oh man, where to start.
do i start with my deep, inbred fear that i am a hipster asshole, seeing as how i love so many things hipster assholes love? (fake glasses, ironic t-shirts, cafes, birds on things)
do i continue with the fact that even that deep, inbred fear does not taint my happy feelings when i daydream about a little bungalow with a fireplace on a skinny, tree-lined lane?
do i then extrapolate upon the two cafes per block, the wee-tiny streets, and the telephone poles plastered with current flyers advertising current events and shows, currently?
or perhaps how, if i miss the mountain roads or beaches, i can always take a day trip to astoria on the coast?
there is, of course, an unfortunate side to portland, and that is: the reality of it. portland is like any other place. it has its good sides and its bad sides. all the stuff up there is the good side. the bad side includes: the impossibility of employment; separation from almost all my family and friends; and the fact that a new place doesn't change you, it just change what's around you. and all that new stuff around you doesn't stay new for long. after a bit, it becomes exactly what you left behind.
but this isn't "100 things that make me happy until i think about them all the way through and realize that they just suck".