HATE - Oregon Commentator

Glenwood
Demographics: Tent-dwellers, nutria
Local delicacy: nutria
Chief export: nutria pelts
Glenwood is the taint between the genitalia that is Eugene
and the asshole that is Springfield. I’m not even sure what’s in
Glenwood. It’s a scary place (much like a real taint). The only
thing I know for sure is that the Glenwood restaurant used to
actually be located in Glenwood. Not anymore, and for good
reason. Also, I hear rumor that there’s a gay nude beach down by
the river. I’m not judging; I mean, if you’re into getting gummed
by toothless 60-year-olds, by all means, head to Glenwood.
rock at a cop in ‘98.”
I was at Tiny’s Tavern one night talking to a 6’8’’ dude in
snakeskin boots, leather pants and a fedora. He was a molecular
biologist. I think that sums up Whiteaker pretty well.
Whiteaker is the real twisted core of Eugene. It’s what
happens when you subject a population to heavy doses of
hallucinogens for 40 years. This was all fine and dandy until
the mid-90’s, when the area went certifiably Syd Barret. If you
don’t understand why Eugene used to be called “the anarchist
capital of the United States,” take a stroll around Whiteaker.
Even though its halcyon days are long past, you can still catch
some of that anar-cool “charm” – the urban farms, the garish
colors, the copies of Green Anarchy randomly scattered around.
Some parts remind me of Enchanted Forest with slightly more
scary employees.
Don’t ever turn your back on Whiteaker, though. Its glory
days may be past, but all those insane anarchists are just waiting
for a chance to bubble back to the surface like a bad flashback.
West University
Demographics: Bro-magnon man, sorostitutes
Chief exports: Empties, “The funniest joke books in the
world,” scrunt
Notable persons: Frog, Zack Vishanoff, Jesus Guy
Phrase most likely to be heard: “Son, have you been
drinking tonight”
West University is home to the University of Oregon.
Surprise. It’s also home to roving bands of drunken assholes
Thursday through Saturday. Coincidently, this also leads to two
of West University’s more tragic elements: hit-and-runs and the
Party Patrol.
About five times a year, some tanked dude shuffles off this
mortal coil and into the path of an oncoming car. Let me tell
you, bro: That Subaru is closer than it appears, and it hasn’t had
a brake check in five years. Reaction time between brain and
driver’s foot: .5 seconds. Your reaction time: not a ninja. Welcome
to the Big Sleep.
Party Patrol is the scourge of West University. Eugene’s
fine men and women in blue seem to think it’s a good use of
taxpayer money to drive around and look for parties to break up,
which they do with extreme prejudice. Any gathering of over
five people is guaranteed to get a visit from the bored, blue line.
“Hey, you guys havin’ a little party here”
What the fuck does it look like, Sherlock Was it the earthrumbling
bass or the guy passed out on my front lawn that clued
you in
West University also has its own independent cleaning crew.
If you have a party that’s somehow not killed by the party patrol,
throw your empties out onto the lawn the next day; they will be
magically gone within half an hour. I’m pretty sure hobos are
behind this, but it might be elves.
If you can believe it, West University is even lamer than it
used to be. The frats used to be wet, and at least we used to have
the annual Halloween riots. Now students can’t even muster the
energy to flip a car or set a dumpster on fire.
Associate Editor CJ Ciaramella spends all day at the bus station
listening to ICP and spitting.
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