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. . .