Wine. It's everywhere out here... Target, the grocery stores (one has 4 times as much wine as produce.) Not only is it readily available, it's cheap. So we've taken to drinking it almost every night. A glass of wine with dinner is very European, right? Plus, we are assimilating to our new surroundings, so naturally we should be discovering the subtle differences of Oregonian valleys and grapes.

While sipping wine at night out on the veranda (that's European for "porch") might feel continental, we wonder at the rate of a glass every night, will "European" soon be replaced with "wine gut?"

Now, before you make plans of poking our bellies in hopes of a joyful "coo...", let me tell you that we have plans to prevent our potential pooch with, well, our pooch.

While Miss Patsy has had no trouble locating and quickly choking down various discarded chicken bones in the park across the street (4 of them today!), her deteriorating back is no match for the many stairs in our new home. She simply props her front legs on the first step and then turns around to look at us with a, "Well, I'm waiting," in her eyes (Note from Dave - I hear her voice as Rasputia from Norbit). Being the obedient humans that we are, one of us scoops her up and carries her up the flight of stairs. Or both flights if we're lucky. Yep, this is what we fondly call, "Ewald Crosstraining." You know in the World's Strongest Man Competition when they haul 300 pound steel barrels from point a to point b? It's kind of like that, but our barrel is a furry 40 pound beagle/basset with chicken bone breath.

Haulin' pooch and poppin' cork. That's life as an Ewald in Oregon.

Part One: Manpris.

Last week we went to our first show in search of a little piece of home via Chicago's Sea and Cake. The show was held in an old ballroom with an old wood floor that bounced whenever someone walked by and made you wonder if risking your life was worth an encore. While I wished it was Archer Prewitt who was singing, Dave was nodding his head to the beat. It's a subtle nod that most people might not even notice, but I knew it meant he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

At first glance, it felt like the room was filled with people just like us. But after careful observation a few details surfaced, reminding us that we were indeed in a new place:

• "You're doing great!" In addition to actual song requests, listeners yelled genuine words of encouragement.

• Several men were spotted sporting "manpris." Not to be confused with the one-cuff-rolled-to-avoid-bike-chain-grease look, but rather the double-cuff-let-my-ankles-cool. While there is a slight chance that fleece may be in Dave's future, the day he dons manpris is the day I come home to find him tie-dying our bed sheets.

• On occasion, various listeners would break out with a small solo display of gymnastic prowess. No rhythmic flags or extensive floor routines. More of a, "I love this band so much I must do a round-off!"

All in all, it was a nice little night in our new city. But we couldn't help but wish that tucked somewhere on the tour bus was a little Pavelich stow-away.


Part Two: Gallagher Hobos vs. Nubian Dairy Goats.

We knew there'd be hobos. I mean, every town has one or two hanging around-some nice, some not so nice. Our fondest dreams could never have anticipated the multiple, joyous, colorful Gallagher Hobos. While we don't have photographic proof (yet), there have been many Gallagher Hobo sightings in our short two weeks here.

The moustache, the loud clothes, the high-on-life smile, and receding hippie hairline-everything adds up to a perfect middle lower class hobo. I wish I could properly express the excitement of our discovery. You'll just have to come out to visit. We'll bring the watermelon.

The other big news: Nubian Dairy Goats.

Though we were quite excited to see a farm of Nubian Dairy Goats a short drive from our lil' townhouse on the prairie, a quick Wikipedia search taught us that the Nubian Dairy goat, for all it's long-named splendor, is the most popular goat in the United States.

Other highlights of the week:

• A young girl telling Saralyn that Patsy's head was "like a globe."

• Realizing that she was sort of right–it is like a velvet globe.

• Hearing, and repeating the song Pop Lock and Drop It over and over and over and over (but just that catchy chorus part).

• Having a romantic dinner at home while watching yet another post on the amazing R. Kelly TV.

• Receiving, watching, and guest starring in the new Found Footage Festival DVD. You should really order one for your whole family.

That's pretty much a full week. We're guessing, and hoping, that life is going to be full of these sorts of promising discoveries from here on out. Of course, we'll be here to blog all about it.

Everybody kept telling me - you NEED sunglasses for the big trip. While I believed them all, it was a bit low on the priority list of things to do (e.g. sell house, pack truck, etc.)

So I waited until we were between houses for a week or so. They can do glasses in an hour these days right?

Long long story short, and very true to the spirit of being an eye doctor's son, I ended up rockin' these Walgreen's Solar Shades for the trip. They got the job done in style if you ask me. Oddly enough, one of the lenses popped out of the solar shades the day after we arrived.

(note from Saralyn: Solar shades. Unshaven face. Fleet Farm trucker's cap in the car... Sorry ladies, he's taken.)

I'm also very happy to announce that one of my favorite stars has started his very own You Tube channel. Since launching, he's posted two diary clips, and I know that there's so many more to come. Please do yourself the favor of visiting R. Kelly TV.

At any rate, there you go. We've yet to see rain here in Portland, so the plan is to get some real sunglasses fairly soon. Aviators. Like Tom Cruise in Top Gun.

Fantastick.

I'd say the usual response to "We are moving to Portland!" was, "Hope you like rain." Given that it was over 60 degrees and sunny for the fourth day in a row, perhaps a more fitting response would have been, "Hope you like ticks."

We knew of the rain, of the inflated gas prices, but what no one warned of us was the ticks. Turns out the Pacific Northwest has quite the population, and the little blood-suckers have thrown us our very own "tick"er tape parade! With tick combs and dog spray in hand, we are now armed and ready. Squeamish, but ready.

Despite our new eight-legged neighbors, we are getting on just fine. The cardboard boxes are slowly disappearing. Each day we seem to branch out of our neighborhood just a bit more. With each branch, there's a slightly different view of the not-so-distant Mt. Hood reminding us that we really have changed scenery more than a bit.

Some items to check off the to-do list:

• Try to visit, and get lost going to the "closest" Home Depot.

• Pulled two ticks out of the same dog hole.

• Devised multiple ways to make those punk kid neighbors stop playing their stupid game of banging a playground ball against their garage from 3:30 pm until dusk (admittedly, this is mostly Dave. "Damn kids! I'll pop their damn ball after they go to bed...")

• Found, and unpacked, all of Dave's sock collection (who really needs packing peanuts anyway?)

• Discovered that Target sells wine, and bought one of their fine "cube" varieties. ("Cube" is hip Marketing-speak for "Franzia.")

• Found it funny that K Records owner, Calvin Johnson, actually is playing in Portland tonight.

• Created multiple reasons to visit the best organicish grocery store in the world, New Seasons Market (damn - we're out of pencil lead - I think we need to go to New Seasons). We finally found veggie chorizo!

All of this is to say that we're slowly spreading our Midwestern wings a bit. Oh, and checking them for ticks before we go to bed.

How the West was Fun!

Transformations happen so unexpectedly sometimes. It was only yesterday that Patsy was rolling around the front yard not yet anticipating the 4 days of travel ahead of her.

And it was only yesterday that I was the Dave that everybody knew before.

But today I found myself with a new handle (Cobra Man), 3-day stubble (about a 3 am shadow), cheap plastic sunglass things that fit over my RX glasses (yes, like the old people), licking limited edition Dorito dust off my fingers (Smokey Cheddar BBQ), drumming a Zeppelin song on the steering wheel in western Minnesota. I’m not sure how these things work.

Saralyn seems real normal all things considered. She’s been taking full advantage of the 75 MPH speed limit throughout most of North Dakota.

Patsy seems to be exacting some sort of revenge on us today. Just before we left, she weaseled past the baby gate meant to keep her apart from the cat. Once on the other side, she ran directly to the cat’s food, ate the vast majority of it before she was dragged away from the prize. Not content with her regular meal, her bonus cat meal, and her medication peanut butter – she also decided to take down the two bran muffins Saralyn had put in her purse for the trip.

She’s sleepy now.

Because we’re driving in separate cars, I’ve had the luxury of listening to as much bad radio as I want along the way. My favorite moments:

• A radio DJ legitimately excited to announce an Amy Grant song that wasn’t “Baby Baby.”

• The same DJ announcing the Rod Stewart song that I don’t know the name of “Play some of your old Motown records – the kind we listened to blah blah blah blaah blahhh…”

• Listening intently to Paul Harvey to find out what the rest of the story was.

• Listening even more intently to a local Christian call in show where a caller started yelling at the host’s read of a particular Bible passage.

Anyway, that’s day 1. There’s some photos to be posted once we arrive. For now, we’re putting the Q in the Quality Inn – Dickenson North Dakota style. More when we have free wireless again.