So I woke up this morning feeling vaguely dissatisfied, and thought to myself that it had been a while since I'd indulged in an orgy. A blizzard was coming, and the thought of being sequestered in my apartment all alone was unbearable.
Naturally, I hauled my ass (sic) down to Union Square, home of the nubile NYU hipster-wannabes (and their aviator glasses) even though gentrification seems to be taking its toll on them.
After two hours of delicious delight, eyes glazed over with happiness, I hauled my treasure trove of books back to my apartment, Yes, it had been an orgiastic display of inconspicuous consumption (*) at Strand Bookstore.
Now, I'm ready to face the blizzard holed up in my apartment armed with everything from Buñuel to Baking. I even bought myself a book of food porn (**) on impulse, and another which is intelligent food porn (***)
My wallet feels lighter but I feel strangely euphoric!
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(*) Something most Wall Streeters wouldn't know about.
(**) Yes, this exists! Food porn is to food what regular (or irregular) porn is to regular (or irregular) sex. You should learn how to drop it in casual conversation like, "My friend has a fabulous kitchen but all she does is reheat pizzas because except for the cookbooks I gave her, all she owns is food porn." (No resemblance to living characters.)
(***) Intelligent food porn is porn, of course, but it may teach you a few new tricks (sic). Think of it as a Gastronomic Kama Sutra.
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