Word Made Flesh

OK, so I'm not some kind of hippie or anything--I'm as much of a skeptic as anyone you are likely to meet--but sometimes I do have to admit that there does seem to be a relationship between speaking something and having it come to pass. That is--sometimes it does feel that you can talk something into being.

Just a few mere hours ago, I spoke of the legendary and mighty Space Room, and lo! That is where I spent the last 3 hours, quite happily. For those of you who have enjoyed the pleasures of the Space Room, I invite you to lean back and recollect the wonderful times that you have had there. For those of you who have not been initiated, I say to you, come visit me here tout de suite so that you can begin making memories of your own. I will pick you up at the airport and deliver you immediately to the Space Room.

I've been frequenting the Space Room since I turned 21. The last time I was there was about a year ago. I'm always afraid that it will not be as good when I go back. But tonight I went with my cousin, and his lovely boyfriend Sean (who is also a colleague of mine) and it was everything that I remembered: the drinks were strong and cheap, the waitresses sassy, the jukebox filled with Neil Diamond, Patsy Cline, Elton John, Johnny Cash and the Beatles. My Bloody Mary glass was filled with the inexplicable sesame seeds. We were bathed in black light and surrounded by florescent paintings of Mt. Hood, downtown Portland, and Haystack Rock.

In a word, the Space Room is always, always reliable. And that reliability provides the backdrop for great conversation, memorable occasions, and all-around good times. And lest you think that I am just (once again) being biased in favor of PDX, let me tell you what Sean said about it: a) that as soon as he walked in he felt like he was on the set of a movie and b) by the time he left, the Space Room was his new favorite bar ever.

God bless Sean, and God bless the Space Room.