Bitch.

Not for long though. If you’re one of my peeps up in Seattle and you’d like to link up next week, drop me a line. My time in Washington will be equal parts work and play.

I got what I needed out of Portland. Quality time with my sister and her sons, Robby and Ryan and Torry and Tiarry, aka Taz and Hoppy. I found a half-dozen strong stories about Oregon marijuana and made at least as many more contacts on the scene. Made a couple of friends, I think, too.

By the time the Lakers have done their thing against the Thunder in Game 3 I should be back inside of Cali’s boundaries. And, because anything is possible, I may even have a car by the time I’m back in SoCal. By Sunday I’ll give a big American welcome to my friend Abbey from the ol’ Moli gig. She’s due in from London. Monday night might see me at my first McSweeney’s joint in quite a few years.

I’m due up in Seattle by month’s end, which means this L.A. visit might feel like a whirlwind tour. And that’s fine; The Northwest feels pretty slow, so I’m fairly revitalized.

Here’s a confession: After leaving L.A., I experienced for a while the feeling of being demoted from the big leagues. As much as I love San Francisco, after a while Frisco felt like AAA ball. Fresno felt like AA. Sacramento… you get the gist. Don’t think this is a bad thing; I’m starting to think that maybe huge cities are bad for me. After all, it was a small town that birthed and cultivated my black ass. And N.Y. and L.A. have shown me minimal love.

Thing is, Portland’s not given me that minor-league vibe yet. Rip City still owns an air of mystery, at least in my mind. Maybe I just don’t know the place well enough yet, but its quiet refuses to be mistaken for dullness. I’ve hung out downtown and chilled in the sticks and felt no let-up in vibe. Maybe I’ll settle in here. It’s too early to tell right now.

But don’t get too crazy tomorrow. Again.

I don’t believe in the Portland hoops team like some folks up here, but my sense of things of is a little more optimistic than Charles Barkley, who with typical easy hyperbole said last night that there’s not one person in town who believes the Trailblazers are going to beat the Phoenix Suns.

How does this obese huckster get away with such bullshit?

After tip-off, my sister’s neighborhood in the Southeast section turned profoundly quiet. My nephews and I had just returned from shooting pool in a country bar when Rip City, already a pretty sedate place on Sunday evenings, got preternaturally calm during the Blazers’ surprise road win over Phoenix. Everyone was focused, but not as much as Nicolas Batum, one of the Portland stars most hoping to make up for the loss of Brandon Roy.

I’m down with the L.A. playoff contender until the bitter end, but here’s hoping that Portland continues to give Phoenix the business. First off, cuz I’m here and am always digging a good local playoff run. Secondly, I want to see every team that might play the Lakers down the road go through long, exhausting series. And a Portland victory would be lovely way to celebrate the death of Darryl Gates, whose protégé Mark Kroeker seemeed to racially profile the old “Jail Blazers” to no end.

Having said these things, go Lakers! And, while we’re at it, go Dodgers, too!

Since breaking out of LA last month, it’s occurred to me that maybe I just can’t cut it in really big cities. San Francisco, Sacramento and even Fresno have seemed more conducive to successful living in my brief recent visits. I’ve been in Portland for less than a day, and it feels like a contender for next place where I might put down roots. I’m polishing my resume.

One downside to The Great Northwest: It’s full of tweakers. In fact, the farther north I travel, the more crystal meth seems to have been leaked into the water supply. I talked to a dispensary operator in Fresno who sounded so fucking out there, that I decided not to use him as a source for my reporting on the medical marijuana biz. On Amtrak I came across obvious tweaking. My fam has been telling me stories. And the local edition of Busted is full of meth arrests.

Man, listen: Crystal meth is a horrible menace. I did it for a few weeks, right after arriving in Sactown. It was early ‘85. and the shit still seemed secret. I stopped super-early, cuz my only addictions are coffee and cigarettes.( And only the former have I completely given myself over to.) While interning at the Fresno Bee in the summer of 1987, I did a front-page story on what cops told me was a coming crystal meth menace. If that wasn’t enough of a deterrent, about five years ago an LA roommate brought the stuff into our crib. It took the grown man in me to stay away from it.

My theory is that there are capitalist drugs and drugs that don’t help feed the production machinery. Coke, speed, Adderall and coffee all help people, um, crank in the office (or factory or field or whatever). So, bosses don’t really make a fuss about them until usage gets in the way of productivity. Fam prolly, too.

But I detest the stuff on a visceral level. And the fact that it’s so heavy in the nation’s Northwest section turns me off.

Aside from Essence of Tweaker perfuming my environs, life is fairly lovely. I’ve got assignments from NPR, Kirkus and for MarijuanaBusinessReporter.com and the company of close connects, most of whom are presently under-employed. I’ve been hanging out at my sister’s crib and learning lots about my nephews, since I’ve not seen since they were still living in Sacramento and I was working on that profoundly underplayed Ron Artest profile. (Really? Ron Artest doesn’t rate making the cover of your po-dunk slick? Wowser.)

I finished the follow-up to my first dispensary profile, but have experienced tech diffs in getting it online. The piece is a quantum leap forward from the first, largely because my editing skills have come up. Plus, my camera operator got great footage inside SaraJane & Co. Pretty soon, that bad boy should be on Youtube and Marijuana Business Reporter.

The feeling right now is ahead of me. Cali’s gonna miss me when I’m gone. Like Dexter Gordon and James Baldwin when they went to France.

Couple of days ago, I was sitting on my old college roommate’s commode in midtown Fresno, soaking wet from having jumped out of the shower to take a call from Barry Jenkins. The interview was fantastic, everything I was looking for. And, still, it was kinda fucked up…

For the past half year or so, I’ve pushed damn-near incessantly to bring attention to the first short film I ever worked on. This isn’t because I’m obsessed with psychedelia; mind-altering drugs, as useful as they might be to society as a whole, are but a small part of my day-to-day existence. And while baseball is indeed an obsession of mine, it’s not why I’m stuck on the pitcher’s mound nowadays, either.

Mostly, you and my Facebook associates have been bombarded with No-No news because… I totally want to win a Best Short Film Oscar. Officially recognition has never meant shit to me, but copping an Academy Award for Dock feels important in a way that no writing or reporting award from my past has ever felt.

To desire such an honor is a reach, but I’m on letting myself do it.

And I’m talking about my aim openly because, as much love as the project has gotten on an international level, the love generated in L.A.—where those four minutes and thirty-one seconds of Dock Ellis’ greatest story, not to mention the man himself, were born— has been minimal.

Funny or Die and Yahoo have lavished out props. LA Observed recognized in that brief, pithy style that so many of us depend on. The LA Times showed the video, sans mention of the story’s creators, in its first comprehensive Sundance preview. But Los Angeles public radio, where the story began, seems to regard Dock as a red-haired stepchild. TV’s not paid any attention. Overall, I think it’s fair to say that 90 percent of the attention given our film has come from outside of the city, mostly from the East Coast.

Thank god for the Internet.
It feels as though Southern Cali is slightly uncomfortable with our small achievement, even if smart baseball types everywhere repeatedly refer to it as one of the best sports films ever. Therefore I work Hollywood, hard. It’s possible that there’s already enough positive talk around to get the short into LA’s film festival. I don’t want to chance this though.

The coming weeks are big ones for Dock Ellis & the LSD No-No. It garnered two Webby nominations yesterday, one in the Animation category and another in Sports. Judging—with all its inherent behind-the-scenes jockeying—shall wrap up on May 4. Nothing I can do will influence that vote. Four days after the Webbies comes a little outdoor fun called Rooftop Films, where Dock is likely to inspire Brooklyn hipsters to tune in, turn on and throw an inside breaking pitch. And then there’s Santa Cruz. I think I mentioned that Santa Cruz is an off-line conversation

So, here is where I shut up a bit on this matter. But don’t get the idea that I want an Oscar any less.

It was on Tuesday that I trekked up to Sactown alongside videographer Thor Swift. We nabbed a green, fragrant behind-the-scenes look at Sara Jane & Co., a multi-faceted business that just happens to have a dispensary component. The green crew is a a boon to Midtown’s business and art scenes, and Sara Jane’s made me proud to have come out of the Capital, back in the day.

The Sara Jane profile — set to premier here on 4/20 — is proving to be more than a one-off. I seem to be going full dispensary retard.

Sacramento was a week ago. In that time I’ve traveled to Oakland, Santa Monica and points beyond. After a few days on the Westside of Los Angeles, I’m heading up north again. This time, there will be no  stopping the journey at San Francisco.

Presently I’m in Hanford, researching a Fresno print piece. Then, in the Bay Area (again) I shall cherry-pick big nuggets of reportage. Chico could very well happen next. Couple of nights in Oregon, with my sister by the weekend. And then hopefully a minute in Seattle.

In perfection I’d hit Vancouver. One should always aim high.

Give a shout — Donnell@DonnellAlexander.com — if you and I achieve proximity. We can talk about Santa Cruz. Or, if you’d like to get in on the DonnellAlexander.com advertising opportunities that are about to drop, we can rap about that. Either way, I’m down to link.

Consider EzineArticles to keep track of my writing. (That’s if you don’t use Gmail.) The site will send an email alert to your mailbox. I’m not completely sure that it works, but some of the kids seem to be using it.

Dr. Dre said at Fenway Park on Monday that Detox will finally hit stores later this year. If you want a pretty up-close take on why the fuck it took so long for Andre Young to get his shit out the door, check out Rollin’ with Dre—online or on Amazon or at your local library.