| THIS IS A READ-ONLY ARCHIVE FROM THE SORABJI.COM MESSAGE BOARDS (1995-2016). |
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we are at my sister's house. my dad is there with his wife, who is fifteen years younger than he and the age difference really shows. we are trying to figure out how to entertain him while he's there. my sister's friend emma is there with us; she's australian and joie de vivre personified. she asks my father, in her australian accent: "so do you like live music?" "no" "do you like spending time out in the country or maybe on the river?" "no" "do you like shopping or antiquing?" "no" "well, aren't you mr. sourpuss!" later on my sister is making some stuff to nibble on. she is making jalapeno poppers, which is where you split a jalapeno pepper in half, fill it with cream cheese, wrap it in bacon, and then bake it. my father's wife - jane - is in the kitchen helping her. when my sister takes out the cream cheese, jane says: "your father won't eat it if it has cream cheese in it." "since when?" "as long as i've known him. he just won't eat it. tell him it's something else." "like what?" "just tell him it's cheese." "fine" "and don't tell him it's made with jalapeno. tell him it's just a pepper - to your dad, bell pepper is the only pepper in the world." so my sister finishes the poppers and sets the plate down on the table. my father picks one up, examines it, then says: "what's in it?" "it's just a pepper with cheese in it." "what kind of cheese?" "just cheese. white cheese." my father tries the popper. he likes it and proceeds to eat 15 of the 18 poppers on the plate. the next night we're at a restaurant. my sister says: "dad, try the pork chops here, they're excellent." "i don't eat pork chops." "really? the fish is good, too." "i don't eat fish, either." "didn't we used to eat fish in rhode island?" "i can't remember. but i don't eat it now." "all right, jeez. how 'bout a steak?" my father orders a steak and salad. he elected to bring the wine, which was two bottles of chianti for him and a single bottle of cabernet for the rest of us (4 people). when my father gets his steak, he starts inhaling it in record time: shoving forkfuls in his mouth and then washing it down with chianti. about halfway through the meal, he starts gagging. we are outside on a porch, so he gets up and leans over the railing making wretching noises. "you all right, dad?" "fine, fine." then he walks to the far end of the porch and leans over the railing again trying to throw up. "is he all right jane?" "they may have to stretch his throat again." "what?" "his throat gets narrow. once before he had to have an operation where they stuck an expander down his throat to stretch it back to normal size. What usually sets him off is when he eats steak." |
on a side note, i want to find a girl who is joie de vivre personified and fuck her in the mouth. but that's just me. |
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my grave marker should be a stone carving of a waste bin full of crumpled paper towels. the legend to read: "he sure did a lot of nating." |
He sounds like a character in a British sitcom. |
i really can't imagine my father british. to be honest - between my rhode island redneck father and being in a wheelchair, i probably missed my calling as a scriptwriter for "family guy". |
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deep down, there's something i never much liked about british comedy. i think the root of british comedy is to make *them* a laughing stock and making us feel better for laughing at them to disassociate ourselves with the foolish or the flawed. when i think of my father, i'm more in a samuel beckett sort of mode. i revel in the absurdity. |
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