My birthday was lovely...thanks for asking. I forgot to bring a camera to any of it, though. Oh well. On Sunday I saw a man crossing the street wearing a cowboy hat...plaid shirt...jeans...and Dansko clogs. Only in Portland, friends...only in Portland.
I was reading an article in Portland Monthly Magazine...a delightful publication with pretty pictures manufactured and printed in the building next to my office...way too much back story...when I noticed something. Something profound. Well not really, but it was something nonetheless. It was an article about Local bars. I have no idea why I just capitalized "Local", but there you have it.
Anyway...in describing each bar scene, the author of the article, whose name I did not take the time to note, made sure to completely ridicule what the average patron was wearing and then labeled them as Young Professional, Bike Messenger, Hipster, etc. It occurred to me that you really have no choice but to be put into one of these categories if you go to a bar. It really doesn't matter what you wear. You're one of the above.
For my part, I'm a different one every time I go out. And I guess I get mildly offended that this writer thinks you can accurately describe the atmosphere of a certain establishment by telling the readers that all they see are trucker hats and Peter Sellers' glasses. Well I have something to say about that.
Fie on you, Portland Monthly! We live in a city where a man can walk around a popular part of town in a cowboy hat and clogs and feel perfectly at home! And if he walks into a bar...he will defy all your conventions and blow your minds! And that's why this city is almost tolerable! That's why!
Now leave me before I begin to cry! I'm just so passionate about this! And exclamation points! Those too! Damnit!
9 keep(s) me blogging:
The city in which I finally settled is a lot like Portland. The state in general is full of redneck right wing Christians. That’s all fine and good, it’s not like I’m calling them baby killing dog f*ckers so there should be no offense taken. Anyway, the point of my story is that nobody from my hometown will visit me because they feel uncomfortable around all those “liberal faygits.” The point is, as long as those tight asses feel that way, I can be reasonable assured that my city of choice where I should be.
I should like to boycott Portland Monthly magazine were it not for the fact that they featured a photo of me in an article about the Portland farmers market from a previous issue, thus launching my multi-million dollar career as a carrot-holding model. But I do say to them: for shame! I shall sport my sweater shawl, capri pants, toed socks and sandals to any Portland bar such as I please *when* I please. Label THAT if you dare.
My friend and I once went into a bar in Ullapool (the port of exit for the Hebrides in Scotland) because the ferry was going to be 6 (!!) hours late and there was nothing else to do except admire the seagulls.
We walked in. Silence happened. A tumbleweed blew by (except it was more of a mossball, this being Scotland). Somebody behind the scenes brought out a pan-pipe and did the doodle-doodle-doo, doo-doo-doo Clint Eastwood's cigar music. The all male patron turned and stared. One spat in the sawdust.
Michelle and I being strong-willed island types (translation=difficult) bellied up to the bar and ordered the first drink of The Duration. I think mine was an 80/- (80 shilling, strong).
By the time we left the reporter for the Ullapool weekly had taken our photos with no idea what the story to run with it.
Moral: alcohol is the great equalizer (these Ullapool fishermen don't take kindly to strangers even if they are only Hebrideans but be prepared to stand a round or two and you can all start again with a new understanding).
Don't perspire it what some Portland Monthly reporter said. You were probably having a much better time than he/she was and that is why they couldn't relax amongst fellow human beings without ripping people apart first.
Can anyone tell I'm off my head. it was tueasday Team Trivia tonight and we won! Lethal liquid prizes on top of the ones we bought 'cos we though we wouldn't win more than 1 round. Huzzah!
Glad your birthday was a fine one, petal.
Yeah, don't judge a book by its cover, as the saying goes. All the same, I'm sure you'd look pretty good in a Calamity Jane outfit. You'd sure put the wind up all those sneering journalists. Your fans live in hope of more photos.
I wonder if the journalist would label their wardrobe as pompous ass.
One time we were catching our connection flight to Portland in Chicago, O'Hare airport. As we strolled down the concourse looking for our gate, we finally came up to a waiting area populated with people of ample girth wearing GoreTex and Birkenstocks. Sure enough, the sign over the check-in counter read, "Departures: Portland".
slag - you SHOULD be calling them baby killing dog f*ckers...that's what we call 'starting a useful dialogue'.
laura - you're banned for the rest of the day on account of your shameless plug of your own face.
sam - wow. i want to go there.
goranas - i have fans!?!?!
anonymous - let's do it for them!
apterix - i've heard that story before!
this post made me want to move to portland and attend Local bars.
Actually, I'm not sure we didn't get the same kinds of calculating, critical leers when we sampled all the UK pubs a couple of years ago. We clearly didn't fit whatever it was we were supposed to fit if we had. I think I'll stop there.
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