I fell in love with Oregon when I was just a young lad. One summer day before I began the ninth grade, my family of five saddled up the old conversion van to take a journey. It was a less-than-stellar trip from New York to Portland. Being a raging adolescent at the time, I spent my days swearing in the back seat and plotting dark revenge on my family. By the time I reached my promised land, my two-year-old brother’s incessant wailing, coupled with my 11-year-old brother’s belligerence, rendered me mute and agitated. Years of therapy transpired, and by the time college applications went out, the University of Oregon was still at the top of my list. I swore I would become a Duck come hell or high waters.
When it was time to pick my new four-year home at the end of my junior year, I still wanted to attend the University. However, when reviewing the financial packages and in light of two younger brothers, I opted to be a debtless terrier at Boston University.
Oh, I don’t mind being a small yapping dog living in the city that sleeps at 7:30 p.m. — it’s actually rather nice. However, I knew I had sold out and I had to become one with Oregon somehow. So, as a starry-eyed freshman I packed my things and split to Eugene for the summer. I didn’t know anyone, and only through some clutch e-mailing did I land a place to stay. My first day in the laid-back land of Volkswagen mini-buses and glass-blowing shacks was one of some serious schooling.
Lesson one: The streets in Eugene are as confused as the ones of Boston. Unlike the delicious Roman layout of New York City (and Springfield, as I later found out) streets here are non-sequential. So, when arriving at the Greyhound station with my 150-pound duffel bag, tired from a transcontinental flight, I figured, “Hell, I am on East 10th, I can walk a few blocks to East 16th, right?”
Wrong. I walked for what seemed to be days, and finally someone said, “Oh, East 16th. That’s about two miles past Hayward Field.” Excited as I was to see the track capital of the nation, I was too exhausted and stupid to realize I could have just hailed a cab for ten bucks and saved my shoulders.
An hour later, after a cold shower under some impressive water pressure, I was on my way to check out the city I loved but had never met. This blind date taught me a most embarrassing lesson two. In line, ready to purchase a slurpee at the local 7-Eleven, I committed the most heinous of out-of-towner crimes. I won’t mention what I said, but I was told immediately that, “Hey, buddy, we haven’t GONE anywhere.”
Sadly, it wasn’t until my third pilgrimage (this year) that I was informed that it was eu-GENE and not EU-gene. Apparently everyone I met the previous summer had a good laugh at my expense as I tried to figure out what was so funny through a vacant stare.
My pleasant revelation of that first day was finding out that if I walked across a street, cars would stop for me. Not only would they halt here in Eugene, but the drivers would smile and wave. This was a welcome reprieve from getting flipped off and threatened with castration.
Oh, and one night I spent lying on the grass. I looked up in the sky and saw these bright sparkly things. Someone told me they are called stars. Yup, Oregon is quite different from Boston, and I liked those differences. Here I am again, finding out more reasons why Eugene is the happiest place on earth.
Want to know what Boston is like? That’s another issue altogether.