One-Shot

I Hate Eugene

Res Ipsa Loquitor is Latin for "The thing speaks for itself." Much like the title of our annual I Hate Eugene piece.

Maybe "hate" is too strong a word. I don't really "hate" Eugene. I can't say that I "hate" anything or anyone. My feelings for Eugene are similar to the feelings I had several years ago when I visited an exhibit of various insects at the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry. I distinctly remember my reaction to the collection of exotic cockroaches: a strange mixture of nausea, bewilderment, disgust and strange fascination. And I left feeling slightly tarnished and soiled. I feel the same way about Eugene.

My experience started in the summer of 1996. I moved here the weekend of the Oregon Country Fair, and when I woke up Saturday morning, I had a small clutch of Trustafarians camped out on my front lawn. They'd just sprouted there overnight like some strange variety of toadstool. When I politely asked them to leave, their leader protested by arguing, "Well, like look, dude, you aren't usin' your yard right now, are you?" No, but it's my yard, and I really don't want complete strangers camping on it. "Well, like it's the Earth and the Earth belongs to all of us, so like this is part of me, too, you know. Besides, dude, you're just renting." Had I not been suffering severe bronchitis at the time, I might've debated the finer points of landlord-tenant law. Instead, I just went inside and had two Tylenol and a cup of coffee.

I find Eugene fascinating and repulsive at the same time, bewildering and utterly detestable. I can't figure this place out, so I decided I should dissect Eugene in the same way I might dissect a Giant Madagascar Hissing Cockroach: very carefully and with plenty of Pepto-Bismol nearby. I have completed my studies over these past few weeks. Now, fair reader, I will share with you the results of my research.

People have too much time.
At a fundamental level, everything that is wrong with Eugene can be traced to one simple reason: people just have too much damn time on their hands. This is the Grand Unification Theory of Eugene. Every major controversy we've seen in the past few years, from Hyundai to the Country Fair to Vicki Elmer, was initiated by people who simply didn't have more important things to do with their time.

Personal hygiene is lacking.
The one exception to this Grand Unification Theory is bathing.

True story: a year ago, I went to see a movie and was driven from my seat by the smell of the guy (at least I think he was a guy) who sat down in front of me. Two rows in front of me, no less. Imagine the miasma emanating from a deserted stockyard a few weeks after the pungent smells have been washed away, leaving only the pervasive, brooding, overpowering smell of dusty cattle dung. That's what this guy smelled like.

If I could make one lasting statement to the People's Republic of Eugene, it would be this: patchouli oil has its limits.

It's damn easy to talk at someone, but try talking to someone.
With all the debate that goes on in this town, you'd think that every once in awhile, something might get accomplished. Eugene focuses on "dialogue" and "community empowerment." In reality, these sentiments translate into a city that operates on the encounter-group model of government: a whole lot of talking, everyone feels better in the end, but nothing changes. Here's an example taken from an article recently appearing in the tabloid Alternatives for Cultural Creative (okay, this particular rag is based out of Salem, but Eugene is their largest readership). The author created "the metaphor of the hologram" to explain her sense of community and concluded, "we are each different and individual and the some of us all is the Whole [sic]. And yet each of us contains the Whole [sic] within us. The challenge is to relax into life, rejoice in diversity and find joy at the cosmic joke of our apparent separation." If that quote holds any meaning for you, well, God bless you, you'll be happy there--and if you see me on the street, please explain what the hell the point of that excerpt happens to be.

You ever notice how much people talk about problems in Eugene, yet no one seems to volunteer? Last fall, the Eugene City Council debated a measure to allow homeless people to camp in certain sections of the city. Dozens (maybe hundreds) of "concerned community members" showed up to express their concern that the city wasn't doing enough to help the homeless. For hours, they testified about the plight of the homeless, the evils of capitalism, the lack of community, etc. An associate of mine who works for a volunteer organization that actually tries to do something to help homeless people (such as give them food, shelter and some clothing) passed around a volunteer sign-up sheet at this same meeting. She figured that if everyone in that room volunteered an hour during the fall or winter--one hour sometime during a period of several months--her volunteer needs would be filled during the critical part of the year. She got six people to sign up. One of those six people wrote a note next to her name saying, "I cannot help with manual labor or activities. As an upcoming leader of my community, I must retain my vision for social progress and must avoid work that blunts my creativity. I would be happy to facilitation [sic] your leadership meetings, however."

Here's my message for these people: For God's sake, JUST DO SOMETHING! Shut the hell up, get your butts down to your local churches or community centers, and volunteer some time.

No compromise in defense of Mother Earth!
Eugene is the place where, whenever some janitor at Hyundai farts, someone somewhere wants to shut down production until a methane emissions report, an airborne particulate matter assessment and a new Environmental Impact Study can be completed. I am concerned about the destruction of the environment, but apparently "reasonable accountability" is as familiar to Eugenians as ancient Sanskrit.

And someone--please! anyone!--tell me why in the name of all that is holy did people riot last year because some maple trees were being cut down? Maples are roughly the botanical equivalent of rats or cockroaches; we're not talking about sequoias or old-growth Douglas fir here. The city had a contract with Symantec to build a parking deck. Some maples had to be cut down to make way for this parking deck. A bunch of wannabe anti-syndicalist anarchists show up wearing bandannas (since "cowboys and Indians" is no longer PC, these kids had to act out their inherent desire to conform to the cowboy archetype in some other way), they scream profanities at armed police officers (How smart is that? Almost makes me wish we could bring back social Darwinism), kick down some cyclone fencing with their Doc Martens ($89.90 at Urban Outfitters), and suddenly, I have to explain to the relatives back in the Midwest that, yes, just as they said on CNN, people in Eugene do feel the urge to riot when a maple tree is cut down. I can't remember the last time I was so embarassed.

No decent bars.
Okay, this is a minor quibble, but can someone tell me where I can get a decent martini after 11:00pm? Mona Lizza closes early, the maitre'd at Ambrosia is rude, I can't stand the pretentious Abercrombie and Fitch next-generation frat boy-wear crowd at the Wild Duck, my reputation at Rennie's is already too stellar, and none of the other good bars in town serve hard alcohol. Maybe, just maybe, if Eugene had a place where I could get a good late-evening scotch and a cigar, my impression of this place would change. And if you're looking for such a place, heed my advice, and resign yourself to an hour's drive: Corvallis has two excellent restaurants (Bombs Away Cafe and Big River) that stay open late and serve excellent martinis (and one of the best pubs anywhere in the state, The Fox and Kirkin).

"Moderate" and "reason" are terms of oppression.
People in this town have been fighting the system for so long, they can't see that they've become the system. Eugene is the place where your opponent is your enemy, where character rests solely on membership in the right community empowerment groups (if you aren't a member of People Against Eurocentrism in Solidarity with the Worker's Revolutionary Army, you are one of "the oppressors"), and where if you don't adhere to the laundry list of political correctness (essentially the left-extremist sentiments on any issue that can be shoehorned under the heading "social justice"), you are placed in the company of Jesse Helms, Pat Robertson and Phyllis Schlafly. Every time a Eugenian refers to Governor John Kitzhaber as a "conservative," Tom McCall spins madly in his grave.

True story: a colleague of mine asserted that every social ill could be traced to Christianity. I brought up the topic of liberation theology and the fact that the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr.--the greatest American social activist of this century--was, in fact, a reverend. Her reply was, "Well, he wasn't really a Christian. He was a Buddhist and a Hindu at heart." Someone explain that to me as well, would you?

True story: when Cruz Bustamante became the first Hispanic Speaker of the California Assembly, his opening remarks included the statement, "We all hold different beliefs and opinions and we need to remember one thing. We are all different people, but we are all good people." I listened to this statement on a radio news show while sipping java at one of my favorite local coffee houses (one thing Eugene definitely does not lack is a wide selection of coffee joints). Two white, female Trustafarians at the next table, obviously befuddled by Mr. Bustamante's logic, quickly concluded that "he achieved a position of privilege so he sold out his race."

Let me give y'all the bottom line of social progress. If we're all going to make society a better place, we need to remember the maxim first expressed by Richard Deaver: "Your opponent isn't your enemy, he just disagrees with you. The press is the enemy."