Block Party

So where was I?

Oh yes.

Writing a blog.

Nearly two weeks ago.

Unfortunately it’s been that long since I hit the giant publish button at sirbacon123.com.

And boy have I really missed it.

Forget reading and arithmetic.

Writing is my favorite of the big three.

I could blame it on a bunch of things.

The holidays.

The kids winter break.

The this.

The that.

And true, all of those things have chipped in.

But the real truth is that for the last few weeks I’ve been living right in the heart of Writer’s Block.

At this very second, there are close to a dozen blogs just sitting on my desktop.

A dozen unfinished blogs.

Unfinished being the key word.

Blogs about my TiVo.

Blogs about Howard Stern.

Blogs about the Dollar Store.

The Vacuum Store.

The game of telephone.

Osama Bin Laden.

Do you see any connections there?

You do?

I don’t.

Right now I have more half-empty thoughts going through my head than Paris Hilton.

And that’s saying something.

As the great philosopher Bruce once said, I’ve got 57 channels.

And nothin’s on.

This is hardly the first time that I haven’t been able to complete a thought.

But it is the first time in a while.

And to be honest, it’s got me a bit freaked out.

After all, I am nothing without my words.

Even if I don’t punctuate them properly.

This little outlet called Sir Bacon has been a paradise for me.

Not always paradise.

But A paradise.

A place to disappear for a while.

A place to release the inner me.

A place to let it all go.

Everybody needs one of those.

For some it’s a bar.

Or a pool hall.

Or a Golden Corral .

For me, it’s my writing.

And unfortunately it’s been 12 whole days since I wrote my last blog.

Better known as The 12 days of Blisslessness.

I could blame it on a lack of time.

But that would be a lie.

I could blame it on a lack of stories.

Lie.

I guess I could blame it just on.... IT.

After all, IT happens.

And lately IT has been happening to me.

But just 347 words into this here blog, I can feel the blood in my fingers again.

And that’s a good feeling.

My writing is my castle.

And with the new year now here, I’m looking forward to a new beginning.

Another new beginning.

With new stories.

And new readers.

And new words.

Isn’t that why we all make new year’s resolutions?

Well this time my resolution is to start writing again.

NOW!

Do not fear Bacon lovers.

I still have a lot to say.

I just haven’t been able to say it.

A few days ago I tried writing about a weird dream I had.

A real dream.

Real weird.

I made it to 219 words.

Then stopped.

Then I tried writing about a weird story I heard.

A true story.

About a BIGTIME star athlete.

Who recently got in a plane crash.

But he doesn’t want anyone to know.

So nobody knows.

Except for me.

And the person that told me.

And the person who told him.

But I couldn’t find the right way to seal that story.

Or if that was even the right story to seal.

So I didn’t.

New Year’s Day marked the beginning of the third year of Sir Bacon.

280 blogs so far.

Probably an average of 650 words per blog.

My calculator app just told me that 182,000 words.

Catcher In the Rye has less than half of that.

And it took J.D. Salinger nine years to write that book.

12 days is nothing.

It’s good to be home.

On Golden Pound

I’ll never forget my first time.

The first time I went to The Palm.

The Palm Restaurant.

The swanky New York eatery.

I was probably nine or so.

At the time there was only one, maybe two, in the world.

Now there are 32.

Well back then, eating there was a big deal.

And that big deal was no deal at all.

It came with a big bill at the end.

You just didn’t know how big.

Until the end.

If my memory is correct the waiter came to our table and said.

“We have steak.”

“We have lobster.”

“And we have steak and lobster.”

I’m not sure there was an actual menu.

There were three of us at our table.

Me, my dad and my dad’s friend.

For some reason the friend was paying.

That was established before we sat down.

When the waiter asked what we wanted, I said.

“Lobster!”

At age nine, I had never had one.

So what better place to try one.

My dad quickly jumped in.

“No, he’ll have the steak.”

The friend replied, “He wants the lobster.  Get the lobster.”

I think our friend thought my dad was opposed.

Because it cost too much.

But the truth was my dad was opposed.

Because lobster is a shellfish.

And shellfish is a crustacean.

And crustaceans are not kosher.

This, according to the book.

The good book.

A book written like 5,724 years before The Palm was even invented.

Well my dad and his friend bickered for...  what felt like forever.

But eventually this nine-year old got his way.

His first lobster.

And definitely not his last.

There are very few things I enjoy more than a good meal.

Actually, there are very few things I enjoy more than any meal.

But a good meal.. WOW!

A good meal can consist of anything.

Anything from an overpriced steak.

Or lobster.

To a greasy mexican burrito on an LA street corner.

And everything in the middle.

Quality is important.

Usually.

But quantity can go a long way too.

Enter the Golden Corral.

A cardiologist’s version of Disneyland.

For “around” ten bucks, you can fill your stomach.

And fill your arteries at the same time.

Such a deal.

Now if you’ve never been, picture this.

A room the size of Phoenix.

Stuffed with food.

Not just any food.

Crappy food.

Mexican food.

Chinese food.

Meat Loaf smothered in ketchup.

Fried Chicken.

Something that looks like Pizza.

Fried Shrimp.

Fajitas.

Corn soaking in butter.

“Homestyle Yeast Rolls”.

More butter.

And that’s just the left side of the room.

It’s like a college cafeteria on Barry Bonds.

There were more fried things than a Texas electric chair.

All for “around” ten bucks.

That’s what the commercial says.

Not the catchiest of slogans.

But I guess it works.

A few nights ago my son and I joined a friend and his son for the Corral’s newest baby.

Endless BabyBack ribs.

All-you-can-eat.

Just like everything else in that place.

A place where Grease is certainly the word.

The word for the filmy substance left on your hand.

Even if you don’t eat with your fingers.

But that didn’t stop us from going back.

And back.

And back again.

A fresh plate every time.

Of course.

By the time we were done, I’m sure we had passed 10,000 calories on the richter scale.

And we weren’t the only ones.

At the table right next to us were two men.

Two men not much older than us.

Both eating plenty.

And both using oxygen tanks.

Just to breathe.

Presumably there was one tank for each guy.

Sharing is not allowed at the Golden Corral.

Now forget all those catchy slogans.

There’s your commercial.

Two guys.

They can barely breathe.

And nothing is going to stop them from the Endless Ribs.

Now that’s dedication.

Of course it wouldn’t be a meal without dessert.

And the Corral has plenty.

Including a sugar free vanilla cake.

And sugar free blueberry pie.

Two desserts that nobody touched.

As crazy as that sounds.

The Corral has everything anyone would ever want.

From soup to peanuts.

Everything that is.

Except lobster.