mr. zilla goes to town

Wednesday, September 17, 2003

He Piked With A Toddler In His Hand

An email from home lamenting the sad decline of John 'Falafel' Birmingham into a defensive dad who storms from a kiddie flick and writes to the newspaper about it, has hit me quite profoundly.

God I miss falafels... here you can buy a "gyro" that's made of a piece of pita that doesn't stay rolled up, has about a litre of mayo-like goo in it but no recognisable hummus, and in a country brimming with e.coli and salmonella ridden meat there's just no market niche for the taste of yer traditional kinda-cooked shawerma stuff... grow quickly, grow strong, gastronomical Ali... you'd be a welcome visitor.

I have no fear for my kith taking a similar route. I don't think we've ever quite plumbed the depth of share-house filth that Birmingham lived through, and hence perhaps won't experience quite the rebound from his bonding with unsanitary freedom. Not to mention that despite superficial similarities he's clearly a man of a far bygone era:

He did an Arts degree in Brisbane and was recruited by the Defence Department as a researcher (he still likes the research aspect of writing).

'I really enjoyed the work, but didn't enjoy working in Canberra, and at the end of a year or so... I'd paid off my student loans.'

No wonder he's having kids, he's probably anxious to have grandchildren he can personally tell about his misspent youth, since if he leaves it too long the looming upfront fees will be too high send the grandkids to primary school to learn how to read the book old gramps wrote about what he got up to!


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