Good morning, Portland! Up here in Seattle, we... well, we hate you. We hate you for being cooler than us, and for having better restaurants. We hate you because, while we were getting all overexcited during the tech boom and building terrible, terrible buildings
, you were passing ordinances that basically turned your city into Sweden. Convenient transit. Nice-looking young folk in dun-colored clothing. Bikes everywhere. You probably get paid to have babies in Portland. Do you? Of course you do. And I hate you for it. I when I say "hate," I guess I mean "love." Sometimes that happens.
Here in Seattle, we believed in capitalism for years and years, even though we pretended it wasn't capitalism. We pretended it was a revolution. The whole city was obsessed with making money. Meanwhile, you guys were creating a tiny pinko dream state. Sigh. As far as I can tell, nobody in Portland actually goes to work. They browse record bins. They mulch. And they hang around at Powell's. That's why I love to visit Portland. I can immerse myself in your strange atmosphere of industrious leisure.
Here's what I would do if I was spending the day in Portland:
Breakfast at the Daily Cafe.
Lunch at the Daily Cafe.
Then I would skulk into that Anthropologie across the street and spend some time mauling the sale racks.
Then a lamb sandwich at Brasserie Montmartre. (Despite the remodel.)
And then, of course, lots and lots of video poker. It's the opiate of the masses, I hear.
But I am in Seattle (or near Seattle, on what a friend refers to as "your precious little island"). So I will instead spend today as I spend every day: trying to figure out how to pay my mortgage.