About a year and a half ago I was at a bar and a patron, decked out in madras shorts and a navy blue blazer with gold buttons, informed his friend he was “about to take that chick down to Poundtown”.
Now this poor girl, drenched in sweat, mascara running down her face, and clearly in need of about a gallon of water, looked to be heading for a trip to Vomitville, but who am I to shatter the dreams of a young man?
I’ve spent a lot of time imagining the landscape of Poundtown. While it is a place we all love to visit–full of carnal desires, hairpulling, ass slaps, and rugburns–I cannot imagine it a place I would like to take up permanent residence. I doubt the inhabitants of Poundtown care what anyone thinks or has to say. Real conversations do not occur and feeling are not felt. It is a land where post coital cuddling does not occur. There is no illusion of emotions.
I’m imagining latex lined streets and pharmacies stocked exclusively with KY, Trojans and RU-486. The populace is relegated to wearing leather and lace and required reading is “The Story of O”. Children read “Fear of Flying” in elementary school, chuckling at the simplistic views preached within. It’s always midnight, cold, and a bit dreary.
And since a race of people cannot survive on flesh alone, I’m imaging a steady diet of champagne, chocolate, caviar, and, of course….pound cake.
(This pound cake was afforded a nice tang thanks to the buttermilk and it had a great crumb. Health food it is not, but we cannot be good all the time, can we?)
Slightly adapted from Cooks.com
1 c. softened butter
2 c. sugar
3 c. flour
1/2 tsp. soda
1/4 tsp. salt
1 c. buttermilk
1 tsp. vanilla
Cream butter and sugar. Blend well. Add eggs one at a time and blend well. Combine flour, soda, salt. Add to creamed mixture alternating with buttermilk. Stir in flavorings. Pour into greased and floured tube pan. Bake at 350 degrees for one hour.