Just when I think I could be content settling down less than 100 miles from where I was born, you stir up my grass-is-greener wanderlust.
With your street after street of charming bungalows and four-squares, which often seem to house charming families and charming cats. Portland really does feel like the city that wants to be a town – a collection of neighborhoods more than a metropolis.
And your numerous retro neon signs, vintage clothing stores and yummy food carts. And your many vintage guitars. And coffee shops filled with bike-riding, tattooed hipsters.
And your city block-sized bookstore that overwhelms and humbles me, while surreptitiously stealing away hours of my day.
And your many, many breweries (hiccup).
And of course, your crazy donuts. Sure, they’re nowhere near the best I’ve tasted – and after being featured on the Food Network and No Reservations, they’re tooth-achingly trendy – but the treats at Voodoo Doughnut are still inventive and fun.
Besides, this is the closest thing people like me will come to getting into a nightclub. Seriously, look at this line.
If only I was allowed to pump my own gas in Oregon instead of waiting on a teenage attendant, I think I might stay here for good.