This was written in response to an e-mail I got saying, “What’s up, Hollywood Frank?” from a regular at Tavern on Dean in Prospect Height, Brooklyn on December 10th. He send that on the right day. This was my response:

You know I've been to other cities and countries before. I'm aware that other cultures exist in this world. Some of them actually flourish. I came here not only armed with this information, but with a promise to myself that I would try to understand it and accept it, or at the very least, not to mock it. However, something happened today that was the final straw. I came to the startling realization that: I am in California.

I live in an apartment in Santa Monica with three actresses. One is more of a pain in the ass than the other when it comes to food. I don't trust any of them not to burn the building down so I don't let them into the kitchen for any reason. This means I do the cooking, which is fine with everyone. However, this one's allergic to fish and that one is on the Atkins Diet and the other one can't digest any green vegetables - in other words, we eat chicken every night.

There's really nothing wrong with this since I can cook chicken just about any way possible: Roasted whole chicken with stuffing, deep fried breaded chicken cutlets, sautéed chicken with garlic and white wine sauce, etc.

Its Tuesday, so naturally we’re eating chicken. I was preparing home-made stuffing to roast inside the chicken and took the carton of eggs out of the refrigerator. My eye caught the writing underneath the lid of the eggs. "These eggs are produced by chickens on a strict vegetarian diet," the carton read. "The hens live in open community houses where they are free to roam the valley next to a stream and explore nature and enjoy the views of the picturesque rolling hills of California." I wasn’t surprised that the chickens in California live a better life than most of Red Hook. In fact, I wonder if there’s a law on the books in this "valley" that imposed a severe fine if the hens were to somehow breathe in your second-hand smoke and hinder their quality of life.

I shrugged this off. Because I didn't feel like going all the way across the neighborhood to the supermarket that was on strike, I ended up just walking across the street to the Organic Oats and Other Whole Foods Market © to buy a whole chicken to roast. As the cashier was ringing up my chicken, the guy behind me in line, who was NOT visibly intoxicated on any substance (legal or illegal), says to me, "You came over here just so you didn't have to buy a regular chicken, I don't blame you."

"I came over here because it's across the street," I said. I paid the cashier.

He goes on. "That's an organic chicken."

"I know, I just paid an extra two dollars a pound for it."

"I would paid twice that."

"What the hell for? A chicken's a chicken."

"No no no. These chickens are raised better than regular chickens."

"What? Did you read your box of eggs this morning?"

"Commercially produced chickens might as well be bathing in salmonella. These chickens - "

I had to interrupt him here. "The chicken is a filthy animal to begin with," I said, hoping to clear the matter up.

"You see, what you don't understand is this: Chickens raised with a better quality of life are healthier and happier and therefore when you cook them you get a better flow of positive energy into your system."

"Listen man, these chickens are raised to be slaughtered. No amount of rolling hills and No Smoking signs are gonna get these chickens to forget about the fact that many of them disappear each day for no apparent reason - never to return. As a matter of fact -" Then a chill ran up my spine and I realized what was going on. I clamed-up, walked out of the market, went home, locked the door to my apartment, closed all the lights, and hid underneath the blankets on my couch. I saw it happen. I was still me, and I was still talking and thinking like I normally would. But, I was thinking in their terms. They got me to think about what a chicken would be thinking about, AND HAVE AN ARGUMENT ABOUT IT! When the hell would I have every cared about what a damn filthy chicken would think about? They got me. They got me doing it now. I hid further underneath the blankets, and shivered at the thought of it. I live in California now.