For those of you lucky bastards who have yet to experience the 'World's Greatest City of the Arts and Outdoors' (aka Eugene, Oregon) let me educate you on what I'm quite confident is the most awkward city in the United States.
How can a city be awkward you ask? Where to begin. Oh yes, there not actually being a city. Eugene, OR is composed of, let's say, sections. There's the school section where the University of Oregon is situated. There are two restaurants, a lot of beards, and more than enough dreaded trustifarians in VW Minibuses smoking bowls in the woods. The student body of Eugene sports uniforms of galoshes (yes, galoshes), flannel and Gore Tex windbreakers. Grimaces and mountain bikes are the common accessories. But this is to be expected of a PacNW college town. What isn't to be expected is, well, the rest of Eugene.
After some careful research, I learned that the glorious city of Eugene is plagued by an alarming amount of cancer cases. I think this could be attributed to the cough-syrup fumes emulating form the meth labs dotting the city near the train tracks. Should you wish to familiarize yourself with these chemical plants, take a drive parallel to the tracks and you will see well-constructed junkyards-cum-houses, equipped with roughly four or five twenty-something males wearing baggy sweatshirts and sporting severely vexed eyebrows, open facial wounds (on account of the scratching), petting a dog with a missing leg.
Which brings me to Eugene's deepest darkest, most awkward secret of all; the Bromance epidemic. That's right, next time you happen to drive through Eugene (probably because you missed it and/or decided against it thanks to a sturdy foundation of common sense), just notice the guy-to-girl ratio. And I'm not just saying there's an abundance of men (which there is), it's as if the city (town, village, commune) of Eugene is a large second grade. Men do not associate with women. It is likely for one to see upwards of seven guys hanging around, talking about going to the Men's Warehouse on the weekends, or tailgating to Palo Alto for an upcoming Frisbee Golf competition. Perhaps its the amount of marijuana smoking? THC does affect the libido after all...in any case, the gender separation is perplexing, frightening and absurd.
Not all of Eugene is bad. Well, the pizza is. But Hendrick's park, the small patch of woods (yes, where the bearded hippies park the VWs) is quintessential Northwest and should you be fortunate to live in this part of the city (which is about 1/20th), you'd probably be happy (assuming you wouldn't often journey into the other sections of Eugene).
Have you heard the rumor that Eugene, OR is the Anarchist Capital of the country? As did I, my friend. I think I can safely put this myth to rest. As the Eugenians present at the WTO protests, in actuality, numbered four. The primary origin of the lot being Salem, OR. Not only is this disappointing, but it says something about the city as a whole. This anarchist 'rumor' is not something that originated from anarchists. It's actually the product of some kind of tourist campaign, in which the mayor himself, at some point, commented on the growing number of anarchist residences living in the city. I might be wrong, but it does not seem advantageous for the mayor to boast about the number of anarchists residing in his city as a means of drawing other anarchists. Is the tourism this bad that a city government is attracting the people who would ultimately wish to end it? Perhaps. For the twenty-three hours I was there, I saw only two police cars, one of which had the driver's side window Sharpie-tagged. Which may indicate that the legitimacy of Eugene's police department is, lets say, overshadowed by their desire to house the nation's anarchists. And this should be rightly rewarded. If there were any living there.
Aside from the mythical anarchist community, there is a very real presence of runners in Eugene, OR. It's called Track Town, U.S.A. or something? Which does...not make it any more desirable to visit? If anything, this slick tag line brings to mind short shorts and gawky teenagers, bull-dozed fields and concrete, relay batons and hurtles--the whole lot. And while a lot of Eugene is this reality, its one of those things better kept mum. Though it seems the tourist department's going for that whole reverse-psychology thing, so perhaps its a lure tactic.
Head over to a restaurant where they serve French toast and pulled pork sandwiches. You'll here locals gripe about the communes taking over town. This frustration was vocalized by a waiter who was, lets say thoroughly disturbed, about the nature in which the commune residents live. Apparently there's an abundance of cats and more littler boxes than people. Which, honestly, struck me as one of the more amusing aspects of Eugene and I regret not having explored this phenomenon further.
Eugene is in a constant state of mist/rain which leaves everyone looking a little more squirrely than necessary. Die hard Eugenians can be deciphered from the out-of-towners by their refusal to wear a rain jacket or sport an umbrella in torrential downpours. That's right, there won't be so much as a bowing of the head. Heads held high, meth-rain is a merely a trivial part of daily existence. Some of the more sissy citizens opt to tie plastic bags onto the seats of their bikes or wear flaps of a scissored garbage bag over their faces to provide a slight salvation from the perpetually moist climate.
Should you be from Eugene, not only am I sorry, but I'm certain you may be growing upset with the nature of this post. This might be because I have never before experienced a place with such a complete disregard for sarcastic humor. That's right, there is no sarcasm. Not even a little smile, a slight laugh when someone slides from the slick of their garbage-bagged bike seat. And actually, this inevitably made communicating with Eugenians a bit daunting. Again, this could be chalked up to the amount of pot-smoking or the meth epidemic: so maybe people are in a constant state of being burnt or in the midst of tweak-rage, but it makes a good-natured visit difficult.
Still want to go to Eugene? Yes, it is something you should experience for yourself. Some advice: flannel and/or plaid, love for the outdoors (so you can appreciate it through the smoke-stained windows of your Mazda), an affinity for running (from the local gypsies who want to sell you 'collectibles' like femurs and gold teeth), a large fleece collection, an aversion to cigarette smoking (because the meth's safer...), a love of cats (as in one day your commune bed being replaced by a slew of litter boxes), a healthy immune system (to thwart the bizarrely hazardous toxin levels), and a car (so you can, after seeing the thirty minutes of Eugene there is to see, get the fuck out of there with some semblance to decency still in tact.)
How can a city be awkward you ask? Where to begin. Oh yes, there not actually being a city. Eugene, OR is composed of, let's say, sections. There's the school section where the University of Oregon is situated. There are two restaurants, a lot of beards, and more than enough dreaded trustifarians in VW Minibuses smoking bowls in the woods. The student body of Eugene sports uniforms of galoshes (yes, galoshes), flannel and Gore Tex windbreakers. Grimaces and mountain bikes are the common accessories. But this is to be expected of a PacNW college town. What isn't to be expected is, well, the rest of Eugene.
After some careful research, I learned that the glorious city of Eugene is plagued by an alarming amount of cancer cases. I think this could be attributed to the cough-syrup fumes emulating form the meth labs dotting the city near the train tracks. Should you wish to familiarize yourself with these chemical plants, take a drive parallel to the tracks and you will see well-constructed junkyards-cum-houses, equipped with roughly four or five twenty-something males wearing baggy sweatshirts and sporting severely vexed eyebrows, open facial wounds (on account of the scratching), petting a dog with a missing leg.
Which brings me to Eugene's deepest darkest, most awkward secret of all; the Bromance epidemic. That's right, next time you happen to drive through Eugene (probably because you missed it and/or decided against it thanks to a sturdy foundation of common sense), just notice the guy-to-girl ratio. And I'm not just saying there's an abundance of men (which there is), it's as if the city (town, village, commune) of Eugene is a large second grade. Men do not associate with women. It is likely for one to see upwards of seven guys hanging around, talking about going to the Men's Warehouse on the weekends, or tailgating to Palo Alto for an upcoming Frisbee Golf competition. Perhaps its the amount of marijuana smoking? THC does affect the libido after all...in any case, the gender separation is perplexing, frightening and absurd.
Not all of Eugene is bad. Well, the pizza is. But Hendrick's park, the small patch of woods (yes, where the bearded hippies park the VWs) is quintessential Northwest and should you be fortunate to live in this part of the city (which is about 1/20th), you'd probably be happy (assuming you wouldn't often journey into the other sections of Eugene).
Have you heard the rumor that Eugene, OR is the Anarchist Capital of the country? As did I, my friend. I think I can safely put this myth to rest. As the Eugenians present at the WTO protests, in actuality, numbered four. The primary origin of the lot being Salem, OR. Not only is this disappointing, but it says something about the city as a whole. This anarchist 'rumor' is not something that originated from anarchists. It's actually the product of some kind of tourist campaign, in which the mayor himself, at some point, commented on the growing number of anarchist residences living in the city. I might be wrong, but it does not seem advantageous for the mayor to boast about the number of anarchists residing in his city as a means of drawing other anarchists. Is the tourism this bad that a city government is attracting the people who would ultimately wish to end it? Perhaps. For the twenty-three hours I was there, I saw only two police cars, one of which had the driver's side window Sharpie-tagged. Which may indicate that the legitimacy of Eugene's police department is, lets say, overshadowed by their desire to house the nation's anarchists. And this should be rightly rewarded. If there were any living there.
Aside from the mythical anarchist community, there is a very real presence of runners in Eugene, OR. It's called Track Town, U.S.A. or something? Which does...not make it any more desirable to visit? If anything, this slick tag line brings to mind short shorts and gawky teenagers, bull-dozed fields and concrete, relay batons and hurtles--the whole lot. And while a lot of Eugene is this reality, its one of those things better kept mum. Though it seems the tourist department's going for that whole reverse-psychology thing, so perhaps its a lure tactic.
Head over to a restaurant where they serve French toast and pulled pork sandwiches. You'll here locals gripe about the communes taking over town. This frustration was vocalized by a waiter who was, lets say thoroughly disturbed, about the nature in which the commune residents live. Apparently there's an abundance of cats and more littler boxes than people. Which, honestly, struck me as one of the more amusing aspects of Eugene and I regret not having explored this phenomenon further.
Eugene is in a constant state of mist/rain which leaves everyone looking a little more squirrely than necessary. Die hard Eugenians can be deciphered from the out-of-towners by their refusal to wear a rain jacket or sport an umbrella in torrential downpours. That's right, there won't be so much as a bowing of the head. Heads held high, meth-rain is a merely a trivial part of daily existence. Some of the more sissy citizens opt to tie plastic bags onto the seats of their bikes or wear flaps of a scissored garbage bag over their faces to provide a slight salvation from the perpetually moist climate.
Should you be from Eugene, not only am I sorry, but I'm certain you may be growing upset with the nature of this post. This might be because I have never before experienced a place with such a complete disregard for sarcastic humor. That's right, there is no sarcasm. Not even a little smile, a slight laugh when someone slides from the slick of their garbage-bagged bike seat. And actually, this inevitably made communicating with Eugenians a bit daunting. Again, this could be chalked up to the amount of pot-smoking or the meth epidemic: so maybe people are in a constant state of being burnt or in the midst of tweak-rage, but it makes a good-natured visit difficult.
Still want to go to Eugene? Yes, it is something you should experience for yourself. Some advice: flannel and/or plaid, love for the outdoors (so you can appreciate it through the smoke-stained windows of your Mazda), an affinity for running (from the local gypsies who want to sell you 'collectibles' like femurs and gold teeth), a large fleece collection, an aversion to cigarette smoking (because the meth's safer...), a love of cats (as in one day your commune bed being replaced by a slew of litter boxes), a healthy immune system (to thwart the bizarrely hazardous toxin levels), and a car (so you can, after seeing the thirty minutes of Eugene there is to see, get the fuck out of there with some semblance to decency still in tact.)
No comments:
Post a Comment