Portland has surpassed Boston as the most progressive city: you can’t hunt bear with dogs, you can’t pump your own gas, you can’t drive over 65, but you can legally smoke dope and commit assisted suicide. The crown jewel of Portland is Hawthorne Boulevard in the old-town district – lined with gentrified storefronts selling Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, Starbucks coffee, vintage clothing, and women’s bookstores. Stenciled on the sidewalks in neon letters it the rebellious message, “Stop the trouble!”
Hawthorne is the Haight-Ashbury of aging Boomers. It’s for the over-40s who still want to be cool in their retro-60s veneer: Birkenstocks, gaudy jewelry, and folk dresses adorn them, along side tattoos, nose rings, and cell-phones. In fact, juggling a cell-phone and venti cappuccino (label out) is a required skill of Hawthorne residents. I admit that, thinning hair aside, I do not feel comfortable in Hawthorne. The last time I was there I was concerned about a Boomer guy on a skateboard in heavy traffic talking on a cell-phone. I should have been more careful but was distracted by a Boomer woman in a Volvo talking on a cell-phone while maneuvering to avoid hitting another Boomer gal on a bicycle talking on a cell-phone.
Stressed out, I park my car a few blocks away. Walking the rest of the way, I passed a couple of migrant farm workers talking on cell-phones. I nodded. They interrupted their conversations to beg for money. I pretended I didn’t speak Spanish and shuffled away quickly. Finally, arriving at the rustic old microbrewery cum avant-garde movie theater, I tried to order a beer but couldn’t get the bartender’s attention because he was talking on his cell-phone, and there was no one to take my money to buy a ticket anyway.
I haven’t been back since.
Absolution Style by Premium phpBB Styles
