When White People Run Wild

My daughter goes to school in Portland, OR and I've been spending some time there.

Portland is a lovely city with nice people. But it's an extreme case of what happens when white people are allowed to run wild without the palliative effect of other races.

First you notice that there are way too many bicycles clogging up the roads. And that every bicycle rider has one of those pointy-headed space-age helmets even though they're traveling at an infuriating 4 miles an hour.

Tattoos are apparently required by law, as are facial piercings. These often serve as personality substitutes.

Everything is either sustainable or said to be so (note to overly-fervent environmentalists: The second law of thermodynamics predicts that the universe is subject to something called entropy, which is pretty solid confirmation that nothing is sustainable. But we'll leave that for another day.)

And speaking of sustainability, citizens of Portland seem to have unrealistically high confidence in the resiliency of their lung tissue, as they smoke cigarets with alarming enthusiasm.

The most successful enterprises in Portland appear to be second-hand clothing stores, second-hand furniture stores, and food carts (aka, roach coaches.)

Of course, the Northwest coffee fetish is well-represented and there seems to be a coffee shop-to-inhabitant ratio of 3-to-1.

Now don't get me wrong.  I like Portland, and some of my best friends are white. It's just that these people actually put pineapple on their pizza. This is an abomination that a more diverse citizenry would never abide.

Fashion Tips For Portlanders:

For Gals: Unless you're headed to women's volleyball practice, sweatpants in the evening are a fashion no-no. Take a look around you. Sweatpants are mostly the domain of fat guys with disagreeable rashes.

For Guys: Your soul patch is way too big. It shouldn't be covering your entire chin. Check out Dizzy. This is the way you wear a soul patch. I know you're trying to look like a hip jazz player, but you look more like a clueless relief pitcher.

On The Other Hand...
...best French toast anywhere: Pazzo Ristorante, corner Broadway and Washington.