You Know How We Do In PDX

I spent my first 18 or so years living a peaceful, satisfied life in the only place in the state of Oregon that really matters. Hell, for as long as I remember I figured it was just a rumor that people would actually choose or be forced by some twisted fate to live outside PDX and its subsidy. And to this day, having seen many of the one-gas-station-towns of this less-than-prodigious state, I can say with full confidence that Portland, including its suburbs, is a lonely beacon of hope in an otherwise unremarkable land.

Because I am arrogant, and we needed to fill space in this issue, it fell to me to explain the attitude of all Portlanders with respect to their view of Oregon. There are many who make the misleading claim that there are worthwhile spots here; I will rebuke this perspective with extreme prejudice. Hence I speak for an entire people, the Portland People.

Exiting the Seattle’s Best Coffee shop near the Pioneer Courthouse Square, a PDX native surveys all around him to gaze at buildings that exceed two stories and are actually as attractive as they are practical, brick in the ground and in walls, lively storefronts, panhandlers with finesse, jazz and comedy clubs and real-life, coke-addicted -athletes.

There’s even a cost-effective public transit system. There are too many nice restaurants to count and too many watering holes to hide in. Travel ten minutes away from downtown and you can find neatly built suburbs with teen-hangout malls, each replete with yet another Starbucks, a Jamba Juice and all the department stores you could possibly traverse in one Christmas season.

In contrast to the rest of the state, which I can only assume shares but one gene for the untold thousands of Mongol wretches, we have full electricity, highways and byways, J. Crew and Saks stores and the corporate offices of Nike and adidas.

With respect to the quality of talent put forth from PDX compared to the rest of the state, one of the examples closest to home I can use would be the historical leadership of this very magazine. An overwhelming majority has come from the Portland area. I hale first from Hillsboro and then Beaverton. The previous Editor-in-Chief, William Beutler, hales from Portland proper. Owen Brennan Rounds originated from Hillsboro. Ed Carson — PDX, baby.

There are, of course, the occasional years when talent is so hard to come by that the magazine is forced into accepting those who hale from the hinterlands. Current Editor-in-Chief Pete R. “Ethan Montana” Hunt is from Tiller, OR. (So is anal anthrax, but public health officials testiy that’s just a coincidence.) Former publisher Jonathan Collegio was from Bend, or Roseburg, or Grants Pass — I can’t quite recall now because they’re really all the same to me.

I must admit that this year has been one of diversity and growth for me, however, as I’ve met plenty of interesting and borderline-acceptable people from outside my own province of pleasure. I have a friend from some place called Redmond — it must be quite dissimilar to Redmond, WA, I assure you — and, of course, Pete Hunt comes from Tiller. (Tiller, for God’s sake! It only has one fire hydrant and one dog to deface it.) I’ve even met a girl who admits to being from Ashland, where the code of life lists high school football just above of Jesus and civil rights in terms of societal priority.

Some also try to make economic or social arguments for inclusion of other towns into the society of polite Oregon. There is the state capital, but from where we Portland People come from, we’re fairly sure that the attempt to make Salem the state capital was an early oversight and will be corrected when we finally get a reasonable governor in office.

Then there are some who boastfully point to Eugene, this hellish black hole that neither permits logic, true dissent or personal hygiene products, as a critical part of the state. We needn’t even deal with that small bit of absurdity.

There is a lot of land in this state, but there’s only one place to live. The rest of you can go to hell — oh wait, you’ve been there for years.

Bret Jacobson, who hasn’t ever ventured outside of the 503 area code, is the publisher of the Oregon Commentator.