The Pacific Northwest, however, is a completely different ball game. In fact, it’s an obscure game no one wants to play. Like field hockey, or soccer. I’ve found myself time and time again surprised to find that when I ask others to do things or get together – the response “definitely” means anything but. In reality, the response is more like “I’ll just nod and smile through my teeth agreeing to whatever you say because I’m not sure how to interact with another human being. And oh yeah, the friends I’ve had since 7th grade are all I’ll ever need.” I know I know, it’s a lot to convey in one word.

But this creates problems in social affairs. While books have been written about the myth of “Seattle nice’” (Pugetopolis comes to mind), it is not my intention to add to that library through this post. Instead, I will illustrate the contrast between east and west coast with a story.

Last weekend I was in Manhattan on business. After a visit to Bumble & Bumble’s Joey the girl for a haircut (she’d call it a ‘hair style’, mostly due to her vision that I could have Daniel Craig hair) – I was hungry for a burrito. Famished in Tribeca, I found myself at the closest Qdoba I could find. My veggie burrito and I were sat there, alone on the bar stool looking out the window. Out of the corner of my eye I notice a girl eyeing the only open seat, one that happened to be next to me. Despite the fact she was mid-twenties, she had a kiddie meal. I heart NY.

Kiddie meal took a seat next to me, and I began the dialog in the most creative way I could muster…

“So, what are your plans for the rapture?”

(I wish the crazies would declare every day the rapture, because that was a darn good line. Ok, maybe I’m over-confident, but you have to admit it has a certain disarming quality to it, no?)

So from there our conversation bloomed – cities of origin, upbringing, Italian family life, Italian mothers, fashion faux pas, and careers. I ‘m so glad careers came last, by the way, I feel as though that is all too often the appetizer of getting to know someone, not the dessert.

And after about 45 minutes, it was time to go our separate ways. She was off to shop in midtown, I was off to do the same in SoHo. And so it ended…

“Hi, I’m Derek.” “Hi, I’m Vanessa.” And we left.

Now, keep in mind a few things. this girl could have answered my initial inquiry about the rapture with an awkward half-laugh and then bury her head in her iPhone. But she didn’t. She engaged. Also notice that neither of us had an agenda, an ulterior motive, nothing to be gained or lost by having a conversation – just a desire to get to know someone new. This interaction would never happen in Seattle. The default posture of Seattleites is far too closed off, anti-social, passive aggressive – the girl would assume that I was only out to start a romantic association with her.

The next night I was on Facebook. And low and behold a new friend request and short message came in from Vanessa. Mind you, she only knew my first name and where I worked, but that was apparently enough to find me among the over half a billion people on Facebook (props Zuckerberg).

And about 36 hours after meeting, two complete strangers, who share a love for franchise Mexican food, found themselves out to dinner. At 10:00pm. See, Seattle? That wasn’t so hard.

This was the first time I had traveled with Andrew, which was as fun as you’d expect. For instance, running through the Minnesota airport on a tight connection with someone that runs 75+ miles a week really puts on the pressure. I managed to hold back my quasi-Asthmatic deep hyperventilation sesh until I could get in the postage stamp-sized airplane bathroom. As far as I know, Andrew would still rate me as “below average” on the President’s Fitness Challenge scale.

Anywho, a funny moment occurred as we were walking toward the cab line at O’Hare Airport. Andrew remarked, “Wouldn’t be great if someone was here waiting for us?”. Without hesitation I retorted, “You mean, like a driver?”

This is what Andrew pictured.

This is what I pictured.

Sign #27192 that life in Seat 1B may be slowly killing me.

But tonight was different. Since I have an early start tomorrow, I’m actually in town the night before and planned to get the full Portland experience. And that I did.

I checked into the Ace Hotel, which is a combination hipster haven and deer lodge – not quite what to make of it. I elected for the “upgraded room” – which later I found out meant the bathtub was actually inside the room rather than down the hall. An upgrade an indeed!

The room was filled with irony – right down to the turntable used for spinning vinyl. Hysterically, the record player was hooked into an iPod dock. Steve Jobs is rolling with laughter from inside his aircraft grade titanium walled bedroom right now, I’m sure. After popping on the latest Shins album – I was ready to get my Portland on.

Suddenly I wondered why I had forgotten to buy any flannel in my life – and for the first time I also felt compelled to get tattoo sleeves. Ok, perhaps not.

Walking out of the very slow, pull cable, elevator I passed the basket-bicycle rental and head out the door. Walking amongst Portland people was an interesting experience. Before today, I’d swear Seattle would get top billing as the city which is most unlike New York. Today, Portland has stolen that title. Not only do people dress casually, they are downright ready to hit the bike trail. Women can’t be bothered with makeup or with a leg shave, they have mountains to climb and caves to explore. Get your spelunk on early, ladies, because this east coast guy is not going to take you out to dinner.

I ended up at a steak house for dinner, and did the classic single-guy business traveler thing and ate at the bar. Having a good rapport with the server at the bar is key. He always has an interesting story to tell. This guy came straight out of a western, or at least the way Back to the Future III depicted the old west. He had a ruffled tuxedo shirt, bow tie, vest, and the little garder arm band thing. I’m still wondering where that garder came from – my mind wandered to what this guy’s home life might be like until I realized there’s really no way for him to have one. This guy is a fixture. He knows everyone, and they know him. This is his social network.

Well it’s time for me to retire to my beaver lodge-inspired comforter. Actually I’m not even sure it is a comforter. Is this the right time to go down the hall to the common phone and ask the front desk what the thread count is?