I’m not a hipster
But you might be.

This definitely belongs in my cutest things category, especially since they’re using two halves of a heart for this trick.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQ6MY5J68Gs

Seriously! Hanu (Dan’s dog) is a sweetheart; he’s my best friend these days. And Laura’s dog, Calla, is also sweet, even if she is a bit crazy.

And alternately, this is the most terrifying dog video that happens to be a close link to the same video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ng-3WZap4Fc&NR=1

They have not appropriately named that one!!!

There have been some great stories this week, and it’s only Monday!

1. Granted, she didn’t buy it with direct-from-the-government funds, she bought it with her taxpayer salary: Palin installed tanning bed in governor’s mansion.

2. After his ridiculous ads and the insane media hype around the lipstick comments, McCain finally says something worth listening to: No, Obama didn’t call Palin a pig.

3. And the best of them all: SNL’s Palin-Clinton skit.

I only puppy-sat S&S v2.0’s adorable 3.5 month old Australian shepherd for about 24 hours. In that time, I estimate I heard “oh, he’s so cute!” about 25 times, followed by, “what kind of dog is he?” and then, “how old is he?”

(Note that I put all of that info in the first sentence so you could move on from saying how cute he is.)

A couple years ago I had the idea to start a for-rent puppy service for single people. Because let’s face it: puppies are people magnets. My friends pointed out various ethical and practical questions this business would raise — what happens when the person you’ve managed to attract due to the puppy finds out that it’s not your puppy? What happens once the puppy is no longer small and quite so adorable? — so I put the idea on hold. But still, there might be something there. If the whole freelance writing thing doesn’t pan out….

I spotted this sign along Vancouver on my bike ride into work. Oh, how I love Portland.

Adbusters has an issue right now that features the cover story, “Hipsters: The Dead End of Western Civilization.” It’s a fascinating critique of the phenomenon. Top learnings:

• Hipsters have been around a long time, waaaay longer than I’d thought. As in, more than a decade. Of course, since everything comes to Portland slowly, they’ve probably only been here for about three years.
• According to the author, most generations have had a counter-culture movement that stood for something. For example, punks stood against the establishment and wore tattered clothing as one symbol of that stance. Hipsters have no stance other than making a show finding the coolest new thing and then tossing it once it becomes too cool, the author says. They are the pinnacle of our culture’s obsession with consumerism and appearance.
• Staples of the hipsters’ attire: big, fake wireframed glasses; skinny jeans; leggings; vintage flannel. I think Portland hipsters tend to wear a bit more black.
• No one wants to be labeled a hipster, because it has become a negative connotation. This is another difference, the author says, from previous counter-culture movements, in which a group would proudly self-ascribe.

So interesting.

Looking at my few posts so far, I’m realizing that I’m very easily distracted from what was supposed to be my main subject matter. But really, who wouldn’t be distracted by the sweetness of this girl?! I flew out to Denver to visit my novio, who we’ll call Dan (thank you, Laura!) — a bit confusing because I know at least five real Dans or variations thereof.

Anyway! So, Denver. Dan and I stayed with his sister and brother-in-law, who have a baby. This little girl stole my heart within the first five minutes, and then I just handed it over willingly. She cooed, laughed, smiled and charmed. When I held her, her chubby little hands curled tight around my arms so I would know she didn’t want to be put down. It was definitely love. And her parents have done an amazing job — she even puts herself to sleep!

Happy first birthday, Kate, mi cariño!

Yesterday was the Tour De Fat, one of many Portland summer bike parties. Since I missed the Naked Bike Ride, the Bridge Pedal and who knows how many other bike events, I made a point to get myself to this one. Even if it was a sweltering 99 degrees.

My friend and I arrived pretty early, sweated out a few folksy songs from Paper Bird, then headed for lemonade and air-conditioned sushi. When we got back around 3, the party was swinging, complete with crazy circus-like people. One guy had cardboard in front of his privates and New Belgium beer boxes on his behind. Kind of a cut-off barrel look. He caught us eying him and bee-lined toward us.

“Hey, girls! Are you looking at the beer?” He was holding a corn-based cup half-full with an amber in his hand.

Um, not so much.

Another guy wearing a shiny hot pink dress with a graduation cap saw us giggling and yelled, “What?!”

“What does he think?” my friend said to me. “He’s wearing a pink dress and a graduation gown. You can’t wear that and then ask ‘what?’”

March Fourth Marching Band rocked the festival to a close, but the highlight was the little bumper-car-sized fenced-in area that contained all sorts of fabulous bikes to try on. My favorite was the bike with the little wheels that grown men got on and had to pedal furiously to move even a foot. Other highlights: running shoes instead of a tire on the spokes; wheels all around to the handlebars, side-by-side seats with a steering column in back; and car tires on a bike frame.

As interesting as a hipster loo may sound, I’m way more fascinated by the biker vs. motorist war that’s going on in Portland right now. Even if The Oregonian thinks otherwise.

I first noticed it two weeks ago when people honked at me for no good reason on my bike ride into work. And they weren’t “Hey, hot biker!” honks. Oh, no. They were “Get out of my way because you’re not going as fast as I am and you’d be so easy to run over!” angry honks. And then I almost got hit by some lady not paying attention — I was in my bike lane. I had a green light. I was being a very good biker. But she wanted me dead. Or just didn’t happen to look to the right. This is a choose-your-own-adventure type ending.

Then, the whole insanity with the biker hitting a truck a week or so ago. I’ve heard this story told a couple ways by now:

1. A biker ran a red light, and t-boned into a truck. Possible, but not that fascinating.

2. A car driver yelled at a biker to follow some rule — get in the bike lane, or something. The biker started yelling back, cussing him out, and next thing you know, picks up his bike and smashes it into the car. Turns out the driver is the owner of a bike shop in Portland. I definitely prefer this story, and some of it’s even true.

On Monday, just the opposite, and this one I read up on before I could hear multiple tales: A biker yelling at a driver to slow down, and the driver responding by chasing him, and then attempting to run him over. Just a touch extreme of a response. Just a bit. A neighbor actually caught part of it on his cell phone video.

But since these incidents, I haven’t heard any honks, bad or otherwise. Maybe everyone’s chilled a bit now that we have had sun for a week straight.

In late 2005, as I sat with a friend at a bar in Portland, hipsters entered my life. I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but it was probably something like this.

“See the chickadee over there?” my friend asked. (OK, this friend would never say “chickadee,” but this is my reenactment, so I have some creative license.)

I put on my glasses. Thin-framed, gold-ish glasses from at least 3 years ago. I spotted who my friend was obviously talking about — a girl who looked like she’s stepped out from a magazine — no one dresses like this in real life! With a skirt that’s faintly cowboy-chic, fishnet tights, cream boots to mid-calf, at least 3 shirts on, some ruffles poking out, and a little bit poofy denim hat to top it off. Oh, and the attitude.

“That’s a hipster,” my friend said.

“A what?” I asked, fascinated.

“A hipster,” she repeated.

“But what is a hipster?” I asked.

“She is,” my friend answered, ensuring that my question would go unanswered and bloom into full-fledged obsession.

Over the next weeks, months and now years, I’ve consistently questioned my friends — “Is that a hipster?” “What about her?” “He’s definitely a hipster, right?” — only to find that this super important topic just gets more complicated as time passes. Like, that New York hipsters are several years ahead of Portland hipsters. AND that the hipster phenom has been going on for years before I’d even heard the word. (Thank you, Alex M.) But screw it! I’m intent on figuring this out, with photos, in-depth analysis and possibly a night or two of stalking.

A big THANK YOU!!! to Chris Williams of Enact Development for helping me get this site up — it wouldn’t have happened without you. And the poor, deck hipsters of Portland and beyond would be sadder for it.