Tired as fuck

Good night folks!

Sick and Tired.

Literally. My throat is swollen and hurts, and I only got about 5 hours of sleep last night. So, to help myself get better I had a lovely medium bowl of Pho over at Than Brothers in West Seattle. At least I don't have strep throat. Yeah.

I am slightly worried about cancer. . .

Mad Libs, Portland, and William S. Burroughs

Drew and I went to Portland this weekend for her birthday celebration. Bon Anniversaire, mon trou sexuel! We had a quite wonderful time in the land of ports. First off, we stayed at the Red Lion at the River. Kinda far outside Portland but the schwank bar and restaurant "Shenanigans" had paper-mache looking statues of the Blues Brothers, so I knew instantly it was a hit. photo by Drew

We toured the city a-la MAX light rail, and hit up a lovely restaurant called Lovely Hula Hands, named after a 1944 film.

I whole heartily reccomend it to anyone in the Portland area. Drew and I had the Deviled Eggs, Burgers, and Ice Cream. Holy shit. The Deviled Eggs tasted heavenly. The Burgers were juicy and possessed a rich meatiness one craves when eating a burger and that is rarely satisfied. The Mint in the ice cream was so fresh it tasted leafy and earthy while still possessing everything mint ice cream should be.

After that we went to the "Crow Bar" and met Whitney, one of Drew's friends, and her pseudo beau and Portland Chef extrodinarre Morgan. We listened to awesome music, such as "Excuse Me if I Break My Own Heart Tonight." by Whiskeytown and I drank Old Crow.

The next morning we ate at "Shenanigans," and because of this missed our train. Drew suggested we make Lemon Drops out of Lemons (as life was giving her vodka) and saw "Baby Mama" the new Tina "retardedly hot" Fey and Amy "I'd pole her" Pohler movie. (Side note: Mac Book Pro does not recognize "retardedly" as an adverb. Thankfully Mad Libs does.)

It was decent, I would say more of a renter, but I am glad I supported Fey's career in what little way I can. The plot was a bit predictable, but Steve Martin, Greg Kinnear, and Sigourney Weaver helped lift the film when it started to sag. All in all a good way to waste time waiting for the next train.

After this we headed to Borders for some old fashioned book finding. I bought a Mad Libs (40th anniversary no less) and Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs. The Mad Libs helped to keep the train ride interesting with such lines as "When passing a Dinosaur on the right be sure and blow your Cheetah." I know I always make sure to blow my cheetah, especially when passing pesky dinosaurs.

That being said, let me move onto my final topic of the post: Naked Lunch.
I remember being a young man, of no more than 14 or 15, and growing up in an artistically permissive household, had both the joy and terror of seeing the film "Naked Lunch" starring Robocop. The film is both intriguing and completely incomprehensible. I spoke about the film with my father who told me of the novel, and it's vast exspance of surrealism and confusion. I was interested, but this interest would not be satiated for another ten years.

Now, ten years later I am reading Naked Lunch. All I can say is "Holy Shit, what the fuck is going on?" Being about halfway through the rampant drug addled homosexual fantasies of Burroughs I feel that this book is important. It is the "Great Measure." The great measure of what to never, ever, ever, ever, ever, write again.

Setting all silliness aside, my opinion of the book is still in the air. The writing is intriguing and it somehow sticks in your brain, like "a bad hurt for junk." Only time will tell if I can kick. . .

Drew is 24!

Drew had her birthday and after a wonderful dinner at Ye Olde Spaghetti Factory we ended up celebrating at the Havana, a sweaty meat market up on Capitol Hill across from Vita and the Cha Cha. Here are some photo's that she took of our adventures, which end at the Pike Street Fish Fry, a new joint where "Frites" used to be and is now owned by the awesome Michael Hebberoy.




photos by Drew (and 1 by my long arm)

Literature and how it gets that way.

I have been visiting (and in some cases re-visiting) classical literature. I feel as though I've found some cyclopean wealth of knowledge that has been lost to the vast majority of unwashed miscreants that make up my generation. I find the last fact a tragedy.

These massive works of literature, which many contain the essence of human spirit, are forced upon us as young and hormonal teens. It is during this time when the American teenager, or at least a vast majority of American teenagers, finds education repugnant. I find it fascinating that this is the time when many of us will read the classics of literature.

When we think of novels like "Siddartha" or "The Metamorphosis" we think of high school English class and the sheer boredom it evoked. And while I did enjoy these novels, I don't feel I could possibly have grasped the full breadth and depth of these novels.

I would go so far as to say that many of us would learn as little as possible, the bare minimum to eke by, and then discard this knowledge like a burnt matchstick. In looking back I do remember reading these novels, but not much more than that. It was "Siddartha" alone that had any inkling of standing out in my mind. Funny, that it is the same book that started my return to literature of the classical variety.

That being said, I would like to briefly mention two books recently read by this humble blogger.

1) Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac. (I spelled his last name right the first try!)

and

2) The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka.

Both are amazing pieces of literature for different reason, and both I would recommend. What is next on Ian's reading list? "On the Road" by Kerouac, "Naked Lunch" by William S. Burroughs and "Pulp" by Buckowski. Americana, here I come.

Hell and why it sucks. . . fiction

I'm in hell. The seventh level of it. The worst part of hell is seeing your friends. In hell you can't say "Hi" or chat about relationships or work. In hell you can't even commiserate about being in hell. You're just there. Suffering. I wish I could say there was a good thing about hell, but there isn't. Not one Goddamn thing.

Those who aren't in hell might say "it is what it is." But its worse. Its hell. Fire? Yup, we've got it. Agony? Here in hell, there is agony to spare But the worst part of hell is not the fire, the burning, the agony or the constant rape of your soul. Its the boredom. That's the worst part of hell. I would even go so far as to say hell is the worst place I've ever been. Hell or Tijuana.

Why'd I end up in hell, you might ask? I don't know. The irony is, I don't even believe in hell. I still don't. I keep hoping this is some sick joke, and I will wake up at some point. But I haven't. Maybe this is just the longest dream I have ever had. I don't know. All I know is for countless hours I have been humiliated, abused, scorched and tortured for no good reason.

I guess that's the worst part of hell. Besides the Jim Morrison want-to-bes; the fact that there is no good reason for all of this is the worst part. Whatever. God is a faggot.

Maybe that's why I'm here. Because I think that God is a bitch. His plan only makes sense to weird Christians. That feeling. . . feeling bad about masturbation. . . I would have killed myself if I had that feeling. . . if I had felt bad about a stroke session.

So now I'm here. The Pit. Eternal Damnation. It's not the worse place I could be. I guess. I feel like there are worse places. The DMV. There is a place worse than hell. Maybe not. I would say so.

Maybe I'm full of cheerful optimism. But how could I be? I'm in Hell. . .

PEACE

Little Beauties (or Crazy Parents).

After a wonderful day at the Seattle Aquarium with Akilah (my co-worker) I got over to Drew's to veg out before our party.

And what better way to veg out? Watch Vh1 of course! Right now I am watching "Little Beauties. . . " a show about beauty pageants for little girls. The first thing that the parents always say when interviewed "We're really normal people. I'm a (insert normal profession here) and they're a (some sort of bat shit thing). Example: "We're really normal people. I'm a teacher, and she's a snake milker." Hmmmm.

Anyways, these people parade their young daughters (4-8 year old young) around in whore-ish outfits and tell them the importance of money in America. One of the popular items for these little beauty queens are called "flippers." These devices hide the child's trailer park teeth.

The second thing that is common practice for these kids is to get spray tans. . . Don't spray tans lead to skin cancer? Do you really want to have your children covered in dye and chemicals? Well, I guess these people want to make money.

The final bat shit thing is the swim suit competition, where the song "Little Stripper Baby." Was being played. You know what, America? You are fucking crazy. Stop sexualizing these little girls.

This is exactly what I think is wrong with this country. Little girls are taught by their parents to only care about being "beautiful" and tragically "sexy." So, before I rant on and on about everything that is fucked up I will just say "ciao".

. . . Well, at least these people's craziness affords me entertainment.

Books Books Books

I have been reading an incredible amount lately, which makes me very pleased. Before I read "Job" and "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" I had fallen off the reading bandwagon. Not that I didn't love to read, but rather I found myself less interested in reading. Why? One might ask?

The answer is simply: I don't know. Maybe I felt listless, or maybe I was disinterested in life. Whatever the case was that disinterest in reading or life has gone. Not only has it left, but it has been replaced with a voraciousness. The need to consume book after book, to read and to indulge myself in the act of reading.

It feels good. Really good.

So, as I do from time to time I will recommend two books I have read recently. The first is "Peter Camenzind" by Herman Hesse.

Hesse's first novel is a "bohemian" tale of love and beauty, and one man's struggle with his life. From small town in the Swiss Alps to the madness of turn of the century Zürich the hero, Peter, falls in love with many beautiful women. The problem is: Peter is both cantankerous and shy. Though he falls in love, it is always unrequited.

The novel is both amazing and rather short (at 140 pages-ish). I read it after having revisited Hesse's "Siddartha" and I have to say it rivals Siddartha in both beauty of language and story-telling ability. I say read it.
The second novel I will recommend to all you lovely readers is "World War Z" by Max Brooks. "Z" (as I will call it from now on) is a fictional account of a zombie war fought in modern times. It is essentially an oral account of the survivors taken as interviews.

For anyone who is a fan of the Zombie genre "Z" is a must read. The care that Brooks takes to the genre is astounding. Not since Romero's "Night of the Living Dead" has so much care been taken in the sculpting of a zombie genre piece. Brooks captures the reality of Zombies, the essence of what makes them terrifying and fascinating.

For those of you who are not a fan of the Zombie genre? I would still say read this book. If you like excellent story telling and writing, you will like this book. Read it, you won't regret it.

Sorry for the delay

I realize I have not been up on the posting, but as I said I had a crazy week a bit ago and am getting everything together. But, if this cheers you up there will be a rad awesome short story/ personal essay on a quite interesting topic. Peace out.