Review: The Green Dragon

I was just thinking--which always leads to trouble. The thought, in retrospect, is inconsequential, except with regards to the trouble which now consumes my meals for me. I don't even know what it was anymore, other than my starvation, which it could not possibly have been, but rather hypothesized. I think--and will therefore be shortly starving,  so as to fully come into my being, so they tell me. My troubles talk too much. This too is one of my troubles, and a bit of a transcendent one at that. 

The point, if this dull wit of mine could ever be sharpened to meet that end, is that my greatest meals have been thoughtless enterprises--so blissful as to render me completely ignorant of the world. Consequently, however, these meals cannot be contained in the meager capacities of memory. When asked about my fondest memories, (unfortunately, nobody seems to give a damn about my fondest mammaries), I must respond inconclusively. My fondest memories tend to also be my haziest memories. The very best experiences are the ones I can't remember at all. There is a certain optimism one gains from this perspective: namely that no matter how life may seem, I can trust, with the utmost faith that there is some overwhelmingly fond experience that, by its very nature, cannot possibly be remembered. 

So, when I say I have no recollection whatsoever of my last visit to The Green Dragon brewpub in Portland, this should compel you immediately to go. 

If I am not so far beside myself that I can give a sober and accurate account of the events of any given experience, you can bet your ass it couldn't have been nearly as good as some of those other experiences, which are so vague in my memory that the line between recollection and confabulation is crossed more often than something clever, which I can't think of right now, that might be funny. 

When I came to the The Green Dragon, I was eight years old, fully bearded, and in the company of a surprising unexpectedness, which was contained in the satchel under my arm. The crowd was wild, but I was rabid. I ate my satchel and was, perhaps predictably, surprised by what entered my stomach later that evening as a consequence. Nevertheless, I ordered their absinthe. 

When I came to, The Green Dragon was eight years old.