Once again, the cluster.

If you were wondering, yes, it is still dank. Yes, it fairly reeks. Yes, the stench of desperation hangs like a pall of smog over a dusty desert-Southwest city. It's only 9: oh, the humanity.

While driving home from Indianapolis (surprise: 9th largest American city) this morning through fields and then, uh, more fields, hung with morning fog and ready for the harvest, I thought: what I wouldn't give right now for some bacon. Yes, you read right--bacon. About three or four times a year I simply must have it or I feel as though all that I hold dear will fly into pieces. So, upon entering the Union Building, I followed the smell of frying hog to the little breakfast nook place, where a bright, gleaming smile greeted me.

Hostess: Good morning! What can I getcha?
Me: Bacon. Lots of it and as foul as possible. *muted grunting sound*
Hostess: I'm sorry, we're out of bacon until this afternoon.
Me: Bacon. Lots of it and as foul as possible.
Hostess: Sir? We don't have any. You can try the Burger King; I bet they have some for their sammiches.
Me: In the dark of some dread night, I will steal to your place of residence and level a pointy finger of reckoning that will shudder you!
Hostess: Do you want some Canadian bacon instead? It's hot.

By this time, the moon had waxed or waned or whatever the hell moons do and I no longer felt as though I needed to once again take a human life. It's a good thing: I am out of rope and quicklime and I sure am not in the mood to dig yet another shallow grave. Plus, she looked like she had kids: that's extra work to find THEM and take them out. My clown suit is at the dry-cleaner, anyway.

Sigh.

So I settled down with a bagel and some veggie cream cheese. Across the room sat a man who obviously got here before they ran out; as he raised a crispy hunk of pork to his lips I had to overcome this insane urge to yell "Fire!" As he abandoned the treats, I would shove every shard into my overly salivated mouth.

This has happened before. The last time it was this bad was when I was in Turkey. Now, people, gather round: *whispers* Turks are Muslims. Like Jewish people, Muslims have dietary rules that forbid them from eating mammals that do not have chambered stomachs.

So: There I was on a bright sunny Ankaran Saturday. I awoke refreshed from a sound slumber only to hear a ringing in my ears: that ringing surely is the sound of the portal to Hell being opened. It was coming from inside my locker. "Go FORTH and consumeth much of the forbidden SWINE!", a breathy voice said. It was then that I realized that I would starve to death if I couldn't have bacon. Yes. To death. So I showered and dressed and prepared to take the bus down to the Real, which is sortof a Super Wal*Mart, Turkish style, to fetch some bacon. Then I realized: Oh my God! They won't sell bacon there! I live in a country where even touching a pig is considered to be polluting! I had to try, though. When I got there, the meat section was vast. Above each species' niche was the Turkish word for what it was: pilic (chicken), et (lamb, some beef), balik (fish), sucuk (sausage)... and then, in the back, unlit and beetling with spiderwebs, was the section that must not be named. They hadn't even deigned to write the word "pork" there; instead, a crude handmade drawing of a hog adorned the cooler. One lonely package of bacon beckoned to me. I snatched it up and looked at the expiration date; all systems go! I was halfway to the register when I realized with a start that I would have never been able to cook it in any pan that my friends owned as it would pollute it beyond their future use. I would need my own. I didn't want my own pan. With profound sadness, I returned my find to the cooler, where it lies in repose to this day if I imagine right.

Later that week I went with friends to a place that served "Italian" food, and spaghetti carbonara was on the menu. I ordered with gusto and got a dish garnished with what appeared to be bacon. It was not. It was LAMB bacon. I ate it with little pleasure once I had quieted the dry-heaves.

Well, I have work to do. I hope all of you in Readerland have a great day--and, for the love of all that you hold dear, barring dietary restrictions, go forth and eat a rasher of bacon for me.

Dom (Demir)