Back when I was a small kid getting dragged around to my Mom’s tennis matches, mysterious business meetings and agonizing trips to the Home Depot (featuring walls and walls of THINGS I DON’T CARE ABOUT), I kept myself somewhat sane by reading the funnies. The ones in the newspaper with the terrible puns and more terrible “current events” humor that was always at least a month too late. I was 11, I had bad taste.
If you’ve ever journeyed down that path to comic hell like I have, you’ve stumbled upon the misshapen, eternally kvetching Cerberus that is Cathy. Cathy’s the one partially responsible for the pervasive attitude that all depression, woes and sorrows can be instantly and miraculously healed by a pint of chocolate ice cream and a couple bottles of wine, which is probably what led to her remaining just as sad and becoming a loud square-shaped person.
And that doesn’t work. At all.
Surprisingly enough, chocolate’s only a good thing if you’re not depressed when you’re eating it. Yes, I know that goes against the legions of Carries and Samanthas and…I don’t know, Terrys? I don’t watch the damn show, I’m doing my best. Point is, I know all of you are gonna get up in arms because “Chocolate understands my feelings!” and “Wine’s the only friend I need!” and all that.
Think about the best food you’ve ever had. Or glass of wine, or scotch, or whatever. Think about it. Were you depressed when you had it? Did it lift you out of your sadness and make the clouds part? Did a fucking cartoon bluebird alight on your shoulder? No. None of that happened. Mostly because cartoons don’t actually exist, but a little of it’s because if you’re sad and you eat something, it tastes like sad too.
If you’re really down and you eat a pint of ice cream, your brain doesn’t think “Hey, this is an amazing pint of Chunky Monkey! I practically forgot about that horrible breakup I just went through!” It thinks “Holy crap everything is horrible and I’m gonna die. Also there’s calories going into my face. That’s ok too I guess.”
Taste just…doesn’t register. Or at least not in the same way it does when you’re not using up enough tissues to build yourself a small tissue fort with matching (and disgusting) moat, and that means you’re wasting something delicious on…feelings. Save the Ben and Jerry’s for a time when it’ll really make you feel better…not when you’re having to dodge an errant stream of snot and sads between bites.
Music, however…that’s something that works. Here’s Hideki Sakamoto with prime #4507, part 2: