Seattle has a fabulous, grungy feel. I'm not just saying that because I know grunge came from there, though we did pass quite a few kids who looked like they were still trying to live Kurt Cobain's dream–down to the dirty flannel and greasy haircut.
Public transportation in the city was completely manageable, and Matt's Prius got such exceptional gas mileage that I would imagine only having to refill the tank once a month. I'd be lying if I said that most of Saturday afternoon and evening WASN'T me, sitting in Carey's basement, battling Matt in Starcraft II, which had just come out a few weeks earlier. By the time we emerged to nourish ourselves, it was almost 9pm, and we could no longer go to that Thai place we wanted. Matt's signature red hoodie over his head was apparently mistaken, as a frantic black kid on a bike yelled "WHERE DA WEED AT. HAHA!? HAHA!" while pedaling by. I returned with a manic, loud "HAHA. HAHAHA. WOW. FUNNY" but was looked at really strangely by the people walking around us (which, at 9pm, was still a surprising number of people.)
Portland the next day was hardly as fun. The three hour drive yielded completely out-of-control roads, and a city that fancies itself just ever-so endearingly weird. We met up with one of Matt and Carey's classmates, who showed us around the city. There was some kind of art festival taking place, where a dance crew of mixed ethnicities and a 4'11" breakdancing Irish ginger performed several variations of street dancing...only after threatening to rob the audience if we did not put money in their change jar (complete with a pantomime of the crew's only black member sneaking out with a flatscreen tv).
Upon sitting under the shade of trees by the Willamette River, one couldn't help but notice a pack of dirty hipsters under the adjacent tree, playing ukuleles. By the look of it, they were playing homeless, with backpacks full of blankets and possibly clothing, as they sat there looking disinterested in everything around them. Covered from head to toe in tattoos and piercings, I found myself wondering if they were actually homeless, or if they would be likely to lecture me about the oppressiveness of property rental and their choice to "live with the earth" (which would not be surprising, seeing as the West Coast in general actually knows recycle, and seems to care about its well being). Either way, we concluded that they had rather large trust funds they were disregarding, and that their parents were likely perfectly average people who gathered around their table for Thanksgiving Dinner every year and didn't talk about them to the rest of the family.
Not that the city wasn't pretty, or that these kids weren't possibly nice people, there was just an air of absolute pretentiousness floating around the city, as almost everyone seemed to be so preoccupied with him/herself that I'm surprised they weren't running into each other on the sidewalks. As we ventured down to Hawthorne (supposedly the "hip" street of Portland) I ventured into a thrift store, only to find that everything was $12, because they did the thrifting for me, and left only the tackiest items. I ran across the street to the Ben & Jerrys (to utilize the facilities, as mentioned before). The cashier looked shocked that I interrupted her conversation to ask for the bathroom key, at which point she turned to me with a put-off look, and said "Uh, it's right there," pointing to a nail three feet below my face, and behind the cash register.
Feeling obligated to buy something, I stood at the counter, waiting through one in a short, floral skirt and fake glasses describing her theatre woes to her two captivated friends.
"Would you believe that she said I couldn't get the part because I am hispanic! How dare they typecast me!"
Staring enough yielded the whole group to turn to me, then proceed to punch each other in a game of "you take the order, no you take the order." One reluctant girl in a tie-dye tee stepped up with a morose "Yes?"
I've concluded that Portland is a lot like Brooklyn. I'm sure it's intentional. The painfully hip arrogance of the passers by only highlights the vacancy of the interactions between them, while everyone tries to dress as expected–in outfits no one who wasn't attempting "ironic" would ever touch. The fact that Oregon is tax-free would have me going there to shop viciously for one day a year, but not for anything else.
I'm aware that that was all quite harsh and judgemental, the city just really rubbed me the wrong way.
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