NAKED BOBBY @ CAFE CERO First of all if you haven't seen or read Naked Lunch I'm sorry! Do so now! It will change your life as it has done mine! On that note come with me, on a journey, not of sight and sound but of mind ... next stop ... Interzone! I was lurking around Broadway late one night listening to the Apocalypse Now soundtrack and driving really, really slow. It was one of those semi-depressive slightly psychotic nights ruled by a Scorpio moon, which tends to leave me with little direction and even less reality-based thought. Then, tucked between a couple strips of antique stores, I saw something inviting. It appeared to be a little house with a large patio, with a neon sign that simply said "Cero's." "Gotta check it out," I thought to myself, as I pulled over. Once inside the dimly lighted stucco walls I felt immediately at home. I headed into the back room and laid down on one of the leather couches. A waitress appeared and asked if I needed anything. "Yeah, a good shrink," I thought to myself, but I just asked for a virgin Bloody Mary and left it at that. As I lay there, I began to feel a sense of nostalgia. I remember thinking, "What does this place remind me of? Some place from long ago." I was letting my head lay back over the end of the leather couch watching the ceiling fans turn lazily, when it hit me: Naked Lunch! Interzone, that was what this felt like. No, there were no strange creatures exuding intoxicating fluid, or giant bugs masquerading as typewriters, but a self indulgent, almost lascivious vibe permeated the air. Somewhere from deep in the back of my mind a voice whispered, "It's a literary high, a Kafka kind of vibe, ya dig?" My waitress asking if I wanted to order interrupted my train of thought. She offered a few specials and suggestions, and not wanting to hassle with the whole menu process I accepted a couple of her offerings. I ordered the calamari with marinara over linguini, and brie with roasted garlic for an appetizer. Some offbeat jazz filled the air, lending even more of a surreal Interzone flavor to the evening. I floated back into my own little shadowy world. It was kind of weird how the sort of south-western décor, combined with the dim groovy lighting and my aforementioned creepy state of mind became more and more licentious. I was just basking in the warm darkness of my memories when the brie and roasted garlic arrived. "I could get very used to this," I thought as I smeared the cheese on a piece of toasted baguette and topped it with some garlic. Before long, my main course arrived; still laying languidly on the couch, I reached toward the plate and took a finger full of the succulent sauce and gingerly touched it to my lips, savoring it, then a little more then a little more, before I knew it I was sitting up and eating it with both hands. It disappeared almost immediately, and I ordered more. When that was gone, I was stuffed but I ordered more anyway! The night's live entertainment had started, but I was too involved in my gorge fest to register what or who it was. It was getting close to closing time when I finished my third plate of pasta madness, but felt compelled to take some home so I ordered some to go. As I pulled away from the restaurant, I could smell the contents of the styrofoam container in the passenger seat. Before I realized what I was doing, I had pulled over, devoured my to go order and was licking the container. So full I could barely drive, I headed for home. Once I arrived, I started thinking about Cero's, about Interzone, but most of all about marinara. I started looking all over the house for it, rifling through the cabinets, digging through the trash looking for the to-go container I had already licked clean. I was acting like a full-fledged junkie. "It's marinara sauce, get yourself together man!" I screamed inside my head. I shall never forget the unspeakable horror that froze the lymph in my glands, when the baneful words seared my reeling brain: "I'm addicted to marinara calamari." In a flash I was back in my car and headed for my 'connection'. I drove back by the place, but they were closed. What was I gonna do? I started to creep around the building, to try the windows and doors, when I realized that my affinity for this delicacy had gone too far! I could see myself walking the streets in a daze, like a man with a mild concussion, waiting to self-destruct. I thought of the intoxicating qualities of giant aquatic Brazilian centipede meat (see the movie). "People don't get addicted to pasta. It's just the moon playing tricks on my mind," I thought as I walked back to the car. "I've got lots of things I can do. I know, I'll write my review!" As a matter of fact I'm writing this on my laptop in my car outside Cero's, only nine more hours until they open.... All Rights Reserved © 2001 Go-Go Media, LLC