Oregon, Ho!

From the altitude sickness of the high desert to the rain-soaked coast, Oregonians LOVE Oregon. They can't get enough of it. They grow up here and never leave. The only state geography they need to know is wedged between Washington (yay!) and California (boo!). To the east, across a wide expanse of suicide-inducing desert, lies the forbidden land.

Careful: There be dragons!

Why ever leave? Oregon has everything an Oregonian can't get enough of: Dogs. Mountains. Interminable winters. Nike. Subarus. Other Oregonians. Extreme! athleticism. Dogs. Skiing. Golf. Parks. More Oregonians. Caves. Dogs. Buttes. Coffee. Forests to cut down. More bluegrass than you can shake an Appalachian at. Trader Joe's. Snowmobiles. Fleece. Dogs wearing fleece outfits. Acid casualty hippies. Mustaches. Pretentious beer aficionados. Red Robin. Descendants of pioneers. People that really, really believe in Bigfoot. Swimming dogs. Camping. Roadkill. To round it off, there's, like, rocks and stuff.

Here's a picture of an Oregon dream vacation:



It's a regular microcosm of America, with waterfalls. Only, macrocosmic America is not as awesome to the Oregonian mind, which has generally ventured as far away as the states of Hawaii and Alaska.

Remember the McDLT? The hot stays hot and the cold stays cold? Oregon is like that, only the wet side's wet and the dry side's chill! There's very little humidity on the dry side and the sun purportedly shines there 300 days a year because GOD LOVES OREGONIANS. People from Portland call Central and Eastern Oregon "paradise," even though their attempts to lobby the rubes in Salem (the state capitol) for a palpable spring season have gone unanswered. Not enough funds -- because if there's one thing Oregonians hate, it's Californians. If there's a second thing they hate, it's the thought of a sales tax.

Still, Oregonians are a proud, curious people. Most of their trips involve hitching the fifth-wheel to the F350 and driving to other parts of the state to see relatives. It is required, if you are a resident of Oregon, to own an equal number of SUVs and RVs and take several trips in them. During get-togethers, they discuss how awesome they are because their ancestors came to Oregon in ancient times.

"I remember it like it was, eh, 30, 40 years ago," Granny pipes up. It is possible for several generations to amass at these reunions, as the average couple starts breeding right out of high school, if not earlier.

Then they go hunting. Because they are not allowed to shoot Californians, they take their aggression out on furry animals who will end up in a freezer marked "venizen."

That's their misspelling, not mine. This blog will take an socio-anthropological look at Oregon and its proud, indigenous (for two or three whole generations!), navel-gazing, narcissistic, xenophobic pioneer stock.

(Gbaku photo via Flickr)