Name, Lady

Lunch and time to kill before hopping a cab to Boston Logan Airport, so stuck my head in the legendary bar, the Bukowski Tavern in Back Bay.

Some people never go crazy, What truly horrible lives they must live.

A quiet moment to catch up on newspapers, take a deep breath and dechill from a busy week.

Boring damned people. All over the earth. Propagating more boring damned people. What a horror show. The earth swarmed with them.

Sex is interesting, but it's not totally important. I mean it's not even as important (physically) as excretion. A man can go seventy years without a piece of ass, but he can die in a week without a bowel movement.

One of the best ladies rooms I've seen in a while. No free tampons, but very much a Sheenaesque decor.

If you're losing your soul and you know it, then you've still got a soul left to lose.

Genius might be the ability to say a profound thing in a simple way.

Sometimes you just have to pee in the sink.

You begin saving the world by saving one person at a time; all else is grandiose romanticism or politics.

Had the bacon and bleu cheese burger. Yummy. Tried the Harpoon Pale Ale followed by the Cambridge Brewing Spring Training IPA. Good choices both.

There are worse things than being alone.

The Tavern is famous for their Dead Authors Club. Basically one has to drink themselves through the 99 standard beer offerings on the menu within 6 months. Successful candidates get their own engraved numbered mug up on the bar with the name of their favourite dead author etched. They are running out of room though, so there is a waiting list apparently.