Movie Theatre Popcorn

I am not too focused on the guilts of the world. Just my own. When guilt calls, I run to the phone and listen. I'm ready for it. Some might even say I train for it.

Movie theatre popcorn is one of my greatest guilts. I like food I can see my reflection in, it is so greasy. Food that practically screams "don't eat me! I'm terrible for you!" as you're cramming it in your mouth. It has come to the point where the movie-viewing process is completely backward: I start craving the popcorn, then I decide which movie I want to go see. Or at least, which movie I can get some enjoyment from as I indulge in the main spectacle: the popcorn.



Even the atmosphere in which you eat this popcorn screams of guilty pleasure: you take this giant tub of overpriced butter, salt, and popcorn into a dark room where anonymity rules, and then you indulge. You can't even see what you're eating, just adding to the indulgence (If I can't see it, the calories don't count, right?).

Greasy, salty, buttery deliciousness. The satisfying crunch and the explosion of guilty flavors. Movie theatre popcorn should be in the guilty pleasure hall of fame.

A Sugar Rush for the Ears

I love terrible music. It's true. Every bad dance pop song you hear on the radio is gold to me. How am I supposed to say no to those irrepressible dance beats, simplistic lyrics, and perfectly packaged pop songs? They are designed much the way a shot of espresso is - a sugar rush that's supposed to wear off very quickly...but not until you've purchased it from iTunes.

I relish the chance to cave in to my most simplistic love, to roll up my windows and turn up the dance music. I'm the kid whose hand is in the cookie jar and has just gotten a fistful of warm chocolate chip cookies. Success is immediate and satisfying. I wonder if I look as guilty as I feel.


Don't get me wrong, I love good music as well. I'll argue with anyone over the best Beatles songs, the best Led Zeppelin live footage, or which Michael Jackson album reigns supreme. But when those dancey pop songs come on the radio, I can't help reveling in the moment and not even thinking about when that sugar rush is going to wear out.

It's Summer Somewhere

Whomever decided that some foods can only be enjoyed at certain times of the year should be put out of their misery. Because misery is what I, personally, experience when the first few days of winter arrive and announce, “we’re here!” with bracing winds and bouncing sleet. I should be allowed to turn up the heat to 80 degrees, mix a margarita, and enjoy summer foods in December if I like. Really, is there anything inherently wrong with a crisp lemon water ice when the snow is coming down outside? Or, slicing open that watermelon I just purchased in January while playoff football is on screen? Of course not – it’s summer somewhere, right? Just because I happen to be living on the far side of the sun five months out of the year doesn’t mean I can’t be allowed to join in on some of the fun in the sun…even if the sun does disappear at 5 p.m. sharp every day. Summer isn’t a privilege in my world: it’s a right, and a right I want to enjoy even when Old Man Winter comes over for a long-term stay.

My guilty pleasure is remembering that it's only winter outside.