Skip to main content

It's True, I Swear It is


Last Friday I watched the first episode of Portlandia, the new tongue in cheek parody of life in Portland, Oregon, my fair city. Funny? Yes, in parts. A little over the top? Definitely.
Today I read a bit of a review from Newsweek which contained the following:

There are certain things every Pacific Northwest native knows:
* You must love the outdoors.
* You must eat local and organic.
* You must brake for pedestrians, even when you’re in the middle of an intersection with a green light.
Now here’s what a Pacific Northwest native who returns home after living in another city knows:
* You will hold back your frustration after 45 minutes in the checkout line at Trader Joe’s, because the cashier will insist on having a conversation with everybody coming through the line.
* You will experience uncontrollable road rage, because in the Pacific Northwest, there is no difference between the right and left lanes.
* You will spend 10 minutes standing in front of a row of trashcans, trying to decipher which of the five recycling bins and three compost piles your candy wrapper should go in.

Trust me when I tell you I agree with everything on this list. On the eve of my 5th year living in the city of roses, I find all of the above to be the absolute truth.
Why, just yesterday I went to my local New Seasons grocery store. You know, the one with the row of trashcans referenced above. I had only a few things and found a checkout line with only one person in front of me. She was right out of the casting call for Portlandia in appearance, but that's no big thing, especially in these winter months. Currently I'm seeing all manner of colorful winter leggings under skirts which are over pants. This 20 something in front of me was only purchasing one thing, a small jar of some henna hair product with which to treat her raspberry colored hair, no doubt. I waited until the conversation between the clerk and the customer ended. That's what we do up here. Our grocery clerks ask how our day is going, what we have planned, if we have tasted one of the newer products we may have placed on the counter, the weather, and any number of other possibilities.
Not everything depicted in Portlandia is a stretch. Ask anyone.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Quality of Optimism

 I've returned to The Book of Qualities, by J Ruth Gentler once again to meet the needs of one of the senior students in my little Writing From Memory class I'm currently teaching in my local community center.  This little volume personifies various concepts and personality traits.  The particular student "in need" seems to be fixated on writing about her past relationships.  Apparently, there were many.   I'm OK with that.  I only hope that she picks a few qualities that are as revealing about herself as those that might describe her Ex's.  There is much to be learned by writing about a quality.  The aforementioned book seems to have survived well over the years.  I first encountered it and its author way back in the late 1970s.  I took a journal writing workshop from her.  Then, a few years later, her book came out and I introduced these writing exercises to my students.  11th grade Juniors seemed to do the best with it. ...

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...

Writing on the Wall

       The first time I saw graffiti that was memorable was in a middle school bathroom.  As 6th graders I often walked home with friends by the middle school we'd soon be attending.  A stop by the boys bathroom near the boys gym placed me face to face with a piece of graffiti that immediately madame and my friends laugh uncontrollably.  On the wall above the urinals, was penned a short poem that read"                     This is a Teepee to take a pee pee,                         Not a wigwam to beat your tom tom      14 year-old humor at it's best.  The laughter my friends and I experienced was cathartic.  Being bottom of the barrel Freshmen could have dire consequences in the boys bathroom.  Those unpleasantries would come later, but for the moment, we were ecstatic and proceeded to read all the g...