My Private Life is an Inside Joke

You can just smell the seething white guilt.

So. I'm in Portland. There's a million places I might have been this week, but Portland was not the top of the list of places I thought I would visit this year if you had asked me at the start of it. Or really, ever. The town doesn't offend me in some great or minor way, I simply never gave it much thought. However, since I needed to bring some counselors to training (who eventually couldn't come), I found myself registered for a week-long training whoohah in the Rose City. Or the place where the dream of the 90s is still alive. Or whatever else is going on. I have to say, I'm glad I'm here, because I might have elsewise lived my whole life without ever coming, and I would have missed out.

But enough balanced introspection, let's make fun of hipsters and West Coast liberals. 

Pretty much as soon as we (Kim and I) landed, I was struck with how open and airy everything is. And I am not strictly speaking of buildings and various constructs across the city. Portland is physically very appealing to me - there are trees smashed into everything, and pedestrian/bike traffic is encouraged everywhere. But the cross messages of everyone both proclaiming how welcoming/open they are at the same time trying to pin down exactly what it is they like/value/accept is hilarious. There are so many shades of "accept me! value me! envy me!" that it kills me. It really is like some sort of extended caricature of hipster-ism. 

There, that's out of the way. It's true, by the way, every bit of the above. I'm not trying to do the thing where an observer points out the obvious issues and then tries to turn everything on its head by appreciating it anyway unabashedly (and to stir fake controversy). I just wanted to point that out but not dwell on it because, fortunately, I've managed to enjoy it all as a tourist. On Sunday, we checked in at the Waterfront and walked a bit along the park on the river. 

During a stop at a bistro (edit: sorry, GASTROPUB) having some local wine and locally-sourced farm fed herp herp herp food, a woman bikes past on a vintage fixed gear bike. In a wide brim white hat. And white sundress. And comically large sunglasses. With her little doggie riding in a custom made basket. And she wasn't so much pedaling as posing with her head tilted away, trying hard to look whimsical and carefree as she nearly ran into five or six people, one at a time, because she wasn't looking where she was going.

I will forever know this woman, in my heart, as the Spirit of Portland. Pretty, intentionally too quirky, basically alright and harmless, trying a little too hard... but in the end, probably pretty friendly and someone you'd wanna have around for a drink or interesting chat. 

The beer here has been, so far, overstated. Portland was said to be the Beervana of the Northwest by several sources, and all I can think is that perhaps I am not running into the right microbrews. Maybe I need to find the micro-micro-brews, you know... the ones you haven't heard of? I dunno. The beer here hasn't been bad, just disappointing after all the hype. To be fair, it was a lot of hype, so it's unlikely any place can live up to that mess. I have some pictures I'll put up later about the breweries I visited, but so far I haven't found anything I'd try to get back home. 

Class itself has been both hilarious and terrible, as these training sessions tend to be. They're usually full of people who are far, far too interested in properly representing oneself as a srs bsnss counselor and avenger of the people in both conversation and discussing intent, but few people seem to have any real grasp of what counseling and program execution is actually about. It's more important to rant about those damn banks and how horribly unfair X and Y is rather than actually talk about how to fix it, how to serve clients, or how to make an effective program. 

In short, whenever I feel like I am too wrapped up in anger and worry if I am competent/skilled enough for my job, I always find strong reaffirmation in these classes. While I learn relatively little, that bit of motivation is usually pretty helpful. Though the sad and depressing realization that these folks represent the majority of the counseling community is deeply depressing for a little while after. 

So far, I've avoided spending too much money on the little specialty boutique whoosit shops, which I'm happy with. You know the shops - the ones that seem to base their business model not on actual solvency, but asking themselves the question, "Hey, if someone walked into my shop, would they think 'oh wow look at all the needlessly complex and expensive variations on this relatively simple product that really doesn't actually need multiple iterations!'?"

Cuz these places are every damn where. It seems less important to have a good business, but instead a business that people can say "omg that's so clever!" when referring to the material at hand. Of course, living in Austin, this is a phenomenon I am deeply familiar with, but the number of these sorts of stores is staggering. 

On a sour note, it just feels like you have somewhat creative and interesting people no longer interested in being actually clever and advancing art or improving the world. They just walk to talk to each other and compliment each other on how fresh and hip their vapid, shallow idea is and then discard it to move on to the next vapid and shallow cutesy trend to set. These folks, I think, decided to introduce the term "taste maker" because "trend-setter" was too disturbingly accurate in painting just how shallow and useless their efforts were. These are the folks who think blogging and tweeting is a real job that makes them super interesting, I guess. 

...I say on my blog. I guess I exempt myself because I feel like I contribute.

Anyway, I'll wrap this one up before it gets too bitter. Portland is, despite my mini-rants, actually A++, would visit again, and I've got three more days here so far. The layout of the city, the public transportation, the shops, the region, the architecture, everything. My main complaint is the people, but I think genetics are kicking in and I will hate everyone eventually anyway while still trying to cheer them on and love everyone so.. yeah. Not Portland's fault, there. 

More brews and $300 vintage tie reports later. 

Sold my tortured youth, piss and vinegar
I'm still angry with no reason to be
At the architect who imagines
For the every man, blessed sisyphus
Slipping steadily into madness, now that's the only place to be free