Red Mango Curry

Portland, is a place where a lot of my friends move to. I don't know why. I've never been there, on an extended stay.
The only way I've experienced Portland is driving through it. This last last time driving down to LA, Scott and I stopped @ Nikolas's Lebanese restaurant in PDX, per recommendation of Chris Brown. When we were paying for our bill, two women at another table were looking at us and laughing. After a few minutes they ended up offering their leftovers to us. Which we accepted of course.
A lot of artists I'm fascinated by have moved to and from Portland within the last two years.
In Seattle I met a freejazz Shaman, we'll call him Shane. He told Sarine and I that we could sleep in the hay at his barn in Portland, if we ever came down to visit. He said he had a telephone and that we could call him at the given number. He was a nice scoundrel. He was in his late sixties and kept hiding his retainer, that held his false teeth, in the couch, or in the dish rack, or on the edge of the bathroom sink so that people would sit on it, or find it and be shocked. He had curly-curly grey hair that he wore in afropuffs and his pants were some of the strangest bell-bottoms I have ever seen.
I never took that trip to visit Shane. Not yet, at least. I still have his number.

Last night, Scott and I made a wonderful red curry with Mango. I would have entered it into a contest. It was THAT good.

I interviewed for a telefund position in Downtown LA yesterday. The job would have me raise money for democrats. Scott didn't do well on his interview, it might have been too much emotionally, poor guy. Maybe Scott and I can get jobs at the LA Gay center, or whatever its called.