If you were to look very, very carefully at the sidewalk outside of
my apartment, you would see what appears to be a shallow trench leading
east. Were you to crouch down and use your best urban scouting skills
to follow this trench, you’d find that it led you on a comprehensive
tour of the bars on SE/NE 28th, beginning at the Bonfire and ending
with the Red Flag. This beaten path exists because I am a creature of
habit. I drink at the same bars, several times a week. I drink the same
things, with the same people—a state of affairs that is both
comforting, stifling, and a little bit sad. It’s also not that
uncommon. It’s very easy to stake out a little corner of your town and
just… never leave, especially since every neighborhood has one or two
great locals. Which is why, though Portlanders are some of the nicest
and most progressive and generally likeable people I’ve ever met, we’ve
also got a reputation for being cliquish and insular (a visiting friend
from DC said recently, “No one talks to anyone here!”). This insularity
is reinforced by a level of near-institutionalized social
awkwardness—is there anyone in this town who ever got picked
first for the grade school soccer team? (And if I have to hear “I’m
just really socially awkward” as an excuse for general rudeness one
more time… but that’s a different article.)
So the goal of this drinking issue? Drink like somebody else, for a
change. See what it’s like to drink like someone who’s never been to
this city before, or someone who makes more than $24,000 a year (god,
that sounds… amazing), or someone who goes to Aura instead of the
Sandy Hut when they’re looking to get laid. Maybe it’ll be fun. And if
not, well, when you find yourself headed back to the same old bars, at
least maybe you’ll appreciate them a little more.