The downside of Eugene
Oregon Daily Emerald
10-17-06
In my opinion
By: Tyler Graf | Columnist
It's raining outside, leaving me with an incredible sense of ennui. Scratch that. Ennui is what pointy-headed pseudo intellectuals say when they mean boredom. I feel bored. I've been in Eugene for far too long. I've grown to know this town, its inhabitants, and its attitude and I need to leave. I'd follow Horace Greeley's declaration, "Go west, young man," but I don't particularly like Florence, Ore. any better.
For those in their first or second year in this rain-soaked dystopia, allow me to characterize, or, more appropriately, mischaracterize the residents of Eugene; the people who are my neighbors and thus the bane of my existence.
I despise hippies and everything they stand for. This is my unswerving principle. Eugene attracts hippies the way hippies attract filth. Not all hippies are the same, though; if hippies were ice cream flavors, Eugene would be Baskin-Robbins.
First, there are Trustafarians. These are college-aged, affluent kids who often come from places like Boulder, Colo., Marin County, Cailf., or any place in Vermont. They drive nice cars and live in plush houses; they don't work, because mommy and daddy pay for everything. However, they are preternaturally concerned with the plight of the workingman and think that fast food workers deserve unionization. Words like "proactive," "paradigm shift," and "hegemony" spew from their mouths, in a desperate attempt to sound smart. Their patron saint is Che Guevara, the original Trustafarian. When they graduate, they're "totally going to motorcycle through Argentina, bro."
Then there are the bitter old hippies. These are the type of people who write letters to the Eugene Weekly. They've lived in Eugene for eons and think that it was way better in the '70s. They make Eugene an even more depressing place than it already is by constantly complaining about everything, especially how you live your life. Bitter old hippies are self-righteous and paternalistic. They have a preternatural aversion to anything corporate, or large, or, I imagine, with running water. To them, a CEO is what you'd get if you genetically crossed George Bush, Genghis Khan, a baby seal clubber and a Petri dish filled with the Ebola virus. Their idea of humor is the Slug Queen; a stupid, pitiful attempt at whimsy. For these sad people, the Eugene Celebration is Christmas and the Fourth of July rolled into one lame attempt at citywide self-fellation.
For those in their first or second year in this rain-soaked dystopia, allow me to characterize, or, more appropriately, mischaracterize the residents of Eugene; the people who are my neighbors and thus the bane of my existence.
I despise hippies and everything they stand for. This is my unswerving principle. Eugene attracts hippies the way hippies attract filth. Not all hippies are the same, though; if hippies were ice cream flavors, Eugene would be Baskin-Robbins.
First, there are Trustafarians. These are college-aged, affluent kids who often come from places like Boulder, Colo., Marin County, Cailf., or any place in Vermont. They drive nice cars and live in plush houses; they don't work, because mommy and daddy pay for everything. However, they are preternaturally concerned with the plight of the workingman and think that fast food workers deserve unionization. Words like "proactive," "paradigm shift," and "hegemony" spew from their mouths, in a desperate attempt to sound smart. Their patron saint is Che Guevara, the original Trustafarian. When they graduate, they're "totally going to motorcycle through Argentina, bro."
Then there are the bitter old hippies. These are the type of people who write letters to the Eugene Weekly. They've lived in Eugene for eons and think that it was way better in the '70s. They make Eugene an even more depressing place than it already is by constantly complaining about everything, especially how you live your life. Bitter old hippies are self-righteous and paternalistic. They have a preternatural aversion to anything corporate, or large, or, I imagine, with running water. To them, a CEO is what you'd get if you genetically crossed George Bush, Genghis Khan, a baby seal clubber and a Petri dish filled with the Ebola virus. Their idea of humor is the Slug Queen; a stupid, pitiful attempt at whimsy. For these sad people, the Eugene Celebration is Christmas and the Fourth of July rolled into one lame attempt at citywide self-fellation.
Eugene is also known for its militant activists. A lot of these people belong to the Green Anarchist movement, locally led by John Zerzan, who is a bitter old hippie taken to the extreme. Eugene is filled with Zerzan enablers, people who believe that technology is evil. Frankly, if Eugene passed a city referendum banning technology, I wouldn't shed a tear. Overnight, melodious and bacteria-ridden offal would consume Eugene. People would die of previously treatable illnesses. Food hoarding would become rampant and finally, people would split off into small bands and stab each other with large, pointy sticks.
Eugene is also home to many members of the Earth Liberation Front and the Animal Liberation Front. They take extreme measures to protect the Earth and its animals. Their leaders, like Jerry Vlasak of ELF, condone violence. You should not fear these people, however. Their bones are brittle and their muscles mushy from years of eating a flavorless slurry of dirt, leaves and amphetamines.
Eugene is also the hobo capital of the world. I would respect hobos a lot more if they still carried bindles, wore torn overalls, and said things like, "Brother, can you spare a dime?" But this isn't a Preston Sturges film. This is Eugene. If Eugene hobos carried bindles, they would be filled with drugs, human tongues or something else disagreeable. They are a terrible nuisance, as they riddle our railroad tracks with their unsightly corpses. They are cousins to the street kids, who hang out downtown by Jameson's and Horsehead. Street kids spend inordinate hours hassling people for cigarettes and money. When you do not give them a hand out, they threaten you. They will grow up to work for the IRS.
Other people who make my life difficult: Frat guys, I get it, you're gay; anybody holding a clipboard on campus: No, I do not want to sign your petition; and bunker-mentality conservatives: Folks, I agree with you on a lot of issues, but please remove your head from your ass.
Undoubtedly, I will receive a number of letters saying, and I paraphrase, "Well, if you don't like Eugene then why don't you get out?" Cut me some slack, guys. It's raining outside, leaving me with an incredible sense of ennui. I'll probably just sit right here for at least a couple more hours. That's what Eugene does to you.
tgraf@dailyemerald.com
Eugene is also home to many members of the Earth Liberation Front and the Animal Liberation Front. They take extreme measures to protect the Earth and its animals. Their leaders, like Jerry Vlasak of ELF, condone violence. You should not fear these people, however. Their bones are brittle and their muscles mushy from years of eating a flavorless slurry of dirt, leaves and amphetamines.
Eugene is also the hobo capital of the world. I would respect hobos a lot more if they still carried bindles, wore torn overalls, and said things like, "Brother, can you spare a dime?" But this isn't a Preston Sturges film. This is Eugene. If Eugene hobos carried bindles, they would be filled with drugs, human tongues or something else disagreeable. They are a terrible nuisance, as they riddle our railroad tracks with their unsightly corpses. They are cousins to the street kids, who hang out downtown by Jameson's and Horsehead. Street kids spend inordinate hours hassling people for cigarettes and money. When you do not give them a hand out, they threaten you. They will grow up to work for the IRS.
Other people who make my life difficult: Frat guys, I get it, you're gay; anybody holding a clipboard on campus: No, I do not want to sign your petition; and bunker-mentality conservatives: Folks, I agree with you on a lot of issues, but please remove your head from your ass.
Undoubtedly, I will receive a number of letters saying, and I paraphrase, "Well, if you don't like Eugene then why don't you get out?" Cut me some slack, guys. It's raining outside, leaving me with an incredible sense of ennui. I'll probably just sit right here for at least a couple more hours. That's what Eugene does to you.
tgraf@dailyemerald.com
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