Hi, my name is Carol and I'm a misanthrope

Today the weather was not nearly as fine as yesterday, but I ventured out anyway, thinking of the recent study that found a correlation between computer usage and ass width. I donned my protective gear: oversized black t-shirt over long black nylon pants, and lime green hoodie jacket equipped with lip balm, sunglasses, fingerless gloves (formerly known as socks), snotrag, and house key. On my head I wore a baseball cap that says Shannon heart Aunt Carol. On my feet I wore my beat up Sauconies. Beat up because I took a pair of scissors to them to make room for my droopy ankle bones, and they have been falling apart ever since. (My shoes, I mean, not my ankles.) I wear all this stuff to protect me from the elements. You know, rain, sun, cold air, and the lurking pervert leaping out from behind a tree to yank down my pants.

So, I was ready. Born to run. I exited my back door and headed for the street, only to stop in amazement. The street was lined with parked cars. What was happening? I saw an army of bicycles, riders of all shapes and ages, pedaling in both directions. Wha-? Oh, no, it's Sunday Parkways! Sunday Parkways is Portland's street festival, where the city blocks off streets in certain neighborhoods over the course of the summer, so that people can ride bikes and walk. There's music and theatre, lots of people, dogs, bikes, noise, energy.

I slapped my head. I had totally forgotten it was big event day in the park. My park. Yeah, you heard me. My park.

I guess I've become a bit territorial of Mt Tabor Park, but in my defense let me say that usually the park is sparsely populated, even on sunny weekends. The families hang out in the playground: I hear them, but they aren't in my way. I share the roads with skateboarders and the trails with dogwalkers and the occasional jogger. Mostly I am alone. Not today. Once I made it up the main staircase to the summit, it was bicycle pandemonium.

Not my preferred scene, not in my park. But as I trotted by a guy dressed like a clown and riding a bicycle to which he had strapped two huge speakers and a stereo system, I had to laugh. The noise was impressive. He rode nonchalantly around the summit, grinning beatifically in the pale sunshine. More than one dog looked slightly anxious. A group of chubby females peered out at him from under a New Age tent they had constructed among the trees out of ropes and fluttery translucent fabric. I kept on trotting down the hill and reflected that I was watching my tax dollars hard at work, paying for this event.

Some people would be angry about that, but not me. I like my tax dollars to pay for things that promote community, even though I don't particularly care for community myself. I would gladly pay more taxes so that everyone could have adequate healthcare and education, (as long as everyone else paid their share too, of course), because that builds a strong community. I always put people before profit, despite the fact that most of the time I don't really like people. As a founding member of Misanthropes Anonymous, my first thought when I see you is, hey, hi. My second thought is, how soon can you leave?

I'm not really a misanthrope. Actually, I guess I'm more of a tree-hugging, bleeding heart socialist liberal. I just happen to also be a self-obsessed malcontent and self-proclaimed introvert. I'm happiest when I'm alone, but I am a big fan of keeping the social fabric of our city from unraveling. If that takes street fairs, festivals, and fireworks, my thumbs are up, even while I'm hunkering down to wait it out.