About

Seventy-five miles north of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge lies the idyllic little town of my upbringing. It was heaven, we thought, and from what we heard, Tacoma may as well have been hell. What we knew about the City of Destiny (we sure didn’t know it was called that) was limited to what reached us from two sources: News transmitted to our backwater, MTV-less television sets by KOMO 4 or KING 5, and what was transmitted to our nostrils as we whizzed past Tacoma on I-5, on our way to more wholesome and worthwhile locations. From the news, we learned of violence; from our noses, we learned of the Aroma. To us, Tacoma was a place to be pitied and driven past, not a place to visit, and never, never a place to live.

Those years were an admittedly bad time for this second-fiddle city, with the Hilltop gang fights, rampant methamphetamine manufacture and use, and what seemed a disproportionate number of kidnappings for one city. But Tacoma has since lost the meth-capital crown to some other unfortunate town, and by the looks of it, even the once-menacing Hilltop neighborhood will soon be filled with overpriced boutiques and wine bars. (Don’t get too excited. Boutiquification brings its own horrors.)

Still, bad raps die hard, and despite the cleanup, Tacoma is as much an underdog as it ever was. Since I settled here not so many months ago, I have received the same horrified response whenever I utter the words “I live in Tacoma” within the borders of my hometown. Old friends gasp and shudder, “Why!?! Oh my god!!!”

I like it here, I reply. I do. In fact, I love it.

This blog is about my not quite cool, not so hip city — my favorite underdog — and my budding relationship with it. This blog is about Tacoma and me. The Aroma and me. The T-Dome, Hill-Top Loans, brand new soulless condos, and me.

Welcome.

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Reach out to me: jenniferb @ underdogcity . com