Back on the Interstate, it was only a few minutes before I found the right exit in Tualatin. The Apple store was in a place called the Brideport Center, and when I laid eyes upon it, I could tell it was a very modern, new lifestyle development commercial center of mid- and upscale businesses of various kinds.
I navigated down the crowded "streets" of the downtown-like center and parked in front of the Crate and Barrel. When I out of my car, I saw a brand new Barnes and Noble across the street. The sidewalks were crowded, with many women of various ages, mostly dressed nicely, groups of teenagesrs, some children, and a few men like yours truly.
Ah, heaven, I thought. I can breathe here.
There was a time in my life when I would have scorned this type of commercial district. But in the last few years during my travels I had come to shuck off all such prejudice and very much appreciated the amenities and conveniences of what I have come to call "civilization." I could tell immediately that if I spent any time at all in this part of the Portland area, that I would find an excuse to come here. Compared to much of the Portland area it felt downright opulent.
It had the normal pantheon of businesses one finds in such developments---Coldwater Creek, P.F. Chang's, and Regal Cinema. Walking around it, it reminded me in no small wise to the Riverplace Center in north Fresno. They might well have been designed by the same firm, and both were the nicest places for miles around.
Both this one, and the one in Fresno, were much more elaborate than ones I've seen in, say, Colorado. This is a good thing, because Colorado has a surplus of recent suburban commercial development, whereas the Portland suburbs and Fresno have a defecit (from my point of view). It no wonder they were so crowded.
I located the Apple store, not far from my car, and walked there carrying my broken power cord. The store turned out to be packed---really packed. There were at least fifty people inside, and all the blue-shirted customer reps seemed busy. I had a hard time catching the attention of one. Finally when I did, I asked "is there a line?" She said "yes, a long one," but she saw the cord I was holding and said she cut could help me right away. It took only a few minutes for her to pull a new one off the shelf and, using her Ipad, punch in the information she needed to make the transfer. While I waited for her to get the new cord from the back, I leaned against a table in the store.
A pretty teenage girl next to me was taking pictures of herself with her IPhone. Her boyfriend or brother was standing next to her. She asked him, "Look at this one. On a scale of one to hobo, with one being hobo, what do you think of this one?"
With mild disdain, he barely looked at the screen and said flatly "Pure Hobo."
My kind of guy, I thought. You're gonna go far.
It didn't cost me a cent. I only had to give my name. It was exceptional service. They run a great op. But even the woman who helped me couldn't figure out why the place was so busy on a Thursday afternoon.
Having fulfilled my mission in Tualatin, I didn't really want to leave yet, so I meandered around for a few more minutes. I went inside the Barnes and Noble and perused the map section on the second floor and looked over the new bestsellers. Then I walked into the central plaza area, past the open door of a women's clothing store. My eyes landed on a sign inside the door: "Have Your Best Booty Ever."
In the middle of the plaza there was a lifesize bronze sculpture of woman. She was thin and pretty, and leaping in the air, raised up by a pile of rose blossoms. Her dress was barely resting on her breasts and the strap of her dress had slipped off her shoulder. In her hand she was holding a long-stemmed rose. She was looking at the top of the rose, or rather just slightly over the top of it.
On the pedestral was the name of the sculpture "Spring Eternal," by a local artist.
It wasn't a bad sculpture when seen at first, until one looked at her face. Like so many installations by local "artists", the face was hideous to the point of being grotesque. Her teeth looked crooked and rotten and her eyes had a demonic absorption in whatever she was looking at.
It occurred to me that the expression on her face reminded me of the way many young women look at their smartphones now. I once saw a pretty girl in line at Starbucks in the aforementioned Fresno center looking into her phone that way. It was as if the phone were showering her with love and attention. The coffeeshop probably could have burned down around her and she wouldn't have noticed. Since noticing it, I see it everywhere. It's as if half the young women in America have turned into the Wicked Queen from Snow White, staring into their little screens with narcissistic glee, asking "who's the fairest of them all?" and always getting the answer they want.
Too bad about the sculpture, I thought, because it made it almost unpleasant to look at from certain angles. But I knew I'd back at Brideport anyway. The coffees hops there would make a great place to work. It immediately rocketed to the top of my list for my "bases" in the area south of Portland.
When I finally got to Salem and checked into the motel, I went on Facebook and looked over my profile, cleaning up a few things so I looked sane and normal to any new friends to whom I revealed my full name. Of course I am sane and but hardly normal, as I often say.
I spent a few minutes watching a video that my sister had posted on my wall, this scene from end of the movie Xanadu. As I watching it, it suddenly hit me. The sculpture in Bridgeport is Olivia Newton John wearing in the white dress, at the clip.
If only the sculptor had nailed the face. Don't know why the local artists don't seem to be able to pull that off. For me it was always the easiest part of the human anatomy to draw.
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