“You rock, Jen”. “Jen rocks.” “Jen, you rock.” I hear this all the time. Day and night. Of course, usually it’s just me, but occasionally there are one or two people who say it to me once in a while. When I face the facts, I have to say that yes, I do rock. And because I rock, I feel I must impart my savoir faire to the world, or at least to my readers. Especially Portlanders, who are all too frequently lacking in the elementary social skills department. So, take heed and trust that this opportunity to drink from the tainted waters of my fountain of je ne sais quoi will not run forever. Of course, I can’t give all my secrets away, but here are a few of my tried and true rules for righteous rocking.

Never hesitate to buy someone a drink. There’s no faster way to worm your way into anyone’s heart than by the giving of free booze. Think about it: for three measly bucks you can buy all the approbation you might accrue over years of friendship, without the drudgery of helping to move a sofabed up three flights of stairs or repeatedly going to the airport at five am. And if you buy enough drinks, no one will ever ask you to do this sort of crap for them because they probably wouldn’t trust you with a load of their fragile valuables, or behind the wheel of a car, anyway. As a bartender, I’ve seen too many Portlanders squirm like a weasel in a trap when I ask them if they’re buying the round. You’d think I was suggesting donating a kidney, and not just a gin and tonic, for chrissakes! Come on, give it up for your friends!

Never, ever say, “it’s all good” or “no worries”. Anyone who rocks knows that it is never all good and that there are always things to worry about. These have to be the two most inane phrases to ever leave the lips. Portland will be a much better place if we collectively declare a moratorium on these two colloquialisms. A little negative reinforcement may be all that’s needed in order to strike these offensive idioms. Like a sharp left hook to the solar plexus of the utteree. If we all work together on this, it shouldn’t take more than a couple of months before even the hippies will be afraid to say this stuff in public.

When at a party or bar, engage in or at least acknowledge conversation that is directed at you. Now, I know that on the whole, Portlanders are a shy and retiring lot, not given to great displays of extroverted behavior. But it doesn’t take screwing one’s courage to the sticking point in order to nod the head in receipt of some polite, friendly overtures. There’s nothing worse than trying to strike up some convo, only to be met with blank stares, like you’re speaking in tongues. If you don’t want to talk, bring some reading material as defense. No one who rocks will ever interupt a reader.

Get out of the fucking way when someone says excuse me. I’m not a low talker. I know people can hear me when I want to make myself heard (I couldn’t call myself a New Yorker if I didn’t). So don’t just contract a shoulder blade, make the herculean effort to step aside when asked. I am so sick of apologizing to unresponsive dolts because I scrape my breasts on them when I try to slither by. And stand up in your seat at the movies when someone needs to get through. When your feet are as large as mine, it’s too terribly tricky to get through that minefield of knees and shoes without mangling an instep or two.

Use your goddamned turn signal. Do the local auto dealers equip new vehicles with a special Portland Package before letting the cars off the lot? Does the package include disabling of the the turn signals, adding a bong holder, plus extra slow green light starting, and special anti-parallel parking capabilities? It’s like Portland’s drivers combine the worst of the rest of the country’s roadhogs. Like NYC cabbies, Portlanders swing from lane to lane with nary a thought to keeping the other drivers informed of their plans. Like sleepy small town southerners, they dawdle at the green, finally proceeding through as slowly as a debutante entering a cotillion. And none of the natives seem to get the fact that they can just go around the car that’s stopped to make a left. Maybe they’re just using this time to reload their pipes. I’m convinced that just about every driver here is stoned ninety percent of their time on the road. Either that or the average Portlander’s IQ drops 90 points as they put the key in the ingnition.

Never wear more than one purple item at a time. There’s way too many Portlanders wandering around out there looking like they’re going to play the color violet in the school play about rainbows. Head to toe purple just says, “I don’t rock and I never will”. Purple is the wardrobe equivalent of those “The goddess is alive and magick is afoot” bumperstickers. Well, I’m here to tell you that magick is a foot up your ass, so take the purple off. Now, head to toe black, that’s good. That rocks.

Tip your waitresses and bartenders. Generously. Think the service here in Portland sucks? Well, so do the tips. Better tips equal better service, as thousands of scientific studies have proven worldwide. An extra dollar here and there won’t kill you and you’ll be amazed by the results. Your drinks will be stiff and you won’t have to worry about any special “ingredients” working their way into your pasta. And treat your servers like the decent folks they usually are. Don’t talk about them like they’re on tv and can’t hear you mocking their hairdo or the shape of their ass. Say please and thank you. Please. And thank you.

Now, don’t put too much pressure on yourself to rock right away. No one rocks overnight. Just take it one rocking step at a time, and before you know it someone will say that you rock, too. Now go forth, kick ass and rock!