Comforting things

In my last post, I desperately asked my readers for suggestions on how to break out of the funk I've been in recently. Because everyone hates me, I received only ONE suggestion, and am thus still mired in the deep blue of a pampered depression (that's mostly just me prosifying, but still). THANKS A LOT, PEOPLE.

However. That one suggestion was that I try cocaine fried up in some bacon fat. WELL. THAT'S A DAMN GOOD IDEA. Except that the only trouble I've ever gotten into in my entire life was in the third grade when I stole some Teddy Grahams from the snack cupboard and got my name written up on the blackboard! for the afternoon, and that basically scared me straight, and so now I have no idea where to find cocaine. Especially in Scotland, though I imagine Glasgow would be a good place to start. (Sidenote--can you imagine if, instead of the Teddy Graham incident frightening me into being the law-abiding person I am today, it instead kicked off a lifetime of crime and addiction? And I would go on Oprah someday after writing a best-selling memoir about my drug- and prostitution-addled life and tell the world that It was the Teddy Grahams, dammit! If only I had avoided the Grahams! I bet that would not help the toddler snack industry: graham crackers as gateway drug).

Ok, so the point was that I don't know where or how to buy cocaine. BUT I DO KNOW HOW TO BUY BACON! Actually, it's kinda hard here because the Scots, owing to their obsession with both meat and fat, have like eight different kinds of bacon available, so you have to know whether you need streaky bacon, or rasher bacon, or lardons, or joint of gammon, and then multiply that by permutations of smoked or unsmoked. So it's hard--but I can do it! And when you've been told by a friend to fix you life's problems with bacon, and also told by your mother in no uncertain terms that if you don't gain the weight back then, damn it, she's coming over with foie gras and a spoon to force-feed you back to normal, then there's really only one meal you can make: CARBONARA!

 
Aka, bacon pasta. Actually, that's unfair and stints the other ingredients, which are just as amazing: garlic, cream, eggs and Parmesan cheese. Oh, and pasta. Whatever. It was soooo good. Especially when the leftover sauce had cooled a little bit and you could scoop it out with a finger. I mean, GROSS. HOW COMPLETELY EXCESSIVE.

But the night was not just about the bacon pasta. Oho no. Because life is a sensory experience, and man cannot live by taste and smell alone. There's ears to be addressed. And thus, our fine meal was accompanied by the auditory version of crack:

It's like a middle school dance up in here.

The above is the music that I couldn't allow myself to like when it was current (I WAS TOO COOL FOR SCHOOL, MAN. And by "too cool for school," I mean that I went to a dork school. But I was too cool for the Backstreet Boys. Except for in my heart). Now that all of these songs are ten years old, liking them officially counts as "ironic," which makes them safe. Whew. Wouldn't want to risk my reputation on such a little thing as joy.

So, cocaine aside, the evening was quite a success. Hooray! How often do you hear anyone say that?