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s a Photo by Nicolle Clemetson
Are Portland’s Favorite Institutions Actually “Portlandy”? Or Not “Portlandy” Enough?
I
an Exposé by Ian Karmel
GREW UP in Beaverton. Don’t you fucking judge me, I was a child. Actually, don’t judge anyone from Beaverton, why the fuck do you care? WHAT’S WRONG, GIRL, YOU DON’T LIKE SHOPPING AT TARGET? When I was of proper education, I attended Portland State University on a handsomeness scholarship [citation needed] and have lived in Southeast Portland since completing my degree. I know what you’re thinking: “Who cares? Get to the point. All of these American Apparel ads kind of look like evidence in a high-profile sexy murder case.” I only bring it up to say this: I’ve lived in and around Portland, Oregon, almost my entire life. When you live somewhere long enough, the charms become banal, the eccentricities become obnoxious, and even the best ideas seem to turn into hackneyed degenerations of their once-glorious selves. For example, the first time you see a naked bike ride, it’s an invigorating display of the vitality of your dynamic bohemian city. The second time you see a naked bike ride, it’s still pretty cool, but less romantic. You notice
DOUGHNUTS ARE SO PORTLAND AS FUCK I’m not a big fan of doughnuts, and I’m more of a “naked on the internet for free” kind of person—but anytime I talk to someone about Portland, they bring up these two clichéd Portland institutions. I never think about them, they just exist. They’re... well, they’re exactly the kind of thing I was talking about in the previous paragraphs… that’s why I wrote them. There are no accidents. Watch Loose Change, dude. To examine these stalwarts, I’m going to experience them
more boob/wangs, and reflect on how it’s probably a pretty good day for homeless dude boners. The third time you see a naked bike ride, you want to plow into it with your car because these jolly naked fucks don’t seem to give a flopping cock about stop signs. I’M LATE FOR WORK BUT YOU WOULDN’T UNDERSTAND THAT BECAUSE YOU BUY COKE WITH YOUR PARENTS’ MONEY AND FUCK OTHER PEOPLE WHO BUY COKE WITH THEIR PARENTS’ MONEY. YOU’RE ALL HAVING CAREFREE SEX WITHOUT ME. You know how we all have that exact same emotional response, right? Look, all I’m saying is at some point you stop being sad that the Velveteria closed and start being stoked that a decent Hawaiian restaurant opened in its place. The problem is, the more you favor the utilitarianism of Spam musubi, the more your city slips through your fingers like so many delicious, tender slices of Kalua pork. It is with this in mind that I embark on a quest to appreciate anew two Portland institutions I have long taken for granted: Voodoo Doughnut and strip clubs.
anew, taking special care to be aware of everything going on around me, and asking myself three questions: Did I have fun? How “Portlandy” is this place, really? Should we be proud of it? The first question is self-explanatory. The second seeks to address how much this icon of our city truly reflects our city. What does “Portlandy” mean? I don’t know, but I know it when I see it. Mapplethorpe’s penis is “Portlandy,” his haircut isn’t. Thirdly, should we be proud of these institutions? Do they speak to our successes as a community or our failures? Do these things make us happy that we’re not Cincinnati, or not? That’s the rubric I’m
using—if you don’t like it, craft your own stand-up comedy career and write a tour diary for the Portland Mercury that allows you to eventually pursue different story ideas. Here goes!
VOODOO DOUGHNUT Did I have fun? Well, I waited in line for half an hour. Ahead of me in line were two hella-brahs in Affliction T-shirts (like, literally wearing Affliction T-shirts, not metaphorically. Metaphorically, too, Continued on pg. 13
September 20, 2012 Portland Mercury 11