Twenty-three years ago today in a U-Haul driven by two friends from online who came down to get me, I arrived in Portland from San Francisco where I’d lived for just under a year and a half, gotten mugged just three months in, and never gained any traction. The trip included finally touching the Pacific Ocean, sleeping in the box of the truck wedged among all my stuff, and singing of the Geritown strip mall to the tune of “Funky Town”. It’s been both uphill and downhill ever since, I’ve been at least five different, noticeably inconsistent incarnations of Bix along the way, and I’ve little sense of what I’m doing today.