The sign at the Oregon borders used to read: WELCOME TO OREGON. PLEASE DON’T STAY.
How badass is that? How cool does your governor have to be where the highway signs remind travelers that it’s wonderful if you visit, just don’t move here with your brood? Let’s see Spitzer or Schwarzenegger pull that off. Oh yeah, they have no clear idea of urban planning or preparation for the future. No shortage of hookers and terminators, though. There’s a new video game for the kids in the backseat: Hookers and Terminators. New decade, here we come, pushing the line between family values and the value of the dollar. We’re all hungrier than last year, our jobs suck more now than last year so this year we’re determined to make someone pay. Who that someone is, I’m still unsure of. But they will pay. By god, they will pay.
Every time some national media publication or televised crap-fest touts the serene beauty and smart living of Portland, 100,000 more liberal/hipster/unshowered sustainable urbanites decide that this is the place to be. I blame all rush hour traffic jams, lines at the supermarket and my inability to get decent customer service in this god-forsaken town on the massive influx of transplants to Portland. Part of me wants to preserve the huckleberry values of my town while the other part knows that the future involves gentrification and a tender tongue when it comes to address the new, sensitive residents who have brought midwest and east coast money and “new and progressive” ideas. Don’t get me started on Californians.
And if you come to Portland to live, be prepared to meet the vehemence of one skinny but surly local who understands the surface appeal of the town but laughs on the inside at the reasoning of those who think they love it.
On a completely unrelated note: Why are most sex experts people you wouldn’t have sex with in a hundred years? Oh, how the questions of the universe produce maddening quandaries.