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NEWS STORY BY
CHRIS LYDGATE |
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"I hope we
don't hit a reef," says my photographer Marty, an unlit cigarette
dangling from his lip as he tries to strike and shield a match against the
stiff twilight breeze with one hand while balancing a pint of MacTarnahan's
in the other. We are standing
on the prow of the Portland Spirit as it chugs up the Willamette
carrying 502 local high-tech industry live wires--programmers, developers,
designers, software engineers, marketing people, producers, public-relations
types, account reps and assorted privateers--on the Portland Interactive
Community's second annual “Schmooz Crooz.” It's hard to deny
that the prospect of a massive collision with a hitherto undiscovered shoal
off Ross Island holds a certain perverse appeal. Just imagine waves of
affluent web developers plunging headlong into the briny deep, their stock
options suddenly worthless, their cell phones out of range, frantically
brandishing their Palm Pilots in search of an Internet site with color-coded
instructions on how to survive the shark-infested currents of the Willamette
River. Dream on. Instead
of gallantly documenting a spectacular nautical disaster, Marty and I are
reduced to observing a flock of twenty-somethings wearing identical gray
jackets with the company's name, AQUENT, embroidered on the back, toying with
yo-yos. Inside the cabin, dot-communists sport eye patches and paper pirate
hats as they wolf down hors d'oeuvres to the strains of Steely Dan. The Crooz
seemed--on paper, at least--an ideal opportunity to watch the interactive community
interact. But Marty and I are experiencing some technical difficulties: the
digital camera we borrowed to record the evening's festivities ran out of
batteries before the boat even passed under the Marquam Bridge. Truth be
told, Marty's not exactly a professional photographer--he's actually a web
developer we smuggled aboard under the WW banner because he forgot to sign up
for tickets in time. After stuffing the camera in his pocket to "warm it
up," he declares there's probably enough juice for one more shot. But where's the
money shot? If there are any geeks in attendance, they are well-disguised.
The pocket-protector, short-sleeves-and-tie crowd is made conspicuous by its
absence. Hell, even the ponytails are in short supply. Instead, we are treated
to a parade of sideburns, nose rings and bare midriffs. Yes, they are here to
schmooze. But they are also here to cruise. The Portland
Interactive Community (a.k.a. the PINT) is the brainchild of two young
webheads, John Craft and Augi Garred, who wanted to develop Portland's
networking network. When they hosted their first PINT event at Kell's Irish
Pub in August 1998, 31 people attended. Today, the PINT boasts a membership
list of more than 2,000. "The growth is incredible," says Craft, an
affable, 33-year-old managing director of Rapidigm/Interactive. Despite the
recent downturn in Wall Street's Internet stocks, the demand for web-savvy
workers has never been higher. "You can't find enough talent,"
Craft says. As a result, the PINT has become a headhunter's paradise--which
probably explains why talent scout firms such as Creative Assets have signed
on to sponsor the cruise. As the sun sinks
behind the West Hills, the scene heats up. Leaning over the gunwale, gazing
out to shore, Sonia Kim remembers when she and her friends would go
wake-boarding on the river. They used to make fun of the old fuddy-duddies on
the Portland Spirit. Now, at the ripe old age of 30, she is one.
"Generation X grows up and gets a job," she sighs. Kim attended her
first PINT function four months ago and found a job on the spot. Now she is
the director of marketing for Tweak Interactive, a sort of script doctor for
websites. "I wasn't even planning on it," she says. "There's,
like, recruiters everywhere. You just start mingling and they'll But for some
reason, the recruiters do not find me. Or Marty. Can they sense that my
Javascript skills are deficient? Or is it something to do with my nervous
habit of collecting paper napkins in my wallet? The DJ has
switched over to disco, and the dance floor becomes a kaleidoscope of
high-tech booty shimmying to the tune of Gloria Gaynor's "I Will
Survive." The cruisers have every reason to party. They are young, they
are well-off, they are sought after--they are, in short, the backbone of the
new economy. Like the yuppies they grew up despising, they have discovered
the joys of the high life, and they are giddy. Marty and I
consider staging a mutiny. In a single stroke, we could cripple Portland's
entire cyberworld and return to the halcyon pre-internet age when wired meant
too much coffee and Amazon was a river in Brazil. Our conspiracy lasts about
three seconds before I realize that I'd have to go back to looking stuff up
in the library--and Marty would be out of a job. First published in
Willamette Week, Aug 23 2000 |
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