It's another sign of how oddball we are. Here we are, living in a society where so much social and political culture is driven by envy -- and here we are feeling pity for our otherwise-well-situated neighbors. Case in point: Steve was telling me yesterday about the calzones he made. He found them so enjoyable that at a barbecue stop-over he not only could not stop thinking of his creations -- he actually said he felt bad for the poor people who were sitting there eating perfectly good burgers.

They had no idea what they were missing! (Such it is with life's true treasures.)

Well, a mere several hours after getting off the phone with Steve I had the identical experience: there I was at the Cub Scout picnic, watching people pass around plates of perfectly good hot dogs and potato salad... and all I could think about was the big pot of meatballs and gravy simmering on my stovetop back home. Oh, and the pizza-dough still growling in the basement, angrily awaiting self-actualization.

We headed back at our first opportunity.

That pizza we made was good, too. It wasn't without complication, mostly due to my foolishly using an inappropriate baking pan. (I'd get a stone, but I got enough crap in my kitchen.) The first pizza was slightly underdone, but the sliced meatballs and sausage made up for the average crust. The second one came out with a perfectly browned crust -- with one side dressed in sun-dried tomatoes and the other side striped with tasty anchovies. That latter portion was pretty much all mine, needless to say.

Anyway, we filled up on that and could hardly eat any more of the meatballs. Talk about an embarrassment of riches... It's a good thing the envy-driven Marxists haven't discovered our trove -- they'll pry these meatballs from my cold, dead, gravy-stained fingers!

And yet, I kind-a feel bad for the dumb bastards.