Books A Million

Sitting in a Denny's is the closest modern day equivalent to being in a diner from the 50s. Those diners days preceded the notion of multiculturalism, of PC, of even the civil rights movement. Decked in leather jackets for guys and skirts and pigtails for girls, the greasy spoon was a symbol of the car generation of a bygone era.

I was munching away at a Grand Slam, the price a far cry from what was likely a dollar meal 50 years ago, if even that. This was more like five dollars, and the cheapest meal on the menu by a few dollars. This Denny's was a few blocks from the Portland Convention Center where I had missed getting off the "Max", the local light rail.

The "Max" is nearly a cross between a train and a bus. Its interior, with tan poles, purple seats, accordion hinged connections, and narrow aisles resemble the trains in New York more than the Metro I'm familiar with in DC. The Metro is more of a proper train, its tracks far away from the footsteps of casual pedestrians. The Max, on the other hand, crisscrosses through streets. The windows peer out into store front shops rather than the impersonal concrete lit by florescent that is typical of the the DC Metro.

To encourage downtown traveling, the Max is free within the confines, much like the bus system in parts of Seattle. The DC Metro makes smarter use of its labels. At any stop, you can see what stops the train is headed to next on columns thblaat are color coded. On the other hand, once you're on the Metro itself, you have to stare at the maps and listen to the indistinct mumbles of the conductor, who occasionally remembers to say what the next destination is, as well as print it on a poor excuse of a banner.

The Max, in that respect, is far superior. Its yellow dots form letters indicating the next stop. But it lacks the stylized map of DC to indicate where anything is, so carrying a map is vital. Fortunately, in downtown Portland, everything seems close to everything else.

My first destination, after settling in the Holiday Inn, which is trying to outgrow its rather bland roots, much like JC Penney tried to convince us that it's an up and coming Macy's is pleasant enough, is the bookstore of Portland, Powell's, so big that it's really at least two stores (the main and a technical books store) at different locations and possibly a third.

You'd imagine a grand bookstore might try to look particularly fancy, perhaps an Apple Store like decor. But then Powell's has been around forever. It's done enough so that its environ doesn't look decrepit, like looking at an old photograph of a bookstore from the 50s, where the fonts on the signs give away the decade.

Powell's bookcases are made of a tan wood, with books sprawled around. There's much more of a sense that these are second-hand books even if many books are actually new. It doesn't have the Barnes and Noble sense with dark wood that is both modern and seemingly old and, well, noble. The bookstore's sections resemble arms of a color coded octopus, with red rooms and gold rooms and purple rooms, upstairs and downstairs, and a chatty blond fellow recommending this dessert or that cookie along with serving coffee.

The staff seem knowledgeable and young, like modern day bohemians working part-time while studying at the local college in some major that won't quite be enough to make a living.

I want to stay a bit, but I also want dinner, and alas, like much of the country, 10 PM is the time when things shut down. I don't even know where to go eat, not having checked out the online city paper or the "best of" guides. I pick up a book on Oregon, some travel ditty. Unlike sister city, Seattle, which boasts several books just about the city itself, Portland is lumped with the state of Oregon, so it gets mentioned with Eugene, and various places to hike. Portland must wonder why it's the ugly stepsister to Seattle.

I also want to get a fiction book to read. But what?

I had been reading some short stories by Asimov, and he strikes me as a particularly clever guy, which is probably why he had longevity as an SF writer. I've heard of the Foundation series, now five in length, and decide I'll start off with the first book. I'm sure I've read parts of one of the books at some point, perhaps long ago. But it's long enough that it's worth starting again, so I give the cashier my credit card, not the Amazon one, lest they get a little indignant about the cast paying for an Internet business that cuts on their margins.

I then backtrack on the Max, finding the connection one street over from where I was dropped off, and use the map to see where I should be. Alas, I should have gotten off one stop sooner than I had, because the yellow line meanders off in some direction that isn't the Convention Center. I stop at the Rose Center, which is, I suppose the stadium that the Trailblazers play? Or some important center as such. The good news is the convention center has two spires that reach the sky for no particular reason but make for a particularly good visual beacon to regain bearings.

I walked in that direction, which turned out to only be a few blocks away, and began tracing my steps backwards, past the Red Lion, past the Denny's. Well, the Denny's. That's open late. I think I'll get something there, perhaps corned beef hash, if they have it. Surely, they must.

I head out 20 minutes later. It's 10:30 or so, and dinner at the Holiday Inn is no longer an option. I get to my room, open the laptop, wishing that they cared about getting real high-speed Internet. The signal only registers one bar, which is adequate, though not the kind of screaming signal I est at home. Hotels can be cheap in that way, and possibly ignorant, figuring any old signal will do. They aren't trying to encourage bit torrent style downloads. Checking some email here and here, thank you sir and ma'am.

Well, it's just past midnight here, and really, past 3 AM on the East Coast. I should be exhausted, but I had a nap in the evening. The early parts of the conference start at 7 AM. I'll see how I feel around then. The first day is tutorials, and I've only signed up for one. I'll have to see if it's worth signing up for the second.

Maybe I'll head over to Powell's Technical Books, which unlike its big brother, closes at 9 PM, instead of staying open two more hours.

I had been hoping to install Rails this evening, but I think I should sleep some first, and hope the Convention Center has better wireless than this place. With several hundred attendees, it might be useless too, so I shouldn't place my hopes too high.