After spending two nights in the Pathicccic West Coast, I can only summarize Portland as one thing: the weirdest fucking place I’ve ever been.
First let’s start with the people. Whatever happened to being born with a hair color and sticking to it? What happened to just looking in the mirror and being like “that’ll do”? Apparently that line of thinking is quite foreign in Portland, because absolutely everyone had their hair dyed. And it wasn’t even just the usual art students. Grown men and women were sporting color wheels on their heads. Imagine growing up with a dad with purple hair? I’d rather grow up with two dads with normal hair. It’d be less gay.
Also, the line between hipsters and homeless is about as skinny as their leather pants in Portland. I didn’t think it was possible to have such a high fashion IQ while also shitting in public. Every time I saw a pair of ripped jeans I wondered to myself, “did he buy those ripped, or is it just the wear and tear that comes from blowing dudes for crack?”. I still don’t have answers, and I’m not sure I want any.
The homeless were also the most well put together hobos I’ve ever seen. I swear I saw one moisturizing at one point. They also all had their own dogs, who were all well fed and taken care of. It was a tough blow to the ego when I would walk past a homeless dog and immediately know that it had a better diet than I did.
Secondly, I’ve never seen a place with more coffee shops. With Portland being so progressive with LGBTXOG2GTTYL rights, you’d think they’d spend less time crushing beans and more time flicking them.
Also apparently Portland is the craft beer capital of the world, and I took advantage of that, by exclusively drinking Coors Light and PBR’s the entire time. Gotta stay true to myself. Not going to change my preferred choice of alcoholism just because I’m in a different location. It’s called integrity.
Anyway, now I’m in LA, so time to turn my narcissism into overdrive.