botias | (no subject) (Reply)

I heard an interview last night in which a man who coaches world-class tenors said that he encourages his performers to think of their favorite food during really sexy, romantic operatic pieces in order to get the correct passion and enthusiasm. One of them sings to the ultimate pastrami sandwich, etc. Now why it is better to think about food instead of love and passion in order to create the best semblance thereof? And then I realized that sex is really kind of a cheap high, big ol' nerve bundles in strategic locations jacked straight to the pleasure centers of the brain. "Come on little mammal, press the shiny pink button, you know you want to... *Bzzzt!*" Whereas a pastrami sandwich (I assume, having never partaken) is a much more intellectual and, dare I say it, complex pleasure. Well, perhaps I'm just a sexual philistine then. What about scented candles, lickable love jelly, whips, chains, long tickly feathers? Pshaw! Window dressing. If you ate the pastrami sandwich during foreplay would that make it a sexual act? (Well, I suppose it might actually.) Additionally, this is an activity whose operatic climax is distinguished by an inability to produce one's own name and perhaps some unfortunate drooling. As fine as this may seem at the time, this is probably not Technicolor recording mode. Pastrami sandwich reveries are probably much more complete and accessible.

Uh, anyway, maybe it's time to talk about the imminent arrival of my in-laws now. There's a buzz kill. No, I don't want to talk about that. Back to packing.