6/8/16
Some cultures have outlandish customs. In China, it’s customary to fight over the bill. Splitting the bill is not only rude, you will lose massive face if you don’t insist on paying. Two men actually fought over the bill and it escalated so far that one broke the other’s arm. The winner ended up in jail for assault. Some cultural customs can drive their members to go too far.
My cat is on anti-depressants. Portland has driven me from reasonable California transplant to an off-the-rails-hipster.
I haven’t taken a picture on my DSLR in months. I prefer the Nikon film camera which results in a road bike schlep across town to drop off the negatives for developing.
In all honesty, my eyes linger when I pass vintage shop fronts and I scoff when I see people move into the neighborhood from out of state. I can’t even watch Portlandia anymore because it hits too close to home. It’s no longer funny when you can see pieces of yourself in Fred Armisen’s overdone characters.
Look of longing at a vintage shop. Disgraceful.
I’m literally paying more monthly for my cat than I am my own health. Moses, bless her heart, has developed a ridiculous anxiety disorder in the cushy feline life she’s lived. This anxiety has manifested itself in a compulsive licking of her stomach, legs, and her poopy cat butt. Lots of cats like to stick their puckered cheerio in the face of humans but mine has the added luxury of accentuating her cheerio by licking off the surrounding fur. It’s a bit much.
An old one of Mo in her first season of licking.
Since I’m a proud four-year citizen of Portland, and by no coincidence, a proud six-year cat owner, I’ve taken the advice of Portland lifers when it comes to pet care. This is a mistake.
When a hipster tells you to start feeding your cat gluten-free food, and you do it, you’ve gone too far.
When they tell you their technique for hiding the feline anti-depressants in their raw meat diet (mortar and pestle) and you compromise by actually buying the damn cat pills, you’re entering the point of no return.
I’d like to avoid this oblivion of hip. Perhaps I’m too easily malleable, too eager to blend in my surroundings. I still root for the Warriors over the Blazers, so there’s hope yet, but it’s time to take action. No more waiting in the damps of Portland for my mustache to grow moss. Stay tuned, the next move will be a big one.
