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A Northern California/Southern Oregon Coast Morning

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The Ship Ashore Resort–their website says the museum and gift shop are “temporarily closed” but it’s been closed since 2013 so don’t hold your breath.

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After a solid continental breakfast, I continued to follow 101 up Oregon’s coastline. It was a gorgeous morning, overcast, the cloudiness and slight fog perfectly complementing the waves smashing into the rocky shore. As it was yet early, I was able to pull over and watch a whole family of elk grazing on the side of the road–thankfully, these ones were not as well versed in the art of setting traps as their other Oregon brethren. I don’t know if it was the time of day or the time of year, but the winding roads were almost deserted, which made for perfect driving conditions, one of those drives where I can just set the cruise control, pump up the jams, and make time, pulling over every once in a while to take in the view. It was just what I needed after the total shitshow that was the previous afternoon/evening.  It was only a scant two hour drive to the day’s first destination: Prehistoric Gardens. That’s right, strap in, because on Wednesday, we’re going to see even more dinosaurs.

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We come from Springfield and we sell swampland!

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It’s no surprise that I’m a huge fan of The Simpsons (Worst. Kept. Secret. Ever.) and have been so since I was a kid. Any cromulent fan knows that historically the show has been very cagey about Springfield’s location, because it’s a very common town name, and thus everyone could choose to believe that The Simpsons’s Springfield was also their Springfield.  When I was a kid growing up in the midwest, I was certain that the ‘real’ Springfield was Springfield, Illinois.  Even though sometimes they went to the ocean. Or climbed mountains. 

In 2010, Matt Groening let it slip that the ‘real’ Springfield was Springfield, Oregon, which I suppose shouldn’t have come as a surprise, given that Matt is from nearby Portland, and many townspeople’s names come from Portland’s street names. Springfield, Oregon has embraced their cartoon likeness, and in 2014, they dedicated a wall to a giant Simpsons mural to take their relationship to the next level. A groin-grabbingly good mural.

oregon-day-one-6-of-14New York’s thataway, man!

oregon-day-one-7-of-14It’s the Springfield tire yard! The fire is forthcoming, presumably.

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There’s also a small free Springfield museum that supposedly has a Simpsons couch for photos, but thanks to my blundering numbskullery while planning, they were closed on the day I rolled through. DOH! Next time, Springfield.

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Salmagundi West

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van-city-3-of-41Super awesome art by Michael deMeng

van-city-9-of-41In case you want to start your own House on the Rock-esque creepy clown collection.

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van-city-11-of-41This hat looks awfully familiar.

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I had a friend tell me that coming to my house is like coming to a museum, that every time she sees something new and unusual. As someone whose aesthetic is undeniably “creepy museum”, I was thrilled to hear that. While I respect those who live simple, minimalist lifestyles, I can’t do it myself. I tried minimalism for about three days and then awoke at 4am on day three to find myself feverishly sleep-browsing craigslist for gothic antiques. I’m not advocating living under a mouldering pile of newspapers, clutching onto every one-use kitchen gadget or instruction manual for shit you don’t even have anymore, or mindlessly consuming trendy stuff you’ll almost immediately discard. And sure, the best things in life aren’t things. However, things are forever. The objects we choose to surround ourselves with can tell a story, set a mood, remind us of happy times, tell us where we’ve been and where we want to go.  I always have an eye out for anything that belongs in my creepy museum, and that’s why no trip to Vancouver is complete without a stop at Salmagundi West, home to oddities, antiques, antique oddities, and odd antiques, plus a smattering of outsider art and occult ephemera. In other words, it’s like stepping into my alternate dimension living room. It’s fun digging through all the drawers of the card catalogs in their “magical basement” for treasures, and it’s even more fun to try to explain what exactly I bought to the border agent without sounding like someone whose trunk they should probably check for body parts or something. And sure, I can’t take it all with me when I go–but my ghost can preside over one hell of an exciting estate sale.

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