HOPEFUL CITY, URBAN DUMP, OR BOTH

What makes a ‘hopeful city?’

Take Portland for example, a place other states once yearned for in their signature city.

“We love Portland; we want to be Portland,” said Asheville, North Carolina.

Except there are a few problems to overcome.

If you saw the original Walking Tall, then you might be concerned about getting your ass kicked and getting dumped in a Tennessee, or North Carolina, ditch.

Not that an Oregon ditch would be more comfortable.

In a hopeful city it could still happen.

But instead of being a victim of an organized crime syndicate, in Portland you get punched out by someone a foot shorter without getting a lick in.

How embarrassing is that?

I am hopefully more informed for the next time I see a man delivering violence on a woman at a bus stop.

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If you’ve ever been a dedicated bus rider you know this: people have disagreements.

In public.

The next time I saw a couple arguing I stayed out of it.

Until I figured out they weren’t a couple, just a man giving unwanted attention to a woman alone.

She kept backing up, he kept pushing in.

Me: I heard the news today, have you?

Man:

Me: Hey, can you hear me? I head the news: your girlfriend doesn’t want to talk to you.

Woman: I’ve never met this man.

Me: News flash to you, buddy?

Man: Leave us alone.

Me: Yes, I will. Right after you back up.

Man: This is nothing to do with you.

Me: I’m a former Army medic, trained to respond to people bleeding on the ground.

Man: There’s no one bleeding on the ground.

Me: There will be if you don’t back the fuck up. NOW. BACK OFF.

The woman hopped on the next bus, gave me a wave, leaving me and the guy standing there.

He was unhappy.

I was pissed about having to see him.

Man: I’m trying to meet new people.

Me: I’m trying not to talk to woman harassers. Let’s both try harder.

Man: Were you really an Army medic?

Me: Yes. Are you really a jackass to strangers at a bus stop? I’ve got a scar from the last one.

Man: You might get another one.

Me: I’m going to call 911 emergency for a man down and bleeding.

Man: Where is he?

Me: Right where you’re standing.

Who Do You Think You Are?

In a hopeful city you can be whatever you want on your time.

A free spirit? Yes.

Hard worker? Yes.

Damaged goods? What?

Things I’ve learned writing boomerpdx:

Everyone carries some damage, some more than others.

Some work it out better than others? Yes, they do.

This is where I work things out for better outcomes.

I do it without a ‘public persona’ of down and out, or flying high.

My portrayal of events come from a clean, well-lighted place.

In other words, I internalize things until they find a way onto the page.

Sometimes it works out better than others.

Here I can punch back without worrying some big talker might slip and hit his head and I end up with that problem.

With that in mind, Portland can be a problem solving place.

I used to have a problem keeping my apartment clean.

The solution? Buy a mop and a bucket and a vacuum, or move to a clean apartment.

That all changed when new apartments were dirtier than the old.

Then I dated a woman who thought I could do a little better, then a little better after that, then . . .

We got married.

You can’t marry Portland, but the basics still apply.

Care For A Hopeful City

Portland has plenty of baby boomers carrying more years behind them than they’ve got in front.

Too many have given up on their dreams.

More likely their dreams gave up on them.

They dreams of living in a KOIN Tower penthouse with 360 degree views?

Who wouldn’t.

They wanted to live in the house with the holiday martini glass.

Cheers.

They wanted a city that nurtured their dreams of a better place that includes fire pits, craft beer, and live music.

It happens, but why not start where it counts.

Primarily, most people don’t want to live in a dump.

That the don’t know if they live in a dump or not speaks to their upbringing.

This is a dump:

Smelly, messy, disorganized, chaotic, a mini-world in extreme disarray.

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This is not a dump:

Maintained, cared for, neatly disorganized to the point you’re not starting in the mud to get it cleaned up.

Old Portland dirt shows city fathers building a One-Stop-On-The-Willamette, instead of St.Johns or Milwaukie. Even then it was all about location.

New dirt targets Portland as the best city to set a Personal Record for the most strip clubs in one night. Everyone has goals, right?

Most of the dirt covers everyone equally. Dust, dirt, debris, and a headache that won’t go away.

For instance, who swung the first hammer on the Portland Hotel?

Once it was the Empress Hotel of Victoria, B.C. set in downtown Portland Oregon.

It was a landmark, a destination, old school elegance with tons of Portland Hotel gear stamped and engraved and embossed.

Now it’s level dirt and brick and called Portland’s living room.

If you’re a new dog in town, make the future of Portland a priority.

Portland says: Get to know me better.

Get to know the hopeful city in an urban dumping ground.

Start with a small gesture of hope: Put your trash in the trash can.