:: Electric Psychedelic Pussycat Swinger's Club ::

:: Monday, December 01, 2003 ::

chicken parmigiana. for breakfast?

I spent the greater part of this morning hunting for food. I've long since spent my remaining financial aid from school and am now at the mercy of life's twisted sense of humor. So upon exiting the subway, I realize that I am not going to make the 1.5 hours of lecture unless I get some hot food into my stomach. But since I had no ca$h, I had to quickly find a place that accepted American Express - so my choices were limited. Ah... the 24-hour diner down the block. Yes, that will do just fine. The anticipation of hot flapjacks with melted butter and warm syrup on a cold day like this made me walk with a peculiar strut in my step.

"Excuse me, but do you take American Express?"

DOH!

Next it was on to the Irish pub up the road where i've had plenty of satisfying brunches with my friends on the weekends.

"You DO take American Express? Awesome! Oh, what's that? You say you don't serve breakfast on the weekdays?"

DDOH!!

Finally, I had to settle for a spruced up deli that primarily serves lunch and dinner. My dreams of pillowy pancakes and warm waffles are rudely awakened by the reality that I am wretchedly poor. So instead of something breakfasty, I have to settle for soggy chicken parmigiana with a side of crusty macaroni & cheese and overly garlicked mashed potatoes. I missed class for THIS? While sitting down to eat, a little boy, no more than the age of 5, began to cry. And cry.

And cry.

Apparently he was crying because he didn't want to eat what his pops had gotten him (gee, can you really blame the kid?). But the little brat wouldn't stop! Then came some of the worst parenting skills i've ever witnessed. Pops started trippin' out, but in the whitest way possible:

Pops: "Mason, please. Stop. You're embarrassing us."
Kid: "waaah waaah waaah"
Pops: "Mason, please be quiet. You should eat something, but you don't have to".
Kid: "waaah, waaah...."
Pops: "Ok, well if you'll be quiet i'll get you ice cream" [insert 10 more minutes of crying]
Pops: [pops gets up to get junior ice cream anyway]

Wtf? Ok, now those of you who grew up in asian, italian, hispanic, or african-american families all know that this shit would never stand. If i were ever in a public place and started misbehaving, here's what mom would say:

Mom: "NUH JOO-GOOL LEH!?" [english: DO YOU WANT TO DIE!?]
Mom: "JEEP EH GAH SOH, HOHN-NAHL KOH YAH" [english: just wait until we get home]

And believe me, if i ever tested my mom she would let me have it. Sticks, slaps, brooms... pretty much anything she could get her hands on would make contact with my arse, my legs and my arms. And you know italian and african-american moms don't even wait until you get home. They just bust you up right there in the grocery store! Haha. But if i was behaving exceptionally bad?

Mom: "I'm telling your father".

Now if you're korean, black, hispanic, whatever... you KNOW what this means. Those four words might as well be "hocus pocus" because it triggers in most every kid a transformation into an angel - kinda like a magician turning a loud chicken into an inanimate egg. You see, the fear of dad coming home from a long day at work and in a pissy mood would be like getting into a fight with Mike Tyson at our age. Shit, it may as well be. The fear of dad finding out anything was enough to keep the pigs at bay.

So my message to honky dad at deli is this: don't let your kids walk all over you. be a man (and a good father) by disciplining them once in a while, else they'll turn out to become messed up adults.

Anywhoo, following lunch i returned to the courtyard in front of my school and had a smoke and then it dawned on me. My Dunhill was probably the best tasting thing I had for breakfast. How fucking twisted is life's sense of humor?

...