the owners let me have some friends over. I entertained! I wore a party dress! I love playing host, and I must give my mother a shout out, as she taught me most everything I know about party presentation, even though she didn't host that often when I was growing up.

Christmas Day I had tofu scramble, vegan peanut butter cookies, mimosas, and coconut milk nog with Aaron and Emma. We swapped some gifts, and Emma remembered me saying how each Christmas I get a haul of Burt's Bees in my stocking which gets me through, chapstick-wise, each year. She and Aaron got me a stick. <3

In the evening I went to the Sellwood house (where I live normally) and had Christmas dinner (ham!) with my Portland family. I was a little loopy from not getting that much sleep the night before, so when we played some games after dinner that required me to think I was a little slow, but I got into the groove and by the end of the night Steve and I (we were partners for this game, I forget its name, where you have to get your partner to guess the name of a famous person...similar to charades but it's its own thing) dominated.

Then I came back to let the dogs out and had a wonderful sleep.

***

I've been listening to Amanda Palmer's The Art of Asking, and the experience has pretty much gone like this:

1. Amanda tells a story about her life.
2. She explains how this is related to her philosophy on love and community.
3. I cry, smile, laugh, nod, mutter "Hmm" or shout "YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
4. I am left with a warm feeling in my heart and a huge love for this crazy, intelligent, kind, thoughtful, encouraging person I've never met.
5. I am filled with inspiration to create, create, create, for and with others; share, share, share; which is to say love, love, love.

If you're looking for a good New Year's Resolution, I'd say you should listen to The Art of Asking on audiobook. It's wonderful to hear Amanda read it herself, plus there are bonus clips of songs she's written in-between chapters.

Friendly reminder, if you love someone, just tell them. If you're scared, that's okay. It makes it more real.

Be patient and kind with loved ones. I know family and friends can get on one's nerves, especially when politics is thrown into the conversation. But life is way too short to let that stuff get in the way of our happiness.

I love you. I'm glad I exist.

Christmassy Vlog:

Christmas is in a week...wtf, bro.

As I lie on my comfy bed and listen to a live version of Years & Years' "Eyes Shut" (which is distracting me very much, by the way... I just want to jam out. Example:

)

it hits me that Christmas is a week away. It's sad that I'll be so far away from friends and family back home, but I'll be pet-sitting a wonderful dog and cat in an awesome house, and I want to treat the seclusion as a writing retreat. When I'm not doing my regular babysitting work, I will be writing. Poetry mostly, I think, unless an urge to work on a short story I started so, so long ago (like, two weeks ago) sets in. We shall see. The house is also equipped with an Apple TV and the owners have HBO Go, so anything could happen, really. Basically, I'm excited to have my own space for a week.

I've talked to several friends on the phone recently, and when you talk to people you know well and catch up on life, you do a lot of evaluating. Because inevitably you will be asked, "How are you? How's the new place? Are you doing well?" And you will give the best answers you can give, but, really, do you even know how you feel? I'd like to stick around long enough to see what it'll be like to communicate through sensation or feeling--I think in the future we'll all have little antennae that we'll poke each other with and a sort of sensational communication will take place and we'll just know what the other person means.

How am I? How's the new place? Am I doing well? In short, yes, I am well and the new place is good. Portland is a great city to live in, my living situation is working out, and I'm staying busy with both work and play. I'm getting confident on my bike and learning which roads are bike-friendly. I'm growing a tougher skin against the rain. I'm sampling a variety of brunch restaurants. Have I mentioned how insane brunch is in Portland? People here are nuts about brunch. It's crazy. I'm talking hour-long waits at some places. But, brunch is something I am 100% willing to wait for. Brunch is the Merlin of meals. King Arthur is lunch, like a solid soup & sandwich combo. Guinevere is after-work drinks. Lancelot is the app sampler at Applebee's. But Merlin--Merlin is the glorious magic that is brunch.

Guys. Do you ever feel stuck between your present and your future? I am putting in a conceded effort to participate, contribute, say "yes!" to invitations and opportunities. Even though Portland isn't exactly what I thought it would be, I am grasping it by the horns and taking it in. I suppose I could try harder to meet "native" Portlanders (read: Californians who've been here for 4+ years who deny that they play into the Cali-migrant stereotype) but I feel fairly comfortable with the group of peers I have at the moment. Anyway, in addition to Portland life, I'm wondering what's next. Where am I going? How can I do what I love and make money? How am I going to shape this next phase of my life? How can I be near the people I care about and still follow my dreams? 

Something I've realized since being here is that I have to do the things I want to do. I know that sounds stupid, but it's true. In college, I wanted to be a writer, but I hardly ever read (outside of class) or wrote. After graduating I started reading again. In Nice I wrote occasionally but didn't make it a priority. Now when I have a free moment, I'm like, "I should be writing right now." I want to make YouTube videos and be consistant in the content I create and upload (and now that I have a room of my own, I can do that again!). I want to build community around reading and writing, and I started the Writer's Forum MeetUp group, which is a good start. I don't know. I don't know if any of these things will lead to a job or career, but the compulsion to make something and share it is there, and I'm going to ride it and see where it takes me.

Currently I'm listening to Amanda Palmer read her book, The Art of Asking, on audiobook and holy 'effing poo, read it. Something I have a difficult time admitting, or proudly proclaiming, is that I'm an artist. I am. I have to make things. And I have to share these things with others. (Not everything. Lol. Some things no one will ever see.) Amanda talks about asking people to believe you, as an artist. 

PLEASE. BELIEVE ME. I'M REAL.

Rarely do people look you straight in the eye and see you. Part of an artist's job is to create situations or environments in which those eye-lock moments can happen. To connect the dots. 

This was a Poet — It is That
Distills amazing sense
From ordinary Meanings —
And Attar so immense

From the familiar species
That perished by the Door —
We wonder it was not Ourselves
Arrested it — before —

Emily Dickinson explains that a poet (or artist in general) creates this concentrated bit of meaning out of the "ordinary"--something imperceptible that the artists brings to life--and the audience is like, "Whoa, bessie! I've totes-bagoats felt that way before. Thanks for showing me my own feeling/experience." When that happens--when there is a tangible exchange between a creator's creation and its audience--that moment is what I'm after.

But money is a thing. Woo hoo!

If you want to see more of me, feel free to check out my latest YouTube videos! I recently did a video blog (vlog) where I take you around Portland for a day:

Here are some photos:

Cookies & Christmasy drinks party with friends

Portland being festive 

(despite the current war on Christmas)

Mother's Foucault's Bookshop

Snack one of my girls I babysit made <3

I hope everyone has a very merry Christmas and holiday time and that 2016 knocks everybody's socks off in the best way. Love, love, love. 

Job/Housing Search: What A Hoot ....that's sarcasm

I'm not sure if anyone has told you this before, but moving to a new city--finding a place to live, and then finding work to fund that living...takes time. Before I left for Portland, I knew getting myself out there and getting established would take effort. But I was fairly lax in my attitude. It'll work out. And it is working out, but maybe not as quickly as I thought it would.

I have a place to live! It's in a neighborhood called Sellwood, and it's with a family: journalist, professor, thirteen-year-old daughter, dog named Olga, and cat (name to be learned). Their house is full of books. Done deal, really.

On the work front, so far I have a part-time nannying position. I'm also tutoring two international students--one needs help with his composition class, and the other needs conversation practice. Powell's, the bookstore, isn't hiring at the moment, but I'm keeping an eye out (read: refreshing the application page several times a day).

Meanwhile, I've been exploring the city. Emma and Aaron are going through the same thing as me, so when we're not all worrying and stressing and scouring Craig's List, we hang out. Tyler and Laura have been most welcoming--they've showed us some of their best beer haunts, including the splendid Mississippi Pizza, which has pub quiz on Wednesdays. And Emily has just been the best, opening her home to us.

Outside Mississippi Pizza

Kate, Laura, Emma, Aaron at Green Dragon Pub

Sunset from Mt. Tabor Park

The next step is mostly to keep doing this step: find reliable work. Keep exploring this new city. Additionally, I'd like to make friends with some Portlanders. "Find my people," more or less. You know.

Wish me luck!

I Like Portland

This city is totally Angelica-friendly. There is excellent coffee everywhere. As a standard. It's amazing. The city welcomes bikers! Bike lanes abound and there's even a bike/pedestrian specific bridge. The whole food truck thing is ridiculous. I can't get over how much good food this city has. And the craft beer. Jesus, the craft beer! I don't know if I'm just with friends who have good taste, or if every bottle/tap in Portland is genuinely delicious. It certainly seems that way.

And the books. Thanks to Powell's, bookstore Mecca, this city really likes to read. Yesterday, I went to a literature festival for crying out loud. The art museum seems cool, too. And there are so many used bookstores scattered throughout the city. Bookstores I want to explore--I'm glad Powell's is here, but also that it can co-exist with so many unique, smaller shops. Record stores! Thrift stores!

People recycle here. The environment is respected and appreciated. People want to go skiing and hiking and general adventuring.

Everyone is young and smart and interested in stuff. At least, from what I can see. It's pretty cool.

These are my first impressions.

Buzzfeed's personality quiz wasn't wrong when it said I'd fit in here. Buzzfeed knew.

 First view of bookstore Mecca

 Polish food truck food

 The Willamette river

 Turkish coffee

Tart Berry toppings