Office lunch scheduled for today… at a steakhouse I can’t possibly afford. Except once this past summer, by myself, in full surrender to the experience – each bite a betrayal of my budget. The madness of it pushing the moment as far as my senses could stretch it – a complete indulgence. While others around me were simply, unceremoniously, having dinner.

Meat. There’s something dangerously primal about an animal giving its life, not just for my sustenance, but for my pleasure. I know the resource costs, the methane, the suspicious hormone side-effects, but I don’t care. Nothing about humanity is efficient, no matter what we’d like to believe. There is no underlying nobility. I confess, albeit blushingly, that it gives me a wicked thrill to think that somewhere out there a creature is plodding out its existence solely in service of my most selfish, base desires. An entire life lived for that first blissful bite…

And for the occasion, I’m in full carnivore uniform: knee high Harley Davidson boots, primal cleavage, and you can be darn sure I skipped breakfast… (which I’m sure you can already tell!) Update to follow…

Update: Fully sated, I now feel the prerequisite amount of guilt. I have sacrificed a living being to satisfy a primordial need for fleshy, sacrificial consumption. But darn it, the steak, a New York Strip, was – not to blaspheme – divine. I hang my head as one driven by the baser laws, and I wish I also felt the prerequisite amount of shame. But alas, if I am a fool, I am one of the grand old fools, and I live in the torment of my weakness. I am human. I hunger. And I eat.