How many nicknames do you need?
This is a lovely city. That is plain to see. And it's nice to have that told to you by outsiders. A little "Hey, this place doesn't suck," is a satisfying tonic and you've been blessed recently with an outpouring of good-will from afar. The trouble is you've bought into the outside view of yourself. And who can blame you. For most of your existence you've played second or third fiddle to San Francisco and Seattle. You were the place where hippies ended up, to hunker-down for the the 70s (and 80s, and 90s, and...). Seattle had the Grunge thing, and you had the Dandy Warhols and Everclear.
Nikes were never lame. Nikes were never ironic.
Unfortunately, It seems Portland has bought its own hype. A small city (you're a small and remote city, remember) has to stay lean and hungry if it wants to pretend it doesn't care what people think of it. You've become lethargic and satisfied. High on the milk and honey suckled from the NYTs Travel Section-teat. More than that, you resent the people who move here upon reading the promotional materials.
So here we propose to call you on your bullshit. Give credit where credit is due, but let the fucking air out -- you're not so special. Wherever there is lavish praise, we'll be there to pop the balloon.
Wherever there is Leeds Certification, we'll be there sitting in gridlock belching fossil fumes on the Sunset Highway.
Wherever there is culinary delights, we'll be there at the unemployment office wondering what an Industry is.
Whenever there is Bicycle commuting, we'll be cruisin' Beaverton in an F-350.
Wherever there is Storm Large, we'll be there to ask, "Who the fuck is Storm Large."
And whenever there is a deficit, we'll be chillin out in the 'Couve dodging taxes and culpability.
