Everything has its beauty but not everyone sees it.

- Confucius

All-too-fitting for this glorious gem of an Asian imports, decor, and anything-you-would-never-be-able-to-dream-up of store, stumbling upon Cargo was likely the most inspired aspect of this blogger's recent shop-venture in downtown Portland's Pearl District. And just as the old Confucius saying might imply, it seems upon review of the store that the sheer volume of intrigue, oddity and sparkle that can be found in each nook, cranny and corner should easily emanate out from their hiding places into the cloud-flattened daylight of 13th Avenue.

Such is not the case.

Portland, Oregon is perhaps best described as Eugene's more sociable sister - with a higher income tax bracket and a slightly more easy-on-the-eyes facial structure. Though both cities boast in kind a lax West-coast sensibility and emerald green flora stemming from their shared drenchingly temperate biome, Portland offers more by way of large shops, brightly lit downtown districts and hole-in-the wall fair-trade cafés. Its eponymous seaside location is ripe for fresh imports from cities near and far. A shining example of this feature is Cargo.

From outside the storefront in the city's whipping rainy wind, the unwitting passer-by would never suspect to have blown past this ware-house style cache of goodies from the other side of the Pacific. But to those alert and courageous enough to enter, rewards beyond the Occidental imagination are in store.

Cargo capitalizes all too juicily on the western obsession and intrigue with Oriental styles and artifacts, but because it does not complete this operation blatantly - for instance, not Japanese karaoke tunes but Frank Sinatra ditties play over the loudspeaker - it only allows the westerner's hunger for deep reds, curry yellows and insignia of exotic fauna to take even stronger hold. Organized into zig-zagging aisles that line the ostensibly endless array of knick-knacks functional to flat-out exhorbitant, it may take the shopper with above-average attentiveness over an hour to complete. Arguably the most stop-and-stare-worthy area is that which cases wooden tables, chairs, and dressers, all exuding a particular personality about them even when stacked in columns of four dressers or more that seem to literally reach for the store's very ceiling. Delicately painted tigers climb and wrap themselves up wooden chair legs; ringed dresser knobs jingle and floorboards rumble as one walks past, giving disconcerting life to the chair-inhabiting tigers' stomachs.

Located on 380 NW 13th Ave, Cargo effortlessly mixes an exotic aesthetic well-loved by westerners with a ware-house style layout and pieces that at once combine the rustic, ancient and traditional with the colorful, kitschy and nouveau. Even upon hours, one would be hard-pressed to have ever truly feel they've summited this Everest of a store.

Hey YOU, Gene!

The first and often most essential testament to the widespread style of any city rests heavily upon an investigation of its most cherished sites of fashion finds - namely, its vintage, thrift and consignment stores, most notably those found in unassuming, independent shops downtown. This rule goes triply for the average college city. Housing approximately 16,674 students at the University of Oregon, one could say Eugene presents itself as a prime exemplary candidate.

A mid-sized urban area known for its vegan eateries, lush temperate biome and residents whose lifestyles are as green as the city's ubiquitous conifers, the denizens of Eugene pride themselves on their sustainable lifestyles and the fact that many of them never quite grew out of the 1960s - or spend restless nights wishing they could have had the chance. The LTD, Eugene's local public bus system, is timely, clean and well-organized - need I say more?

It's no wonder that Eugene is host to one of the most extensive, laudable and lovely collections of "mid-century artifacts" I've seen in my life, particularly those precious gems found at Oak St. Vintage, a mid-century dwelling itself renovated for such admirable business purposes. Though the square footage is minimal, the old abode is brimming with all the polyester, Bake-Lite and burnt orange to fill the beating hearts of any septophile such as myself. All very reasonably priced, some highlights include a double-layer jewelry case so full of baubles the floor can't be seen to a "back room" of reminiscent LPs and aqua-colored tea sets to an assortment of nostalgic board games and bulbous lamps that could have been swiped right off the futuristic set of Rollerball (not the remake, please.)

Though this charming teleportation on 1409 Oak St. took the cake by far, an honorable mention goes to Kitsch, consignment for the funky and posh alike, located at 1016 Willamette. The eclectic and relatively contemporary assortment of music as well as the clothes it offers lends a somewhat trendier vibe to Kitsch, and while the front desk clerk at Oak St. demurely read a book in her cream knit sweater, cowboy boots and pincurls, this one seemed to be either preparing for, just getting back from, or hosting his own rave behind the desk, and in fact may have indulged in all the E he intended for his party guests. However, when a feeble rack carrying far too much mohair cracked under pressure, toppling sweater upon pastel sweater to the floor, he enthusiastically clapped his hands and went to work re-stocking.

Style-wise, the store offers a range of authentic '70s chemises to some threads that are just too young to have made it back to hip-dom (we're all still waiting on that late-nineties butterfly clip revival, aren't we?) but the effort is sincere, and the presentation is admirable.

All in all, a successful and enlightening (though temporally disorienting) day awaits the shopper in these two humble downtown locations - but if that still isn't enough to warrant a voyage, talk to the free Baklava (courtesy of Oak St. Vintage).

Pro-logg

You got yourself a trucker's atlas

You knew you were all hot, well

Maybe you'll go and blow a gasket

- "Trucker's Atlas," Modest Mouse

I was born and raised in the Matanuska-Susitna Valley in America's "Last Frontier," the breathtakingly beautiful state of Alaska.

18 years later, in that same serendipitous month that I had transplanted myself to a quaint private liberal arts college tucked away in the mid-Hudson area of upstate New York, my lovely Alaskan valley and its city of Wasilla burst onto the international stage wielding patriotic red pencil suits, rimless glasses, AK-47s and - you betcha - pitbulls with lipstick (no, not bulldogs...)

Don't get me wrong - I love my home. The sun shining down on midnight swims at Kepler-Bradley, mud-adorned black Ford F-350s with decals of our statewide 907 area code emblazoned for all to see, and peanut butter milkshakes at the Valley Hotel? There's nothing better.

But this blog isn't about mesh half-shirt-toting, mullet-baring mud-yuckers, so this blog can't as well be about Wasilla.

This blog is about the life and beauty and spirit of the brave souls who wake up every morning and, upon a hard heavy investigation of the world their closet has to offer and prepare their bodies like a canvas for all the crawling, hailing, lower-than-thou denizens of their unspoken fashion kingdom to see, gawk at, and admire.

You know who you are.

We will begin with a several-week-long tour of the United States' west coast cities.

First stop: Eugene, Oregon.