An ode to Portland, Oregon
A wonderful rant from
The Adaptive Curmudgeon's Blog:
There Must Be Something In The Water
I�m traveling in the Pacific Northwest. Pray for me!
The �weird Portland effect� isn�t news. I�ve been here before. I spent several years getting rained on amid the socialists and tall trees. I did my time. I paid my debt to society. I have since escaped to flyover country. My homestead�s location is my version of heaven and their version of hell; I�m happy I left, presumably they�re happy I�m gone.
A bit more and then this wonderful social observation:
After leaving I gradually realized that all that rain really had hammered my attitude. The sun came out and my spirits soared. My boots finally dried out and stopped smelling like mold. I could ride a bicycle without a raincoat. I could drive a truck without feeling like it was fueled with the bones of baby seals. I could put a bicycle in the back of the truck and drive it around while listening to heavy metal instead of lute and eating beef jerky instead of slimy yogurt. I could wear Carhartts non-ironically. I could walk past a smoker without feeling social pressure to be a dick to them. God bless America I was free again! Dinner became about food instead of a hand wringing exploration of GMOs and localvores. Have you noticed that they�re all skinny? I�d be skinny too if I lived in a world without bacon� and joy.
A dismal gray depression had flowed over me so stealthily that I�d hardly noticed it�s arrival. A few months after fleeing the constant rain and Marxism it had fully lifted off my shoulders and was gone. Who knows how long or how deeply the rain had seeped into my bones? All I knew is that I felt as light as a feather. I knew it was gone when I stopped wondering why everyone thought tofu was food. Perhaps it takes a lot of rain to make tofu appear to taste good and bacon to taste like murder?
I visit from time to time. I prepare like it�s a visit to Warsaw in 1950. I pack plenty of rain gear, never stay longer than necessary, and make damn sure I�ve got my escape route clearly in mind. I say �hi� to the tall Douglas-fir (I do miss them) and check to see that the Pacific is properly situated where I left it. I love watching the waves. They�re entrancing. You�ve got to keep an eye out though. Sometimes a rogue wave will rise up and suck an inattentive fool into the undertow. You can be drunk while on the beach but never turn your back on the Pacific. Then, after a few beers and some salmon, I get the hell outta� Dodge.
More at the site -- wonderful stuff!
Posted by DaveH at October 12, 2013 5:07 PM