Why I stopped clubbing:

From Willy Week:

The downtown bar scene: Despite being in the heart of Portland, the knot of pubs and clubs around Southwest 2nd Avenue and Burnside no longer serves Portlanders. On weekends the entire area reeks of Axe body spray, as it’s overrun by Jäger-slurping ex-frat boys from the suburbs. Kells is a decent bar during the week, but all you see on Saturday is fake-’n’-bake blondes dripping lip gloss and gym rats from McMinnville who wear Red Sox caps and talk about the Curse of the Bambino like they don’t have a Derek Jeter jersey at home. Gel-happy metrosexuals cruise the Greek Cusina, telling everyone, “I’m not gay. I know I’m wearing flared jeans. You wanna fight?” At the end of the night the whole ugly crew piles into a fleet of Chevy Tahoes and Dodge Magnums, turns up the Toby Keith, and swerves back to cul-de-sacs of aluminum siding in Tigard to talk about how much they love “the city”—except for all its weirdos on bikes and disquieting lack of Red Robin franchises.

Whole story here