"The pocket-protector,
short-sleeves-and-tie crowd is made conspicuous by its absence.
Hell, even the ponytails are in short supply."
Find out more about the PINT at www.pint.org
"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 Portland Spirit's prow 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
find you."
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.
