Florida’s got sunshine. Montana’s got big skies. California’s got innovation and New York’s got hustle. Chicago’s got chutzpah and Georgia’s got peaches. But you know what Oregon has more than any other state? CREEPINESS.

Forget weird. The word rubs me the wrong way in the first place. It’s overused and there are too many cities (which aren’t even that weird in the first place) contending for the title.

We push our weirdness via bumper sticker and call ourselves quirky. Maybe we are and maybe we aren’t, but a lot of the things that we call weird and quirky are much more accurately called creepy.  Zombies attacks? Shanghai Tunnels? Super creepy! Get out of Portland and into the woods, the dark, loamy forest that invites you to cooooome in and lie down in the moist cool mossy quiet. Totally creepy. Stop in at any gas station in an out of the way town. Chances are, they’ll be selling scary looking weapons that maybe shouldn’t be so easily accessible next to those energy pills and dusty snacks. Head over to eastern Oregon and learn about about cowboy country, the mining days, educate yourself via the many many strange dioramas on offer throughout the state. Want to sleep with a ghost? Take your pick of city, coast, mountains or prairies – the old hotels and historic houses in this state pride themselves on their population of active ghosts in a way that is more than a little creepy. Gaze into the eyes of a painstakingly assembled life sized mannequin doll representing the neglected wife of a dickhead ‘renaissance’ man who called himself the Poet of the Sierras but was more than anything, just an asshole who couldn’t get along. Notice her real fucking teeth. Goosebumps? Not the good kind? Right. Nuf said.