Donald Trump has won Indiana's GOP primary, and Ted Cruz has dropped out of the race.

It's hard to keep at the front of your mind that Trump is a national emergency.
— Jon Lovett (@jonlovett) May 3, 2016

The NYT marvels...

Mr. Trump, a real estate tycoon turned reality television celebrity, was not a registered Republican until April 2012. He has given hundreds of thousands of dollars to Democrats, including his likely general election opponent, Hillary Clinton. And, at various points in his life, he has held positions antithetical to Republican orthodoxy on almost every major issue in the conservative canon, including abortion, taxes and gun control. But none of this stopped him from driving nearly every other Republican from the race for the nomination. With his ability to speak to the anxieties of voters, and his shrewd use of celebrity and memorable put-downs, he systematically undercut veteran politicians in a field of candidates that many in the party had hailed as the strongest in at least three decades. And he did so while spending far less money than most of his rivals and employing only a skeletal campaign staff.

The GOP is broken, says Jonathan Chait at NYMag...

Most of America, including a significant minority of Republicans, have seen Trump’s candidacy exactly for the con it is. Trump for President is a category error. He is, as his rivals have described him, a charlatan, a con artist, a congenital liar, a man self-evidently unfit for office at any level, and especially the presidency. As George Will has argued, his unfitness is so manifest that it applies to anybody who considers him suitable for the office; a person is “unqualified for high office because he or she will think Trump is qualified.” ... But actual Republican voters have not seen things this way at all. Indeed, as the campaign has gone on, they have seen things this way less and less. Watching this happen has been astonishing.

Schadenfreude is an ugly emotion, but the fact that the anathema incarnate Ted Cruz is sad, mad & dejected right how makes me very happy.
— Jesse Bering (@JesseBering) May 3, 2016

Trump succeeded by driving his rivals batshit, says Josh Marshall...

Trump is all about 'dominance politics'. When he knocks out a once-star opponent it really shows. As he did with Rubio, Trump's not just defeating Cruz. He drove him to an epic level of meltdown that it will be hard to forget, long after this nomination battle is over. Not unlike Rubio's end of campaign dignity implosion, Cruz ended this week on a hapless splutter and now a crushing defeat.
Trump is now less than 200 delegates away from clinching the GOP nomination—which he is expected to do easily. It's going to be an ugly general election campaign. Brace yourselves for political violence.

Vox finds a silver lining...

As Ted Cruz desperately tried to beat Donald Trump in Indiana, he locked on to an issue that has taken over states like North Carolina: transgender people in bathrooms. The issue became a big focal point for Cruz over the past few weeks, as he pushed it in TV ads and stump speeches to draw a contrast between himself and Trump. Cruz perpetuated the myth that letting trans people use the bathroom that aligns with their gender identity will give men cover to sneak into women's bathrooms and sexually harass or assault women. But Trump has, correctly, pointed out that there have been no problems in states and other places in the US that allow trans people use the bathroom of their choice. On Tuesday, with Trump's win in the Indiana primary, we found out just how much Indiana voters care about this issue—which is to say, not a lot.

Excited to see the plans Republicans come up with tomorrow to finally stop Trump's momentum.
— Jesse Berney (@jesseberney) May 4, 2016

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I KEEP MAKING EXCUSES for Bible Club. Whenever I bring up the new cocktail bar, I feel obligated to say, "It's speakeasy-themed—but not a speakeasy." Yet my arguments are weak against the evidence: The bar is in an old house (actually, it was once a coffee roaster), it has no sign (except for one that says, "No Minors"), and the interior is filled with Prohibition-era paraphernalia.

Despite its unadorned facade on SE 16th, just barely off Westmoreland's main drag, Bible Club is one of the most aggressively beautiful bars in Portland. It's just so full of stuff. It demands to be slowly explored, visually and tactilely. Virtually everything in the bar—from the tools the bartenders use, to the glassware patrons drink from—is American made pre-1930.

Fun fact: That glassware is largely from the amazingly named "Brilliant Period" of American cut glass. This bit of trivia isn't in parentheses because it's the basic experience of Bible Club; it's not, as owner Ricardo Huelga (AKA Ryk Maverick, look it up) has billed it, a "museum you can drink in," but rather a museum with an interactive element that happens to be an excellent bar, like a historical reenactment park.

Working those 100-year-old shakers are new-to-Portland cocktailer Nathan Elliott and ex-Kask/Grüner bar head Jessica Braasch.* The drinks are almost uniformly delicious. House highlights include a proprietary vermouth blend brokering a treaty between Redbreast 12-year Irish whiskey and Green Chartreuse in the Tipperary ($16). And a Bible Club tonic, incorporating anise and other oddball spices mixed with the heavily botanical French gin Citadelle, is the rare occasion when a house tonic is better than the bottled stuff ($12).

The menu of 20 cocktails also includes a Coffee Cobbler ($10), featuring brandy and cold brew coffee from neighbor Kahveology, and a Fernet Champagne Flip ($15) with ginger syrup and a whole egg. Bubbles aren't necessarily a new idea—a flip was historically a beer drink before it was an egg drink—but the champagne lifts the drink to new heights. It's effervescent and creamy, zingy with ginger and Fernet's trademark bracing bitterness. I love this cocktail.

One of the few missteps is the Shandy Fizz ($10), a mix of beer, grapefruit liqueur, juice, and an egg white—it's somewhere between a radler, a shandy, and a sour, which might be delicious were it made with a better beer than the current lager on draft (Gilgamesh).

Oh, and if you want a mug of that disappointing beer on its own, it's $8. The prices at Bible Club are going to be a roadblock for all but the geekiest or wealthiest cocktail fans. Luckily, in this town of cash-laden bartenders and committed nerds, the market is there—but it'd be nice to see this neighborhood get some more approachable bars.

The food (from onetime Racion chef-owner Anthony Cafiero) is limited to a handful of items in each of three categories: $5, $10, and $16. The smoked olives and warm biscuits (each $5) are sneakily delicious, but the potatoes and French onion soup (each $10) are too rich and salty for the more subtle drinks. The $16 items are impressive, especially the crispy duck leg confit and the meat and cheese board, but they frankly aren't as compelling as the burger around the corner at Kay's.

But everything's so beautiful! It's money well spent on the fragile prettiness of the edible floral arrangement atop your cocktail, and the adorable doily it sits on; the softly scratching, period-authentic music; the array of "Repeal the 18th Amendment" signs; and the guy in the back whose only job is to hand-wash all that museum-quality glassware.

The problem with this is that no matter how good the experience or how compelling the docent—and Braasch is truly a delight behind the bar, the absolute antithesis of the sneering mustachioed waistcoat you worry will work at a place like this—do you really want to go to a museum more than once or twice during an exhibit? Are there regulars at Colonial Williamsburg? Bible Club makes a strong play at transcending novelty, but given the class of people who can afford to treat it as anything but a totally satisfying living museum (bartenders, cocktail geeks, people who regularly have people to impress), they'll predominantly be preaching to the choir.

* Braasch must feel right at home amid the sensory overload of Bible Club, as Kask was also a tiny space filled to the gills with stuff. In my opinion, Kask was one of the best, most cohesive bar designs in town, and it's sad to walk in now and see it meaninglessly streamlined, its personality wiped away along with most of its extensive cocktail list and the chalk art that once decorated its walls. Still, the new mac 'n' cheese with jalapeño and hot dog bodes well for the possible future of—it pains me to write the name of this restaurant in Kask's former location—SuperBite.

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As you're reading this, the Trail Blazers are either behind 0-2 or tied 1-1 with the Golden State Warriors in their second round playoff series. Whatever the reality, I have to admit that, as a fan, there's a tiny bit of "just happy to be here" going on.

The fact that this team has spent the entire season defying expectations does give me some sense of WELL, YOU NEVER KNOW. Anytime someone says, "They can't beat the Warriors" I think, "Well, you're probably right, but we also thought they couldn't beat the Clippers last week. A month ago we thought they couldn't beat the Rockets. A month before that we thought they couldn't beat the Jazz. At the beginning of the season we thought they couldn't beat that guy at the 24 Hour Fitness on Sandy who vapes while he shoots free throws along with four guys named Ivan."

Still, as hopeful as I am, and as much as I believe in this team, I can't escape my visceral reaction. Every time Al-Farouq Aminu misses a three-pointer from the corner, I don't get upset, I just think, "I'M STILL SO PROUD OF YOU!" If somebody rips a rebound away from Ed Davis, I'm not pissed at Ed Davis, I just think about what a journey it's been for him to get all the way to this second round. How many mountains does one man have to climb? Call me a bad Blazer fan if you want (be forewarned, I will literally kill your entire family and everyone you've ever loved), but I can't escape these feelings of "That'll do, pig."

The Trail Blazers themselves, though, certainly don't feel those feelings. I don't think there's ever been a challenge that Damian Lillard didn't think he could conquer. If he had to, Damian Lillard would run a marathon in Birkenstocks and toe socks. Damian Lillard would enter the Kentucky Derby in one of those two-man horse costumes with Tim Frazier in the back. Damian Lillard would try to film an entire season of Man vs. Food on his way home from Thanksgiving dinner.

I realize that CJ McCollum looks startlingly like Stefan Urquelle, but unlike the universally treasured American sitcom Family Matters, there's nothing funny about his game. CJ plays with the impossible grace, whimsy, and inescapable doom of a Kill Bill-era Quentin Tarantino character. CJ plays like he confronted something far worse than Klay Thompson in his past, and whatever it was now lies dead in a cave somewhere. He is defiant. The entire team is defiant. They're like a team of Green Berets marching deep into Nazi territory, each relying on their particular set of skills—I'm not calling the Golden State Warriors Nazis, by the way. However, they're definitely one of those cartoon organizations based on the Nazis, but without the genocide—impossibly daunting, and ruthlessly efficient. And this is all without fucking Steph Curry.

Jesus. Do the Trail Blazers have what it takes to do the impossible? It doesn't matter what I think, it doesn't matter what you think, and we know what they think. I'll see you at the Rose Garden on Saturday. 

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A FEW WEEKS AGO, the Mercury published a collection of advice and observations from some of Portland's most experienced and hilarious dating experts—a smorgasbord of dating questions asked, and answered ["Dating State of the Union," Feature, April 6]. We quickly realized that the story didn't end after reminding you that it's hard to avoid an ex in the bulk aisle of Whole Foods. You had dating stories to tell, Portland. And they are terrifying, true tales from the crypt.

In solidarity, I collected real-life dating stories from our panel of romance experts, as well as the Mercury's Portland Dating Dispatch blog, where anonymous locals stopped being polite and started getting real about seeking relationships and sex in Portland.

What did we learn? There's not much hope for us, fellow singles of Portland. Certainly, many of the shady characters from these tales still roam the OkCupid underworld, SO BEWARE! But reading these stories did give us a joyous taste of schadenfreude, an undoing of the fantasy-filled tropes of romantic comedy. We're not alone in our dating battles, Portland! We've all had bad dates, or caused them. But sometimes, just sometimes, all the trouble is worth it.

"Met up with a dude off of OkCupid. He showed up wearing house slippers and sweatpants because he'd been 'day drinking to get rid of his hangover.' (It was 10 pm when we met). He told me he was still hungover from an OKC date he had the night before. When I asked if he wore condoms, he said aggressively, 'What? No. I'm 34 and never wear condoms—I'm clean. I mean, I probably have HPV, but I dunno, men can't get tested for that shit.'

"He paid for my drinks and I ordered him a Lyft home from his phone."—JoAnn Schinderle, dating podcast co-host

"I met my former boyfriend Carl on Valentine's Day, and we went to a bicycle battle royale where someone started a food fight. I got hit in the face with a slice of moldy pizza from a dumpster, and he helped me clean the grease off my face. I just thought, 'Wow, he's so sweet.'"—Sarah Mirk, author of Sex from Scratch: Making Your Own Relationship Rules

"Some of my most interesting dating memories are from when my spouse and I were fairly new to polyamory. We went on a date with a triad (three people in a polyamorous relationship together), and it went so well that we continued to date them for a few months. This means that, at minimum, we were going out on five-person dates. Sometimes our dates would be six or seven people, since I had another partner at that time and so did someone in the triad. I'm sure most people would just assume we were any regular group of friends, until they watched us carefully and saw a lot of affection between everyone. We were basically a big blob of poly love, but it was not sustainable."—Amory Jane, sex class instructor at She Bop

"Blind date setup on OkCupid: Turned out he worked with a friend of a friend. He insisted on choosing the restaurant, and that he was going to pay. He chose the Woodsman = fucking expensive. Looking over the menu, I commented on the foie gras, saying I'd recently just tried it and it was good. The waiter came and my date brazenly ordered foie gras. 'Do you want the appetizer or the plate?' the waiter asked. He confidently ordered the $30 plate. I just ordered a burger to save money for this dude. The date went horribly. He baited me into an argument/discussion about being a gay Christian, which I quickly discovered, he was. I was trying to be polite about how I don't understand how a self-respecting gay person could also be a Christian (????), but he wouldn't let it go. He ended up boxing me into a corner, forcing me to admit that I think religious people are unintelligent. The food came. He's enjoying the dish, and about halfway through, he finally broke down and asked what foie gras was. I told him. He pushed the plate away and went to the bathroom."—Jay Flewelling, comedian, gay man

"Once I went on a random online date with a really hot guy who described himself as 'musical' and 'altruistic' and didn't at all mention that he was pretty severely mentally ill, un-medicated, and homeless. And sadly, he was hotter in person."—Bri Pruett, comedian, straight lady

"So I'm on SE Hawthorne, enjoying an early evening. A cute guy is sitting on a bus bench. He nods, gives the 'What's up?' line. I stop and we chitchat. He's pretty cute, and we start having an intense convo. Love, life, freedom—all in a span of five minutes. We're hitting it off! We come to the epiphany that in this world, you gotta not care what people think in order to make it. He proclaims, 'I don't care what people think!' and stands up, puts his hand down the back of his pants, and starts to dig around. I watch, horrified, as he pulls out a hand full of shit, walks over to the Hawthorne Theatre, and smears it down the side. Then I realize he's tripping balls! Without further comment, I stand up and walk really fast across the street. I hear him yelling, 'Piglet! Piglet! Oh, my piglet, come back!' He then starts walking after me. I run into the grocery store and tell customer service. They actually lock the sliding doors to keep him out, and I leave after a half hour.—Anonymous

"The next time you feel bad about your life choices, consider that one time I took a girl on a date to an arcade... where she gently reminded me that she was epileptic."—Anonymous

"So in LOVE. I mean real LOVE! Like the kind you feel way down deep, and you know everything is right in the universe, and is perfectly aligned. Time and space are totally on your side. You have found the one. You are the one. OMG, love is real! But then they're like, 'I totally care about you, I just need to fuck other people, and you're not invited.'"—Anonymous

"Okay, so I've never had good luck in love. Not for lack of trying, though. One day in '08 (pre-app era), I tried internet dating. I found someone, and took her to Montage. Things are good. Conversation is flowing, she's laughing, I'm charming. Then, before the entrée shows up, guess who walks in the front door? The ex-boyfriend. No, you can't make this stuff up, and no, it's not what you think. It's far worse. He didn't fight me, or even acknowledge my presence. Done guessing what happened? The guy proposed right then and there. The downside of a communal dining restaurant is that you have no privacy, making awkward situations worse. The applause was deafening. Me? I'm just embarrassed—and angry that I had already paid for the meal!"—Anonymous

"I met a man on some gay chat app. He was handsome and seemed nice, so we agreed to meet. We had several dates and one night he ended up staying over, and we cuddled by the fire. The next morning, I dropped him at home and he said he would call me later. Days passed and I called him to check in. Weeks passed, and his voicemail box was full. Two weeks later I get a mysterious phone call asking me lots of questions about myself, as well as confirming information. I ask who the hell it is and what's it about. I was then informed it was the lawyer of said disappearing date, and that disappearing date had been in a halfway house and didn't make curfew, and as a result had been sent back to federal prison. I was then told that disappearing date had stated I was the only person he knew in the area that he could remain sober around, and as a result could he be remanded to my custody until said date could be deposited in a drug treatment center on Monday due to parole violation. I picked up said date downtown at the federal prison—still in prison uniform—and then proceeded to take him to a family reunion campout for the weekend until he could be dropped off at the treatment center on Monday morning at 8 am. I still have a copy of his file from court with all the charges and evidence and photos, just to remind myself of said fucked date."—Anonymous

"We met at a bar and I immediately realized I wasn't into you. You were pretty enough, but I don't really go for the female 'jock' type. Regardless, we barhopped for an hour or two, talking about mundane things and consuming more alcohol. Then, my friend texted to say that another friend was playing at a well-known venue on Hawthorne. I suggested we go, so we went.

"Upon arrival, the booze must have really kicked in, because you became sloppy. Your words slurred and you didn't so much walk as wobble into the bar. I introduced you to my friends, and you had a crooked smile on your face while slurring. 'How's the food here?'

"We sat at a booth and you ordered a burrito, which I thought was an odd choice for a first date. The burrito came and it was massive—your eyes widened with joy. As you soaked up the booze with bite after massive bite, you grew quieter until it seemed as if you and the burrito were the only ones in the bar. You shoved that damn thing so hard into your face that it seriously grossed me out.

"Shortly after your meal, we left and I drove you home. We parked in front of your apartment. I left my lights on as a hint, but felt you were anticipating a goodnight kiss, if not more. The smell of garlic and beans from your burrito breath filled my car, and I, not wanting to be too rude, said I had a 'nice time' and wished you goodnight. You reluctantly left.

"The smell of that burrito didn't leave my car for three days."—Anonymous

"One of my cooler friends—a lady about 10 years older than myself—wanted to set me up with a guy from her Taekwondo dojo. I was into it. She was a good friend who knew my personality, plus? Free dinner. I wanted to keep it friendly/casual, so I suggested she join us. In retrospect that's weird, BUT I'm also glad I did. Fondue dinners, I did not know, are three-hour affairs with a fruit course, cheese course, vegetable course, meat course, and dessert. Many little pots of warmed sauce arrived and perished. The guy turned out to speak entirely in Simpsons quotes, even when posed with direct questions about himself.

"What was the year you were born? 'You don't make friends with salad.' Where were you on the night of October 22? 'You'll have to speak up. I'm only wearing a towel.' Hoo boy. Can you imagine Simpsons-quote pillow talk? Stupid sexy Flanders."—Anonymous

"A few years ago I got set up with a guy. We went on a super uncomfortable dinner date to Mother's downtown. Upon entering I learned HIS mother had purchased him a gift card specifically for the occasion, and had called ahead to make sure the payment was worked out in advance. It didn't improve from there—when I asked what kind of music he liked, he looked really forlorn before telling me, 'some reggae.' That was enough. I didn't date again until meeting my current partner, over a year later."—Anonymous

"We met at Tugboat and hit it off instantly, racing through the conversation because we were so excited about what the other person was going to say next. She dragged me to a bar, another bar, her friend's drag show, a food cart, another bar, and finally back to her car where, quite drunk, she rifled through her purse looking for her car keys. 'Where are my fucking keys?' she yelled. Then she turned to me. 'YOU fucking took them! This was your plan along! You fucking...'— she started hitting me with her purse —'asshole!'

"After a face-heavy Gucci-sponsored smackdown, I ran to a nearby taqueria and ordered a burrito. Five minutes later she found me and pressed her face against the window, mouthing, 'I'm sorry' and making a kissy face. A waiter turned to me and asked. 'Bad date?' I just looked at him."—Anonymous

"I met a guy on OKC and we dated for a while. At first he said he lived in Portland, but actually lived north of Vancouver, WA. Small lie... but he was nice, albeit strange. Then he started to go crazy: talking about the barrel of a gun looking mighty tasty, questioning the loyalty of his family. Then he went bat-shit crazy!!! He was against circumcision, and anyone who disagreed with him was a rapist. He would go on tirades about how he was raped as a child because he was circumcised, and how he wanted to 'actively restore' his foreskin. He also claimed that male circumcision is the same thing as female genital mutilation—and it is NOT!!! He also claimed he could remember his circumcision and was 'emotionally traumatized' by it.

"When we broke up he took to Facebook to rant his aggression, and told everyone he 'got dumped' because of his stern beliefs. Then he sent me a message stating that if I am soooo pro-circumcision (as in 'not anti,' so therefore 'pro'), then I should have no problem cutting my lips off if I didn't want to brush my teeth, or that I should cut my ears off if I didn't want to wash behind them, blah blah blah. Crazy."—Anonymous

"Went out with a guy upon first moving to Portland via Tinder. We had a nice time out at a bar on SE Powell, drinks and a few Big Buck Hunter video games. Once some casual flirting and a kiss happened, it was time for me to go. That night I'd decided to take Car2Go, so he offers to walk me to my closest booked vehicle. As I fumbled through my bag for the single large key, we simultaneously (and awkwardly) kissed goodnight. This last kiss was not initiated by me, and kinda took me by surprise. Mid-kiss, I feel him GRAB MY CROTCH. Not in a romantic way, but like a cold hard grab. I quickly scanned the key on the window, got into my Car2Go, and drove away in a mixed combination of fear, anger, and regret for not punching him in the face."—Anonymous

"I met you on OkCupid. You were cute, nerdy, and I was fresh out of a long-term relationship. You told me you thought it was hot that I was a female chef. When you picked me up, there were about 50 empty McDonald's bags in the backseat. We got stoned and talked about favorite foods. You admitted you'd never had soup before. When asked how this was possible at the age of 28, you said, 'I guess I always opted for salad?' so we went to Fubonn and I got all the ingredients to make you tom kha kai at home. You loved it. I invited you to my restaurant the next day. I said I would make you whatever you wanted. How about a fresh oyster po'boy? You said you would just take whatever soup was on the menu. That night, we mess around. Mid-kissing you try to jerk off. I blow you... and you tried to jerk off. We have sex... and you push me aside and start jerking off. I then realized there was far more disappointing issues to be discovered than your lack of culinary prowess. Hope you liked the soup."—Anonymous

"I went on a perfectly enjoyable date last night. With a guy who was interesting, employed, and cute. I actually felt more attracted to him (rather than repulsed by him) by the end of the date. We are going to see each other again this weekend. Maybe there is hope after all!"—Anonymous

We want to hear your Portland dating stories—good, bad, and ugly! Go to portlandmercury.com/portland-dating-dispatch to submit your true ANONYMOUS dating story on our new blog "PORTLAND DATING DISPATCH." And guess what? Our favorite submissions will be published weekly in the Portland Mercury!

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"INEVITABLY, everyone in the military has experienced some sort of trauma," says Ryan Stroud. "In military life, all the rules of society are turned upside down."

It's a world that's hierarchical, structured, demanding, and sometimes violent—and for three years, Stroud has been encouraging PSU student veterans to talk about it in a storytelling night called #FUBAR.

"I think the veteran experience is particularly unique," says Stroud, who's a veteran himself, "in that you have to find humor, but you find humor in very dark places." That darkness and humor is right there in the title's acronym: "Fucked up beyond all recognition" is military slang that can refer to malfunctioning equipment, grisly casualties, or soldiers who have been disabled or psychologically scarred by their experiences.

Storytelling nights are all over the place as of late, from the nationally known Moth to local offerings like Back Fence PDX. Unlike those, #FUBAR seeks to tackle a specific social issue. "The goal there was to give people at the university a way to understand veteran experiences," says Stroud, "and to give veterans the opportunity to voice their identity and experience."

Stroud also notes that veteran experiences often intersect with issues of disability and mental health, and he's seeking more women to tell their stories. "I think the hardest part of this project has been getting female veterans [to participate]," says Stroud, who says that the military remains hostile to women. "Oftentimes their experiences have been so traumatic that they don't want to have anything to do with other veterans, but this year we do have a female veteran telling a story."

Stroud has run other storytelling nights, and says that recruiting veterans to share their experiences is often very different from organizing those other events. "Recruiting participants is always an interesting process, especially when focusing on a specific social issue or specific identity group... We're asking people to talk about some very personal things, but we find humor, we find entertainment value in it. But it tends to be pretty personal, and the subject matter that we're talking about is pretty intense—like, you know, war."

#FUBAR

PSU's Smith Memorial Student Union Ballroom, 1825 SW Broadway, Thurs May 5, 7 pm, free

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MY FRIEND stole a copy of the Cometbus Omnibus anthology from the bedroom of a shady anarchist in San Diego. She sent it to me with a card reading, "Now who doesn't believe in possessions?" A year later, a roommate's friend stole the anthology (and some other stuff) from me. My point is: Zine anthologies are awesome and everyone wants them.

Tim Goodyear's Video Tonfa collects more than 300 of his film reviews—self-published in zine format since 2009—with genres ranging from cult to smut to porn to art house to children's cartoon to popular release. I've interviewed Goodyear twice in the past year—once about Vision Quest, Portland's free comics newspaper that Goodyear co-publishes, and another time about the small comics press he runs, Teenage Dinosaur—and he never says what I expect him to say. This is also true of his reviews in Video Tonfa, which are both personal and unpredictably hilarious. I've reviewed films for my entire adult life and I still think sometimes the best review is a short handful of sentences delivered to a friend—like Goodyear's Care Bears review: "This movie [does] send some mix'd messages about magic & the occult. But that's ok."

A zine anthology represents years of work from the author and months of editing by a publisher. Video Tonfa takes this a little further. Published by local comic book shop and small press Floating World, owner/publisher Jason Leivian took the zines Goodyear often gave away for free and transformed them into a sort of art book. The aesthetic is wonderfully consistent—with VHS box art redrawn by Goodyear so that his notes and review are where where the film synopsis would normally be on that '80s media format. Every page is printed on the same bright, caution-yellow paper, giving it the heft of a beautiful phone book. Every review is hand-lettered by Goodyear, meaning a bunch of charming spelling errors—like "ocward" instead of awkward in his positive (!?) review of Catwoman—go uncorrected. Video Tonfa is a great read for film watchers, casual and cult-lover alike. But don't steal it!

Video Tonfa
by Tim Goodyear
(Floating World Comics) Release party and exhibit at Floating World Comics, 400 NW Couch, Thurs May 5, 6-10 pm, free

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OLIVIA BEE is 22. But all of the photos collected in her first book, Kids in Love, were taken when she was a teenager, mostly between the ages of 15 and 17.

Kids in Love, which gets its Portland release this week at Nationale, has the rare duality of being a mature body of work delivered from a young perspective. Bee's images (one of which is on this week's cover) are beautiful, evocative of everything from David Lynch to Francesca Woodman, in highly saturated shades of pink, purple, and red. Though digitally manipulated, the photographs—of herself, boyfriends, friends—don't look staged, and are instead intimate, naturalistic portraits of actual teenagers as they are, with freckles and messy hair, in floral prints and slouchy flannels, under yellowish lighting, with authentically bad posture and an aura of awkward possibility, glimpsed through an ethereal, fairy tale-like lens.

Thanks to a combination of digital and analog techniques, they also don't look overly fucked-with. They bear none of the excessive polish many contemporary photographers employ—and that too often produce images that feel more akin to digital animation than anything approximating documentary work (oh hey, uncanny valley).

Another critical distinction: Bee's images of youth were taken when she was the same age as her subjects. This gives them an immediacy that's frequently absent from youth-focused projects by adult photographers. Lauren Greenfield and Rineke Dijkstra are art school staples for a reason, but the gaze of an adult attempting to read youth culture will always be a distorted one.

While those images can carry a detectable coldness, as a collection, Kids in Love is overtly romanticized and sentimental—I intend both as compliments, because there's an appreciable difference between hollow hokum and genuine sentiment, and Bee's work is full of pure feeling, which is a key to her process. "I would say almost everything I do, besides the narrative behind it, it's all about feeling," she says. "I'd rather feel than think when I'm making stuff. I'll be at a photoshoot or something and we'll be setting up a shot and... it's often the first one that's the best because I'm not thinking about it. I'm just letting my hands do it, and then that's always the best one."

When I call her work romanticized, then fumble for a descriptor that doesn't double as an art world pejorative, she interrupts me.

"No, it is romanticized," she says. "No, people are like, 'Do you feel bad about romanticizing things?' And I'm like, no."

Bee grew up in Portland, and now lives in Brooklyn. As a photographer, she's had a huge amount of commercial success, with editorial shoots for outlets like Elle and the New York Times, and commissions for corporate clients like Nike and Vans. Her Instagram account, @oliviab33, is a delightful, color-splashed, definitely NSFW record of her work, featuring everything from documentation of her fashion photography to self-portraits to very well-composed shots of knuckle tattoos and slices of pizza.

Kids in Love presents, in a sense, the genesis of all of those later projects.

"A lot of the magic of being a teenager is doing things for the first time," Bee says, when I ask her what's changed since she took those photographs. "Everything is really magical when you're 17... You're having sex for the first time and you're like, this is horrible, but I think it's really magical. Or you're doing drugs for the first time and it's a whole new experience, and... I'm not 17 anymore."

Getting older, says Bee, is what ultimately made possible the jump from photo series to publishing—transforming a raw collection of intuitively made images into a book that functions as both a loose narrative and a highly personal document that mines teenage identity, seemingly in real-time. It's a rare project that casts palpable sentiment as a conceptual necessity, and ultimately, a vehicle for self-definition.

"I didn't really know what I was doing," Bee says of that period in her life. "But looking back on it, I can see that I was really talking about the universe that was inside myself."

Kids in Love
by Olivia Bee
(Aperture)

Book signing and release party with performance by Super Hit, Nationale, 3360 SE Division, Sat May 7, 4-5:30 pm

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WHINY NIMBYS, RENT CONTROL, AND DONALD FREAKING TRUMP

RE: "Shake Up the City" [Feature, April 27], the Mercury's May 2016 endorsement guide, in which we endorsed Sarah Iannarone (mayor), Amanda Fritz (city commissioner, position 1), Chloe Eudaly (city commissioner, position 4), Sharon Meieran (county commissioner, district 1), Lori Stegmann (county commissioner, district 4), voting yes on Measure 26-173 (the gas tax), and Bernie Sanders (bird czar). "It makes absolutely no difference if you agree with these picks or not," wrote Editor-in-Chief Wm. Steven Humphrey. "We just want you to listen... to the candidates who are starting a conversation Portland desperately needs to hear. And hopefully? Move the needle just a little bit in the right direction."

Thank you for your well-presented recommendations for the May election, a very important one for Portland and America.

You don't serve your candidates well, however, when you negatively refer to "NIMBYs" several times in the article. Who are NIMBYs? Are you referring to your readers—neighborhood renters and homeowners—who are out every day sweeping up hipsters' trash from fancy ice cream stores and to-go boxes from restaurants made famous by the New York Times? Who ride their bikes and support local businesses and try to live within the law and always vote for schools and libraries?

Are you referring to those of us who believe that un-sheltered camping on the streets in Portland has no place in America and that we must build shelters to provide basic dignity and safety for today's homeless? And that maybe if we stopped fighting meaningless wars, there would be money to help the nearly 40 percent of our homeless population who are drug addicted and/or mentally ill?

When you carelessly use the NIMBY brush without looking in the mirror first, you risk a surprisingly large backlash that dilutes your otherwise thoughtful candidate recommendations.

FrankDiMarco

Likening a rent freeze to same-sex marriage [as Iannarone did in her Mercury interview—Eds.] will not make it easier to negotiate a change in the state law blocking local rent control (and it's a questionable comparison). Portland is not a city-state, and pretending that it is won't increase the city's influence within the state. A mayor shouting from the barricades might help move a lot of free newspapers, but also may not end up getting much accomplished... in which case, Mayor Iannarone might well choose to leave office after one term, following her friend Charlie [Hales'] example. As for "Vote for Bernie," by all means, help weaken the presumptive nominee of the Democratic Party before her epic battle for the future of the nation with DONALD FREAKING TRUMP. Because what could go wrong? Ah, Merc. Merc Merc Merc. Merrrrrc.

Todd Mecklem

I think voting for Bernie now is more about getting his points more play within the Democratic Party—moving it, and Hillary, more to the left on economic policies. Once it's actually Hillary vs. Trump, the smart/sane move is to vote for Hillary. (The principled move may be to vote for, oh, [Green Party candidate] Jill Stein, but it won't move the needle any.)

For the other candidates, I'm detecting a pro-rent-control stance from the Merc, which seems to run contrary to informed opinion about rent control. Is there a reason the Merc thinks it's a good idea? Yes, we need to get more low-income housing within Portland, but rent control appears to be a bad way to go about that.

Sok

Why would we push to change laws on rent freezing but not get to the source of the problem and change the law on required affordable housing? Rent freezes and rent control won't fix the supply problem. If we are going to pick a battle, shouldn't we pick the one that will make the most impact?

mandyo

Oh, jeez. I thought I was going to get out of having to read your paper ever again. When I saw it was the endorsement issue, I told myself, "If they don't get both Bernie Sanders and Sarah Iannarone right, that's it. I'm not cutting them any slack for getting it half right. Bernie and Sarah, or the Mercury can no longer lay claim to being a force for good." Well, whaddya know... you nailed it. Nice going, Merc. Guess I'll be reading you for at least another four years.

Chezz

You're not quitting us that easily, Chezz. To commemorate being stuck with us for another four years (sorry!), we're giving you the Mercury's letter of the week—and two tickets to the Laurelhurst Theater, which, in providing movies, pizza, and beer, is a true force for good.

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I'M A BIG SUPPORTER of allowing armed service veterans access to cannabis—seeing as how I'm a huge wussy who wouldn't have made it through three hours of basic training, much less full-on combat. I have enough trouble fighting off a cold.

Recently it seems hell may have frozen over, as the Drug Enforcement Administration has authorized a study to see how the use of smoking cannabis can treat post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). It's the first clinical study on PTSD to use cannabis in its raw, smokeable form.

This is a really big deal, and potentially fantastic news. But consider this:

• According to the study's sponsor, the nonprofit Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies, researchers will now be allowed to purchase cannabis from the government's National Institute on Drug Abuse. Which is pretty lame as the federally grown weed being researched at the University of Mississippi is, to use a clinical term, "terrible." So the study will be hampered by the fact that it's providing, at best, low-quality cannabis to its test subjects.

• We won't see results from the study for a while—as late as 2019. (And you thought it took you a long time to finish a sack.)

• It remains to be seen if more states will come on board in making PTSD a qualifying condition in their medical marijuana programs. Of the current 23 states with medical marijuana programs, only five list PTSD as a qualifying condition to obtain a medical card.

• There are going to be far fewer veterans with us when the study is finally released. It's estimated that there are 930,000 US veterans living with PTSD. The suicide rate for vets is unacceptably high—50 percent higher than the civilian rate—and the prescription opiate medication overdose rate for vets is nearly twice the national average. Between suicides and fatal prescription overdoses, that adds up to more than 18,000 dead veterans every year, or an average of 50 a day.

Are your eyes watering yet? Mine are. (But I'm looking manly while it's happening.)

More can be done to help our veterans.

Grow for Vets, a stellar national organization with a recently opened Portland Chapter, is doing just that. Founded in January 2014, this Colorado-based nonprofit is headed up by Roger Martin, an Army veteran who credits cannabis with helping him overcome a 10-year dependency on prescription drugs like Oxycontin, which he was prescribed for pain. Grow for Vets' mission statement says they're dedicated to "providing veterans with a safe alternative to deadly prescription drugs. We connect veterans with the knowledge and resources necessary to obtain or grow their own cannabis for treatment of their medical conditions."

They take donations for money, medicine, or time. That middle part means they accept donations of cannabis, which will be given to veterans, although often in a different form. At giveaways in Colorado, they provide vets with no-charge consultations to establish what their issues are and what products will be of best use. These recommendations inform what type of professionally made and tested edibles and tinctures will be provided, along with seeds and instructions on how veterans can make their own medicated butter, oil, and tinctures. (The Colorado headquarters of Grow for Vets does not provide bud, as Martin is anti-smoking; however, raw leaf has been given out by other chapters.)

Veterans aren't the only ones suffering from PTSD. Survivors of violence, sexual assault, or experiences like a terrorist attack or natural disasters can have symptoms. But when it's acquired during service for our country, it's hard-earned. Ever watch Platoon? Yeah.

So—that shake you were going to use to make cookies with next weekend? It could help a veteran in serious pain. And summer will be here soon, Pillsbury dough-belly, so maybe you don't need to whip up an extra batch of cookies that will give you even more munchies.

Someone who served could use it. Findmore info at growforvetsoregon.org.

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I HEARD THATthe feds may relax the legal status of weed. That's good, right?

It's okay. Actually, I don't really like it.

The federal Controlled Substances Act is a statute that regulates certain substances, including their manufacture, distribution, and use. One of those is weed. The act contains five separate "schedules" to classify the controlled substances, depending on how intensely the feds believe each must be controlled. Schedule V, which is the lowest, contains things like cough suppressants and anti-diarrheal drugs. Schedule I, which is highest, is reserved for substances with "a high potential for abuse" and "no safe dose." It contains things like heroin, MDMA, Quaaludes, and, somehow, weed. Even doctors cannot prescribe these substances.

The Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) recently announced it will consider rescheduling cannabis. This came in response to a letter from Senator Elizabeth Warren and some colleagues, which urged the feds to allow more research into the benefits of medical marijuana. The DEA acknowledged that it "understands the widespread interest in the prompt resolution of these petitions... and hopes to release its determination in the first half of 2016." We shall see.

Still, shuttling weed to Schedule II or even Schedule III, in my opinion, falls short of the reform needed. Schedule II contains opiates (e.g., codeine, morphine, oxycodone) and stimulants (e.g., cocaine); Schedule III contains drugs like anabolic steroids. Conversely, tobacco and alcohol are de-scheduled entirely and states can regulate those substances free of federal interference. That is where I would like to see weed.

Proponents of rescheduling weed, like Hillary Clinton, tend to offer the hazy line that a Schedule I classification means that researchers cannot study marijuana. That is incorrect. The government does not ban scientific research on Schedule I drugs like marijuana. The problem is the feds have targeted pot even among scheduled substances, making it harder to study. Researchers must submit an investigational new drug application to the Food and Drug Administration, and the DEA has to license the research site and the investigating scientist. When you consider also that only one source exists for federally approved marijuana plants, it gets terribly difficult.

Ultimately, rescheduling marijuana would likely be better than nothing at all. It may allow banks to serve state-compliant pot businesses, and ease the oppressive federal taxing of marijuana businesses. Rescheduling could also help federal employees subjected to random workplace drug testing for off-hours cannabis use. But none of this is as good as treating pot like booze and cigarettes. Even if the DEA relaxes its stance, a new president could undo that.

A better hope, but a longer shot, is that Congress rallies around Bernie Sanders' proposed Senate Bill 2237, which de-schedules marijuana altogether. But that's definitely a long shot.

Send your cannabis legal questions to vince@harrismoure.com.

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REMEMBER ALL the good times we had at HUMP! 2015? All the homegrown porn, the sex-positive laughs, and the hot freaky sex? WHAT?! YOU MISSED IT LAST FALL? Well, thank your lucky stars that the traveling HUMP! Tour—bringing HUMP! to cities across the nation—is returning home for a limited engagement!

That's right—it's a repeat showing of HUMP! 2015, and only at Cinema 21, Friday May 13 and Saturday May 14! This one-weekend special engagement will feature all the awesome five-minute amateur dirty movies you missed—or would love to see again!

Yes, that includes Hysterical Bullshit, in which a reader of Mike Huckabee's God, Guns, Grits, and Gravy is "distracted" by someone below; Two Boys and Some Rope (also starring blue tube socks and really sexy sex); the hilarious music video DICK, which is about... you know; and last year's grand champion (FROM PORTLAND, NO LESS) Level Up featuring fun, feminism, video games, and some very hot humping.

You know you wanna see it—or see it again! DON'T MISS THE HUMP! ENCORE SCREENING at Cinema 21 on May 13 and 14. Get your tickets now at humptour.com, because it will sell out!

WHO WANTS TO GET HUMP!-ED AGAIN?

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MONDAY, APRIL 25

Welcome back, dears, to One Day at a Time—the only source of news you need for the rest of the week. (And possibly... your life?) We begin where we left off last week: With Beyoncé's Lemonade, which is still the best thing that's ever existed! Well... unless you ask old white guy/British twit Piers Morgan. "The new Beyoncé wants to be seen as a black woman political activist first and foremost, entertainer and musician second," Morgan scolded, despite no one having asked an old white British guy what he thought. "I still think she's a wonderful singer and performer, and some of the music on Lemonade is fantastic. But I have to be honest, I preferred the old Beyoncé. The less inflammatory, agitating one." HOOOOO BOY. Where to begin? Thankfully, we don't have to, as Mercury contributor Jenni Moore (who reviews Lemonade for us in this very issue) shot back! "Maybe don't speak on how an artist should or shouldn't empower the women of her culture. It is not your place," Moore tweeted, correctly pointing out, "It is 100% Beyoncé's purpose and prerogative to use her voice and art to inspire her culture. She doesn't have to always appeal to everyone." Yep. That about sums it up. Now everybody go read Jenni's review of Lemonade! We'll wait.

TUESDAY, APRIL 26

Now that was a good read, right? So good! Anyway, some other stuff happened this week (we guess). Such as... "Kanye West Won't Watch Porn with the Sound On," reports the Superficial, who note that on the series finale of Kocktails with Khloé, West reveals, "I've never watched porn with the sound on. I lived with my mom in high school, then I lived in my mother-in-law's [Kris Jenner] house. There's kids next door and stuff." Ignoring the fact that Kanye has apparently never heard of headphones, wife Kim Kardashian jumped in. "He probably watches Japanese anime porn," she added. Yes, Kim. He probably does. Let's stop talking about this. MOVING ON!"Chris Hemsworth Goes Surfing with His Super Hot, Super Ripped Dad Craig," reads the orgasmic headline of Us Weekly. Us breathlessly continues, "The father-son duo looked practically the same age from the neck down, showing off their ripped, shirtless bods while exiting the ocean with their boards in tow." We don't know whether to be weirded out or... turned on? (Oh, who're we fooling—there's like a 95 percent chance we'll end up with "turned on.")

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 27

Just so we hit this week's schadenfreude quota, let's check in on the GOP race! "John A. Boehner never minced words as House speaker, but he usually leveled his insults behind closed doors," the New York Times reports. And Boehner's doors? They're no longer closed. At an appearance at Stanford University today, Boehner described presidential contender Ted Cruz as "Lucifer in the flesh."Do go on, John! "I have Democrat friends and Republican friends," Boehner said of Cruz. "I get along with almost everyone, but I have never worked with a more miserable son of a bitch in my life." Noting that he sometimes plays golf with Donald Trump and considers him a "texting buddy" (that's code for Grindr, right?), Boehner added, "If we don't have a nominee who can win on the first ballot, I'm for none of the above... I'm for Paul Ryan to be our nominee." That, dears, would be the Paul Ryan who's adamantly refusing to run. In conclusion, the GOP is in hateful shambles, and in 2016 there's no way that anyone would vote Republic—THIS JUST IN!"A new poll of Republican voters in Oregon finds that Donald Trump has a double-digit lead in the state's May 17 primary," reports OPB, "while Ted Cruz is second despite pulling out of the state." We now pause so that everyone can spend the next 60 seconds cringing. (Oh, and OPB? You misspelled "Lucifer.")

THURSDAY, APRIL 28

Let's take a moment to check in on America's favorite sham religion (next to Christianity, of course), Scientology! Ron Miscavige, father to current Scientology head guru, David Miscavige, has penned a book, Ruthless: Scientology, My Son David Miscavige, and Me, which apparently talks about how he introduced his son to the religion, and things went a bit sideways. Miscavige the Elder, who left the church in 2012, claims that young David clawed his way to the top of the Scientology ranks, and backs up many of the claims revealed in the famous tell-all, Going Clear. He also accuses his son of being erratic and abusive, subjecting members to abysmal living conditions, which include confining them to David's secret Gold Base compound surrounded by spikes and razor wire fences. Naturally, Scientology reps are calling the book a "betrayal," adding that, "Scientologists worldwide love and respect Mr. David Miscavige."HOWEVER! Let's check in with Scientology's primary spokesalien, Emperor Klaktu of Rigel VII, to get his take on this new, controversial book. "Sniff! Sniff! Don't look at me, Ann!" Klaktu sobbed over intergalactic holotube. "I'M NOT CRYING! My gills are simply expectorating." But... Klaktu... what's wrong? "Oh, I'll tell you what's wrong!" Klaktu wailed, tentacles flailing. "That blasphemous Ron Miscavige is just as traitorous as my own male-membered parental unit,Thongar! When I ascended to my throne of skulls, Papa Thongar wrote a memoir about me as well, claiming I had wiped out 12 star systems in the name of our glorious leader L. Ron Hubbard!" And... that wasn't true? "OF COURSE IT WASN'T, ANN!" Klaktu howled in fury. "He knows very well I slaughtered 13-and-a-halfstar systems! OHHH! You always were jealous of my success, Daddy!!"

FRIDAY, APRIL 29

Today in "backpedaling as furiously as possible": Variety reported that comic actor Will Ferrell was set to produce and star in a "dementia comedy" about Ronald Reagan, and things got a bit... ahh... heated. According to the film's synopsis, the action takes place at the beginning of the president's second term, when the former actor "falls into dementia," and in order to fulfill his duties, has to be convinced he's playing the president in a movie. Needless to say, the reaction has been less than positive. Attacks were launched by the Alzheimer's Association, as well as Reagan's daughter Patti Davis, who wrote, "Perhaps for your comedy you'd like to visit some dementia facilities. I have—I didn't find anything comedic there."OUCH. And let the backpedaling begin! Not only did Ferrell distance himself from the project faster than you can say Zoolander 2, his trusty PR flack told Page Six that the film isn't actually an "Alzheimer's comedy," and even if it were, Ferrell never officially signed on to the film. The publicist then quickly shined a mysterious pen-shaped object into everyone's eyes, and the incident was forgotten forever.

SATURDAY, APRIL 30

Tonight marked President Obama's final White House Correspondents' Association Dinner, an annual star-studded affair that allows the president to roast friends and enemies alike. For example? "They say Donald [Trump] lacks the foreign policy experience to be president," Obama said to the crowd. "But in fairness he has spent years meeting with leaders from around the world: Miss Sweden, Miss Argentina, Miss Azerbaijan." The president was followed by comedian Larry Wilmore of The Nightly Show who kicked off his set with, "Welcome to Negro Night here in Washington—or as Fox News will report, 'Two Thugs Disrupt Elegant Dinner in DC.'" And what important state function would be complete without a Kardashian in attendance? Prior to the dinner, Kendall Jenner stepped up to meet the president who reportedly told her, "Say hi to Kim and Kanye." According to People magazine, Kendall took this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity with the president to make her most thought-provoking statement yet: "Okay." (C'mon! What did you guys expect? She's not exactly the poet laureate.)

SUNDAY, MAY 1

Human turd/pop star Justin Bieber (who FINALLY, FINALLY, FINALLY shaved off his culturally inappropriate blond dreadlocks) attended his father Jeremy Bieber's engagement party this weekend in Toronto, aaaaaand it was just about as eye-rollingly douchey as one would expect. Beiber Senior, dressed in a paisley jacket, white Kangol hat, and undoubtedly soaked in Axe body spray, celebrated at the party with an actual tiger (which Justin sullenly petted), former pro boxer Lennox Lewis (who Justin sullenly posed alongside), and the Batmobile from the original TV series (which Justin sullenly pretended to drive). In sullen Justin's defense, his father is a walking Entourage: The Complete Series DVD who obviously passed down the douche gene to his son. Justin was also really, really, really missing his culturally inappropriate dreads! (May they FINALLY, FINALLY, FINALLY rest in peace.)

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Revolution Comedy
Tonight's installment of Andie Main's do-gooder comedy series, Revolution Comedy, is for the birds. JK! It's for the animals of the Oregon Humane Society, with stand-up from local geniuses like Dinah Foley, Katie Nguyen, and Alex Falcone, plus music from Bitch'n's Emily Overstreet, and the knowledge that your hard-earned comedy dollars are supporting animal welfare. MEGAN BURBANK
w/Amanda Arnold; Kickstand Comedy Space, 315 NW Davis, 8 pm, $10-15, all ages

Derek Sheen
Comedian Derek Sheen knows how to put a funny new spin on Portland's eccentricities. He's self-deprecating, charming, and a hot mess of whimsy and nerdiness, who cracks himself up nearly as much as everyone else. He's pretty much the spiritual little brother to Patton Oswalt. Go celebrate his new comedy album, Tiny Idiot. COURTNEY FERGUSON
w/Barbara Holm, Christian Ricketts, & more; Helium Comedy Club, 1510 SE 9th, 8 pm, $10-18

#FUBAR
The latest in this city's ever-growing array of storytelling showcases is #FUBAR, a night of yarns from military veterans who attend Portland State University, and have seen/dealt with enough shit in their day to more than merit the crass hashtag. It'll be enlightening and free. DIRK VANDERHART
PSU's Smith Memorial Student Union, 3rd Floor, 1825 SW Broadway, 7 pm, FREE, all ages

Captain America: Civil War—UNEXPECTED FACT! 2014's Captain America: The Winter Soldier wasn't just 2014's best superhero movie—it was one of 2014's best movies, period. Now, Winter Soldier directors Anthony and Joe Russo (Community, Arrested Development) raise the stakes with Captain America: Civil War—which, sure, stars Cap, but also features Iron Man, Black Widow, and some dork named Peter Parker. ERIK HENRIKSEN
Every theater on Earth, see Movie Times and our review

Filmed by Bike
It's National Bike Month, and the city's first big cycling bash of the year kicks off this evening. The always-festive Filmed by Bike offers three days of velo-themed film screenings at the Hollywood, a beer-infused street party (tonight at Velo Cult!), and lots more. Slide some trading cards between those spokes and head down. DIRK VANDERHART
Hollywood Theatre, 4122 NE Sandy, Fri-Sun, $11 per screening ($55 fest pass), filmedbybike.org for schedule

The Aces: Animal Kingdom
Local sketch comedy does not come any smarter or funnier than the Aces (Shelley McLendon and Michael Fetters). And since some of their funniest sketches often revolve around animals, they're bringing all of 'em together in a show aptly titled, The Aces: Animal Kingdom. FINALLY! Overprotective gorillas, larcenous raccoons, and bees trapped in cars get the hilarious skewering they deserve! WM. STEVEN HUMPHREY
Siren Theater, 315 NW Davis, Fri-Sat, 8 pm, through May 14, $15-20

Hey Lover, The Lavender Flu, Mope Grooves
Tonight is the release celebration of Portland garage-pop trio Hey Lover's new record, Sinking Ships. It's the third full-length from dynamic husband-wife duo Justin Varga and Terah Beth Baltzer Varga, and their first with Tim Janchar on bass. Despite its aquatic title, Sinking Ships sounds like the band rigged their garage with jet packs and shot it into the stratosphere. CIARA DOLAN
Bunk Bar, 1028 SE Water, 9:30 pm, $8

Swagger Like Us: DavO, Boy_friend, Sappho, Saturn Rising
San Francisco's been generously exporting its popular queer hip-hop dance extravaganza Swagger Like Us up and down the West Coast lately, and PDX is last on its list of stops. Plan for exuberant, thumping madness, if even a fraction of the rep that precedes SLU is accurate. DIRK VANDERHART
Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison, 9 pm, $10 ($7 before 11 pm)

Mayer Hawthorne
Mayer Hawthorne is a talented dude: He writes, he sings, he produces, and he plays nearly all the instruments on his new album, Man About Town. It would be silly to miss the Grammy-nominated suit-clad retro soul singer (and former Detroit hip-hop DJ). Bring a date—it could get real intimate. DOUG BROWN
Revolution Hall, 1300 SE Stark, 8 pm, $24.85-27.85, all ages

The CABA Classic Alpaca Show
You love your mom, right? She's great, so honor that fine lady with a special Mother's Day outing to the CABA Classic Alpaca Show. Treat her to a cavalcade of 500 wet-eyed cuties, prancing in an exhibition hall, strutting their stuff in competitions of luster, shearing, and parading. It'll be a llama mama sorta day! COURTNEY FERGUSON
Portland Expo Center, 2060 N Marine, Sat 9:30 am-5 pm, Sun 8:30 am-4 pm, FREE, all ages

Dungen, Boogarins
On their 2015 release, Allas Sak, Sweden's Dungen draws decidedly poppy melodies out of seemingly dissimilar genres like free jazz, nostalgic psychedelia, and Swedish folk as if they're forging trails through the thickest, most unexplored forests. Their music is wild and weird, which makes it all the more alluring. CIARA DOLAN
Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi, 9 pm, $15-17

The Doubleclicks Variety Show
Beloved geek-folk sister duo the Doubleclicks are trying something new! Instead of singing songs about the introvert party ritual of hanging out with pets, they're going full-on variety show with stand-up from Zak Toscani, songs for nerds, and sketches from the "Love You Squad," a crack team of jokesters featuring the Doubleclicks themselves! MEGAN BURBANK
Kickstand Comedy Space, 315 NW Davis, 8 pm, $5

Givers, Anna Wise
Louisiana's Givers burst on the scene a few years ago with some soulful folk-pop tunes and a tremendous, life-affirming live show. On the heels of their sophomore album, the glow-in-the-dark New Kingdom, Givers return to Portland to spread their good cheer and adventurous sounds. NED LANNAMANN
Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi, 9 pm, $15

Kung Fu Theater: Enter the Game of Death
Tonight, the Hollywood's beloved Kung Fu Theater series offers up another weird oddity: The only known 35mm print of 1978's Enter the Game of Death, which stars Bruce Lee Bruce Le as a dude who's gotta fight a whole lot of other dudes. Hollywood programmer Dan Halsted also promises "a Shaolin magician, a snake handler, [and] a kung fu master possessed by a demon." ERIK HENRIKSEN
Hollywood Theatre, 4122 NE Sandy, 7:30 pm, $9

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I'm a 31-year-old straight woman. I have a good job, great friends, and average attractiveness. I've dated close to 30 men at this point, and I can't wrap my head around this: I've never had a boyfriend or dated anyone for more than a couple of months. It's really starting to wear on my self-esteem. I don't believe anything is wrong with me, but the more time goes on, the more I think I have to be doing something wrong. The guys ghost me or things fizzle out or we're not at the same point in our lives. This is particularly true for one guy I've remained friends with (common social circle) who is struggling with his career, though things are still awkward because it's clear there's still something there. Another area of concern: I'm still a virgin. Catholic guilt resulted in me being a late bloomer, with my first kiss at 21. Once I got more into dating, my low self-esteem coupled with the fact that I've basically decided I want to be in a monogamous committed relationship with a guy before having sex, relationships just never happened. I don't have unrealistic expectations that I'll marry the first dick that sticks itself into me—but I've waited this long, so I'm not going to jump into the sack with just anyone without knowing that I can at least trust them. The only guy I really do trust is Somewhat Depressed Guy, but propositioning him could further complicate our already awkward friendship. Is something wrong with me, and what the hell should I do?
What's Wrong with Me?

I get variations on the first half of your question—is something wrong with me?—all the time. But it's not a question I'm in a position to answer, WWWM, as I would need to depose a random sampling of the guys you've dated, interrogate your friends, and grill you under a bare lightbulb for a few days to figure out what's wrong with you.

And you know what? Nothing could be wrong with you. You may have pulled the short straw 30 times in a row, and you just need to keep getting out there and eventually you'll pull a guy who won't ghost or fizzle on you.

As for the second half of your question...

What the hell should you do? Well, gee. What you've been doing hasn't worked, WWWM, so maybe it's time to do something else. Like fuck some dude on the first date. Or if that's too drastic, fuck some dude on the second date. Or better yet, go to Somewhat Depressed Guy and say: "I don't think you want a relationship right now, and I'm not sure I do either. But I like you and trust you, and I could really use your help with something..."

While the commitment-and-monogamy-first approach has worked for some, WWWM, it hasn't worked for you. And being a virgin at 31 isn't boosting your self-esteem. There are lots of people out there who jumped in the sack and did a little dick-sticking with people they barely knew but had a good feeling about. The jumping/sticking/dicking approach doesn't always lead to committed and/or monogamous relationships, but it can and it has and it does.

Somewhat Depressed Guy might be somewhat less depressed if he was getting some, you might have higher self-esteem if you finally got some, and dispensing with your virginity might make dating after you part ways—if you part ways with him (you never know)—seem a lot less fraught.

I'm a virgin in my late 20s. I'm not waiting until marriage, just for the right person. I've dated enough and had enough fun to continue being a happy, normal, socially competent guy, much to the disbelief of my various knuckle-dragging, vagina-blinded pals. I've been dating this gal for a few months. She's special—we have tons of chemistry and she cares about me. We had a brief conversation about my lack of sexperience when we first started dating, and she was very cool about it. I really like this girl, but I'm not sure yet if she's the future Mrs. I am a worrier (thanks, mom!), and I find myself thinking that if I share this with her and somewhere down the road we end up breaking up, she's going to be even more devastated because I shared my first time with her. Am I just having silly virgin worries? Not only am I concerned about her feelings if things don't work out, but I'm also concerned that I might become vagina-blinded—that I might immediately tell this girl I want to spend my life with her just because she's having sex with me only to find myself a few years down the road feeling trapped. What should I do?
Very Indecisive, Really Gettin' Naughty

You should fuck this girl already—provided, of course, that this girl wants to fuck you.

You could wind up saying things you come to regret or have to walk back—her vagina might be that bedazzling—but that's an unavoidable risk, and not one that's unique to virgins. The right vagina, ass, face, skill set, or bank balance can blind a fucker with decades of experience. The only way to avoid vagina-blindness—or ass-blindness, etc.—is to never have sex with anyone. And I don't think you're interested in celibacy, so stop freaking out about the risk that you'll imprint, duckling-like, on the first vagina your pee-pee sees the inside of.

You must also eliminate "sexperience" from your vocabulary, VIRGN, as it's equal parts cloying and annoying.

I've been with my boyfriend for more than a year. He's the first person I've had sex with. Four times now while we were having passionate sex, he has slipped out of my vagina and accidentally penetrated me anally. That shit hurts, and I can't help but cry. I know he feels super guilty each time. I love sex, but I'm kind of scared every time we have it now. We've engaged in a little anal play before, and I wasn't really a fan. But I'm not adverse to the idea of using a buttplug. Do you think this would work? Surely other people have this problem too, right?
Wrong Hole, Anal Torment

My own personal sexperience with anal led me to doubt claims of accidental anal penetration, WHAT, as anal penetration always required focus, precision, and proper breathing techniques—in my own sexperience. But listeners of the Savage Lovecast schooled me in Episode 340, and I'm now convinced that accidental anal penetration is something too many women have sexperienced. (Do you see how annoying that is, VIRGN?)

A strategically deployed buttplug sounds like a sexcellent solution to the problem, WHAT, but get yourself a plug with a wider-than-usual base to prevent your boyfriend's misdirected cock from pushing the plug, base and all, all the way in you (ouch) or his misdirected cock from sliding in alongside the plug. (If you hate single penetration, you'll really hate double penetration.)

If the problem persists even with a plug—if your boyfriend's cock is constantly slamming into the plug in a way that you find uncomfortable—a thumbtack glued to the base of the plug will inspire your boyfriend to be more focused and precise.

And speaking of the Savage Lovecast, we're coming up on our 500th episode, which is a significant milestone for this relatively new genre/platform/doohickey. If you're not already listening, find it here: savagelovecast.com. And a big thanks to Nancy Hartunian, the Lovecast's producer since Episode 1, and to the tech-savvy, at-risk youth who pushed me to start podcasting before it was cool.

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10 Cloverfield Lane
Some movies let you know you're in good hands with the very first shot. The latest mystery wrapped in an enigma from producer J.J. Abrams, 10 Cloverfield Lane takes an instantly fraught premise and never stops stripping the screws. Within its narrow self-imposed parameters, it's just about perfect. ANDREW WRIGHT Various Theaters.

April and the Extraordinary World
Animated films aimed at children have such a long history of corniness that I barely second guessed April and the Extraordinary World's most beloved character, a talking cat, for his continual nagging on April's love life. (Oh, yes—between jumping through huge, menacing clockwork machinery and trying to find your scientist parents abducted by a lightning cloud, it's important to keep yourself out there.) That said, this movie is so charming that even my feminist reservations couldn't keep me from having a ton of fun. Based on a graphic novel by Jacques Tardi, this English dub doesn't have Marion Cotillard voicing April (that's the French version, alas) but it DOES have Susan Sarandon as a sentient lizard in a robot body! And a chauvinist talking cat is still a talking cat. I'll take it! SUZETTE SMITH Academy Theater, Kiggins Theatre.

Barbershop: The Next Cut
One could assume that I'm not the target demographic for this movie because I'm white, and Hollywood tells us movies with all-white casts are for everybody, but movies with all-black casts are just for black people. But B:TNC is good for everybody. It's funny, smart, and sincere without being corny. ELINOR JONES Various Theaters.

Captain America: Civil War
See review, this issue. Various Theaters.

Chinatown
Film students fucking love this thing, and for good reason, too: It's one of the most impeccably written, photographed, and edited films ever made, not a frame out of place, not a second gone to waste. But what if you're not a film student? What if you're just someone who wants to watch Jack Nicholson smart off and catch beatings for a couple hours? Good news! Aside from all the artsy-fartsy accolades heaped upon this neo-noir's slumped shoulders, it's a legitimately compelling story about a schlub who learns the hard way (always the hard way) that he cannot change the world, no matter how much he tries. And if that hit of pretty nihilism is not enough, then just pretend it's a prequel to Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Because—amazingly—it's kinda-sorta that, too. BOBBY ROBERTS Academy Theater.

Elvis & Nixon
You've seen the photo: the King of Rock 'n' Roll and the Leader of the Free World, shaking hands in the Oval Office with cautious smiles and dazed looks in their eyes. Elvis & Nixon is an account—from director Liza Johnson and co-writer Cary Elwes—of that bizarre meeting in 1970. It's a piece of blissfully speculative fiction that takes its small but amusing concept and runs with it. It's hard to go wrong when you cast Michael Shannon as Elvis Presley and Kevin Spacey as Richard M. Nixon. NED LANNAMANN Various Theaters.

Everybody Wants Some!!
Most movies get male athlete group dynamics so wrong that when you actually find kernels of relatability, it feels like a revelation. In Everybody Wants Some!!, Richard Linklater's take on hazing ("everybody is going to be the chump at some point, it's how you handle your turn that defines you") is refreshingly unsensational. As is the movie as a whole. You know how in Magic Mike you kept expecting one of the characters to OD on drugs or get paralyzed in a car accident in order to teach everyone a valuable lesson? Then it never happens and you're happy to have avoided the moralizing? Everybody Wants Some!! is like that. It's about college, not learning. VINCE MANCINI Various Theaters.

The Family Fang
Jason Bateman takes a stab at my favorite film category—the vaguely academic, dysfunctional family comic drama, as perfected by Wes Anderson, Nicole Holofcener, Tamara Jenkins, and Noah Baumbach—to pretty okay effect! Working from a script by playwright David Lindsay-Abaire about the disaffected adult children of maybe-psychotic performance artists, The Family Fang can be slow, and it lacks the charming idiosyncrasies that make those other movies enjoyable, and Nicole Kidman's American accent is distractingly bad. But its moments of brilliant art-world satire and actual plot twists (!) are enough to keep things interesting. MEGAN BURBANK Cinema 21.

Filmed by Bike
The bicycle film festival returns to the Hollywood. Hollywood Theatre.

Green Room
Blue Ruin, Jeremy Saulnier's Kickstarter-funded 2013 calling card, fashioned a diabolically inventive revenge movie that repeatedly headed down unpredictably satisfying avenues. The writer/director's larger-budgeted follow-up, Green Room, gathers up that earlier promise and just goes sick with it, taking an intentionally stripped-down premise and jacking it up to ferocious speeds. Inspired by the director's experiences with hardcore punk shows, the story follows an idealist thrash band (led by Alia Shawkat and a terrifically spacy Anton Yelchin) reduced to gas-siphoning between concerts. While spinning aimlessly through the Northwest, they take a gig deep in the Oregon woods at a venue crammed to the rafters with neo-Nazis, fronted by an ominously velvet-voiced Patrick Stewart. Things do not go well, in ways that made a theater full of jaded critics repeatedly suck in their collective breath. ANDREW WRIGHT Various Theaters.

Hecklevision
Following up last month's recent disaster San Andreas is the thick slab of '90s cheese known as Twister. Get your texting thumbs ready because the amount of remarkable bullshit flying off the screen will not be limited to tractor wheels and mooing cows. Look, it's impossibly young Philip Seymour Hoffman. Over there is Cameron from Ferris Bueller's Day Off! Portland's own award-winning director Todd Field is, uh... wearing a hat and science-ing some shit, I guess? Hey, that's Helen Hunt! Goddamn she's annoying. Why in the world did people ever fucking like Helen Hunt? BOBBY ROBERTS Hollywood Theatre.

High-Rise
Set in a brutalist skyscraper in an unspecified year—everything here looks like how people in the '70s imagined the future—Ben Wheatley's High-Rise charts the Lord of the Flies-esque decay of the building's society. Early on, the lounging rich live up high and the working class below, their caste system as confining as iron bars. Then the tower's society falls apart: There are beatings. There's suicide. There's rape. Tom Hiddleston pats a dog on the head, then turns it on a spit. If you've got triggers, consider them warned: Wheatley and co-writer Amy Jump dive into blood and squalor, with the Kubrickian backdrop of the high-rise getting more claustrophobic with each scene. Hiddleston—along with Luke Evans, Sienna Miller, Elisabeth Moss, and Jeremy Irons—is game for the film's mash-up of allegory and horror. No director better straddles the line between grindhouse and arthouse than Wheatley, and the surreal High-Rise offers him a perfect fit. ERIK HENRIKSEN On Demand.

The Invitation
The new film directed by Karyn Kusama (Girlfight, Aeon Flux, Jennifer's Body) doesn't kick into decisive action until about 15 minutes before credits roll. When that finally does happen, it's nail-biting, horrific, tragic yet satisfying, and boasts a final, long-delayed twist that colors the preceding bundle of tropes with something unanticipated. But however deftly executed the climax may be, for many the payoff won't be enough to justify the extent of the preamble. MARJORIE SKINNER Laurelhurst Theater.

Keanu
Key and Peele are comedy superstars. Keanu is a first-year expansion team. VINCE MANCINI Various Theaters.

Kung Fu Theater
This month's installment in Dan Halsted's ongoing celebration of all things whoop-ass is the only known 35mm print of Enter the Game of Death, maybe the most gonzo of all the Bruceploitation films to surface in the wake of Bruce Lee's passing. The plot of the film (like it matters) is thus: Watch a man in a yellow tracksuit run the challenge tower of a Mortal Kombat game. That's all there is to it. Well, that and the disgusting level of kung fu ridiculousness constantly on display. BOBBY ROBERTS Hollywood Theatre.

The Man Who Knew Infinity
See review, this issue. Fox Tower 10.

Midnight Special
The latest from Jeff Nichols continues the director's winning streak. While on its surface an affectionate throwback to the kid-friendly sci-fi adventures of yesteryear, its underlying themes of families under pressure make it very much of a piece with the filmmaker's other work. Told with a bare minimum of backstory, Nichols' script follows two armed men (Michael Shannon and Joel Edgerton) on the run with an eight-year-old boy (Jaeden Lieberher), pursued by both a scarily determined religious cult and a baffled cadre of government agents. While a geeky NSA agent (Adam Driver) attempts to plot the trio's next move, an increasing number of mysterious events hint that the boy, well, just ain't quite right. There's the way his eyes tend to glow in the middle of the night, for one thing. ANDREW WRIGHT Cinema 21.

Miles Ahead
Don Cheadle's free-form Miles Davis biopic skips over the biggest moments in Davis' life—the ones people going to see a movie about Davis will likely expect to see—and instead offers a narrative that skips back and forth in time, focusing more on establishing Davis as a character rather than as as a historical figure and musical genius. In addition to writing and directing, Cheadle also plays Davis, and from the opening frames ("Don't call my music jazz," he says. "It's social music"), it's clear this is a passion project. Cheadle is in this role, and like the best Cheadle characters, Davis is never anything less than fascinating. Which is where things get tricky: With a whole lot of fictionalized add-ons and unnecessary costars (like Ewan McGregor's imaginary Rolling Stone reporter), Miles Ahead never feels predictable, but it also never feels reliable. ERIK HENRIKSEN Various Theaters.

Mother's Day
Like those other holiday-based movies, Mother's Day is a large ensemble "comedy" of intertwined stories surrounding a hyper-sentimental day. This one stars Jennifer Aniston and Kate Hudson as Ultimate White Moms who always wear exercise apparel, as well Jason Sudeikis, who must have owed somebody a large cash favor, and Julia Roberts, who, sporting a bright-red mom bob, has pretty much just turned into a sentient acorn with teeth. Mother's Day's smooshed-together stories are all boring and forgettable, except for the racist one, which is memorable for being racist. ELINOR JONES Various Theaters.

New Czech Cinema
The annual touring program of contemporary Czech cinema, presented by the NW Film Center and Czech That Film. More at nwfilm.org. NW Film Center's Whitsell Auditorium.

NW Animation Festival
See review, this issue. Hollywood Theatre.

Ratchet & Clank
For PlayStation 2 junkies, the Ratchet & Clank games were perfect lazy weekend time sinks—cleverly written and compulsively playable, yet never frustrating enough to make the player upend a two-liter or drop the pizza rolls. The big-screen animated adaptation keeps the basic charm of the source material, fitting snugly in the tier of movies for kids located somewhere just below Pixar. ANDREW WRIGHT Various Theaters.

Sing Street
If you take off your glasses and watch Sing Street out of focus—as a lighthearted teen romcom about following your dreams—you'll love it. The idea of a mousy 15-year-old Irish boy named Cosmo (Ferdia Walsh-Peelo) wrangling his equally mousy peers to start a "futurist" new wave band to woo model Raphina (Lucy Boynton) is charming enough. And the mid-'80s soundtrack is pretty good! But you might not love it if you get hung up on half-baked, passing mentions of alcoholism, divorce, and domestic violence that come out of nowhere, thrown into the narrative like poop Frisbees at a picnic. CIARA DOLAN Fox Tower 10.

Sonic Cinema
The Hollywood Theatre's music-themed documentary series. Screening on May 5th: Voice of the Eagle: The Enigma of Robbie Basho, the story of the little-listened-to pianist who attained cult status after his death in 1986. And on May 8th there's Bayou Maharajah, an examination of the life of the one-eyed, gay New Orleans pianist James Booker. Hollywood Theatre.

Touch of Evil
There's a bit of a trick to appreciating Orson Welles' poisoned candy of a noir, and the trick is this: You have to move past the fact Charlton Heston is playing a Mexican. Your brain will want to seize on this. It will scream at you every chance it gets "Holy shit that's the fucking Omega Man, Mr. Cold Dead Hands himself, wearing five tons of bronzer and a pencil mustache like that's all it takes." Now if you can shunt this reaction to the side, if you can place this ridiculousness in its proper context (i.e. the late '50s were pretty backwards), you are now ready to digest this smoky, sleazy, paranoid little gut-punch of a mystery, starring characters so compromised and vile they make Sam Spade look like Fred Rogers. BOBBY ROBERTS Laurelhurst Theater.

MEANS WE RECOMMEND IT. Theater locations are accurate Friday, May 6-Thursday, May 12, unless otherwise noted. Movie times are updated daily and are available here.

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HELMING ONE of Portland's more interesting dance nights, Expressway to Yr Skull (at the Lovecraft every first Saturday), are DJs MisPrid and nightbabe. While MisPrid has been DJing at the SE Grand venue since 2012 (and at the now-shuttered East End all the way back to 2004-ish), nightbabe is fairly new to the game. He started hanging with his pal at the goth bar about two years ago, and since then they've built one of the best dance nights in town, or at least one of the best dance nights in town IN MY HEAD.

The Lovecraft is named after the famous horror author, and while some patrons are run-of-the-mill "goths," there's also a young hip element who show up around midnight—whether we want them to or not. ;) The DJs follow one simple rule: "If it's sad and you can dance to it, we'll play it." But they're also mere mortals, and sometimes "just end up drunk, [playing] whatever we want." Is there really anything more to be said? Oh! There's a fog machine.

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TECHNICALLY, anyone can have a "civil war." I get that. There were places and people having them long before America's kicked off in 1861—and yet? The American Civil War still hangs heavy over current political and race relations (oh, hello, Mississippi state flag), which is why I'm not all that comfortable tossing the term around so loosely. After all, they're not making movies called Captain America: Trail of Tears. [End of rant.]

[Not quite end of rant.] Actually, instead of Captain America: Civil War, a more appropriate title might be Captain America: Cap and Iron Man Get Their Iddy-Biddy Feewings Hurt. Yes, I agree that's a mouthful. [End of rant for realz... or is it?]

In fact, if you want to get super technical about it, Captain America: Civil War isn't so much a Captain America movie as the third flick in the Avengers series. While Cap may be the heart and soul of this film, Marvel made sure to cram in as many of their products as humanly possible. But what should've been a 2.5-hour mess is another seemingly inconceivable Marvel miracle.

Civil War begins where Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Avengers: Age of Ultron ended, with the human race (and their world governments) both impressed and scared shitless by the awesome powers these superhumans possess. And humanity is absolutely right to pose the "chicken or egg" question: Are superheroes saving us from evil, or is their existence actually inspiring it? When an Avengers mission goes sideways and lives are lost, the heroes are asked to sign an oversight agreement that would put control of the Avengers in the hands of the United Nations. Naturally, Captain America (Chris Evans) is against it because FREEDOM! And AMERICA! Meanwhile, Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.) is for it because he's kind of a fuck-up, and he feels guilty about previous fuck-ups. And so starts the civil wa... umm... iddy-biddy hurt feewings situation!

Obviously the psychological weight each of these characters carry could also burden the script, turning it into a slow-moving morass. Instead, frenetic action set pieces are plopped in at regular intervals, and the uniformly terrific cast makes the long running time more than bearable. Of particular note is William Hurt as wary Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross, Paul Bettany as the increasingly human Vision, and Chadwick Boseman as Black Panther, who's smoking hot and brings a regal, balletic grace to the character. (On behalf of everyone in the world, we want to see much more of him in the future.)

In fact, directors Anthony and Joe Russo are having such a ball throwing so much fun at the screen (Spider-Man! Ant-Man! The Winter Soldier complaining about riding in the backseat of a VW bug!), one might worry all these pyrotechnics are hiding a lack of "there" there. Not to worry. While Civil... err... you know, may be an exploding roll of firecrackers, it's also a mature meditation on friends, loyalty, and taking responsibility for the individual while serving the greater good.

Yes, this is more of an Avengers movie than a Captain America flick—but it's way better than the marginally enjoyable Age of Ultron, and packs more fun than Winter Soldier, while still maintaining that film's dark, paranoid edge. At this point, we know Marvel's got an expansive, ongoing game plan, and this movie is just another piece in their puzzle. That's why I've decided to trust, and not start a war about it (civil or otherwise). [End of rant.]

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LAIKA is 10 years old? The animation studio is 10 YEARS OLD?! Oh cool, a chance to see 2009's Coraline on the big screen!

That's right: The annual NW Animation Festival is back, and along with a retrospective screening of Coraline, they're offering a week-long series of talks, events, and a curated lineup of animated shorts from all over the world. This year there are 153 of 'em in a variety of programs. Aside from the short film nights, there's a family-friendly daytime program (Sat May 14), an experimental program (Thurs May 12), a Spanish language program (Sun May 15), and a queer animation night (Tues May 10)! Those all sound like really great ideas. Great ideas, NW Animation Festival!

My thoughts on a few of the films: I was surprised to see Wenyu Li's Go to City ELE on the family-friendly playbill—although it attempts to convey a little pig in the big city metaphor about appearances, its punchline lands on the gruesome death of a very sexy female pig. That's not good for kids. (Or... is it?) Another short from the family-friendly lineup is Seth Boyden's Hoof It, which reminds me of a cleaner, less butt-obsessed Ren & Stimpy cartoon. (Do we even want that?)

Baths, by Tomek Ducki, stands out for its nonverbal storytelling: In a flurry of grunts and bathhouse echoes, two older ladies seem to open a rift in time in a spa. But Futon, by Yoriko Mizushiri, was my favorite: A film about a sexy girl in bed, thinking about food, seems like it would appeal to anyone, but the beautiful marriage of the music and the interplay of shape and meaning exemplify animation as an art form. How is an animated film doing something that only animation can? Futon is a great example.

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I'M NOT SURE how we got to this particular moment in cinematic history—a moment in which a biopic about an unconventional mathematician seems nothing short of a rote cliché. But here we are. In the footsteps of A Beautiful Mind and The Imitation Game comes The Man Who Knew Infinity, an utterly familiar film that explores the life of Indian mathematician Srinivasa Ramanujan.

Ramanujan's story is pretty fascinating: Self-taught, he left Madras at age 26 for Cambridge, where he collaborated with G.H. Hardy to get his pioneering work published. Ramanujan's breakthroughs in the study of math (or, as the English call it, "maths") changed the field. But he arrived in England right before World War I erupted, and had difficulty adjusting to the country's climate and diet. He died six years later after returning to India.

Unfortunately, the perspective of The Man Who Knew Infinity is a wholly English one, with Hardy (Jeremy Irons) a much more interesting character than Ramanujan (Dev Patel). We live in a city in which the social and political climate is such that a restaurant offering "colonial" cuisine sparks a public outcry; The Man Who Knew Infinity's disinterest in the British Empire's occupation of India—and its downplaying of the harshness of life for those under its imperial hand—isn't likely to play well here. What's worse is how the movie treats Ramanujan like a mystic savant from a faraway land, an unknowable genius with mathe-magic powers.

Even taking all that into account, the film's greatest offense is its inoffensiveness. Perhaps smartly, it downplays the math (apart from a few scenes explaining partition theory). But while Ramanujan was a fascinating figure in real life, his movie representation is opaque and uninteresting. It doesn't add up.

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ON THE SECOND FLOOR of Portland City Hall, it looked to some like another blessed trouble-free budget year.

In regular updates, commissioners' offices on that second floor were assured the city would have tens of millions more next year than would be required to continue existing city programs, a surplus partly fueled by record business tax revenues. And as Mayor Charlie Hales worked up a budget proposal, they were told by budget staffers that pressing concerns—like police staffing, firefighter positions, a mandate that the city pay certain parks workers more, and millions for housing and homelessness—would all be taken care of.

After all, the city was sitting on a $20 million surplus. Until Thursday, that is, when news arrived that it was actuallya $25 million surplus—meaning more than $500 million in the city's general fund. Big money.

Then Friday came, and any shot at a trouble-free budget year flew out the second-floor window. Hales' office that day quietly broke the news to commissioners that $500 million, in the mayor's opinion, isn't enough to meet the city's needs. We need closer to $510 million, Hales says.

So on Monday, Hales publicly unveiled a plan that's surprised a lot of people. As part of his budget, he'll ask Portland City Council to approve a raise to the Business License Fee local companies pay every year—from 2.2 percent of profits to 2.5 percent. That's actually a 13.6 percent hike in the fee, good for $8.7 million a year.

It's a bold, last-year-in-office type move from Hales, who long ago shed any notions of catering to the whims of the Portland Business Alliance, and who says it's the prudent thing to do as Portland plans for rising costs in coming years.

"I'm not naturally inclined to raise taxes," Hales said at a showy press conference announcing the budget proposal. "This is a necessary increase to pay for services that are critical."

The mayor makes the case that most of the $8.7 million will come from big corporations. A majority of Portland businesses don't earn enough to even qualify for the fee, and lots of others pay the minimum $100. When Hales' plan for a more generous deduction for owner salaries is considered, 25,236 businesses would see tax increases under the change, the city says.

But all the figures in the world may not be able to outweigh one: $500 million. Commissioners are scratching their heads over a tax increase when the city is in such a comfortable place.

"I can't justify a rationale," Commissioner Dan Saltzman told Willamette Week. Commissioner Steve Novick, hoping that voters pass a gas tax on May 17, immediately set about suggesting cuts that would render a tax hike unnecessary. Commissioner Amanda Fritz didn't offer many critiques.

All of which means Commissioner Nick Fish, who serves as a city liaison to business group Venture Portland, is a likely swing vote on Hales' most contentious budget. And inconveniently, he's in Europe visiting family.

"He's not going to take a position while he's in Spain," Fish's chief of staff Sonia Schmanski says.

Plenty of businesses will anxiously be awaiting his return.

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