African Proverb

How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

When did I turn into my father?

My dad dropped off a bowl of his infamous peanut brittle on my desk last night with a cute little card that says the following:

DANGER!
*No Artificial Sweeteners
*Unhealthy for those on Diets
*Low Fat, High Sugar Content
*Not Recommended for Diabetics
*Contains Peanuts
*Non Nutritive Formula (low protein, no roughage)
Consumption Hazard – May Cause Addiction

This just gives me the warm fuzzies because he is SO incredibly proud of this peanut brittle. Apparently over the years people have complimented him enough on the recipe that he now hands out recipe cards with everything you need to know about his special treats except for what he calls the “secret ingredient,” aka the brand of butter that “makes the flavor.”

I, of course, play along with his little game by spreading the gospel of his peanut brittle to friends near and far, passing taste-testers around the office, and offering to make some for neighbors but always report back that his secret is safe with me.

This is only one of the infinite number of quirky things my dad and I do together. We both are prone to wipe anything on our hands off on our clothes—preferably the pant leg region. Both of us go into what my mom has deemed “bulldozer mode” when we really need to get something done. Our eyes get wide enough that you can see the whites all the way around the irises, and we insist that we can “handle it” ourselves. AND We both indulge in occasional public hand-holding that sometimes makes strangers think he’s a cradle robber—I’m not sure he’s aware of this last one.

What I’ve discovered in the last couple of weeks is that, whether I like it or not, I have also inherited my dad’s penchant for worrying obsessively. I never worry about the important things like making enough money to pay the bills or whether friends are upset at me. Rather, I spend my time worrying about things that are out of my control and usually hold the potentiality of approximately .0019% of actually happening. This particular habit intensifies when my dad isn’t around to do it for me.

Exhibit A: Dad goes out of town. Mom’s health starts acting up. I proceed to worry that she’ll wind up in a hospital in Pomona and no one from her work will call me because I don’t live at home anymore. Then, my brain follows this through to the logical conclusion that they would call my brother, he would get woozy at the hospital, and the both of them would be in beds alongside each other before I knew what hit me.

Exhibit B: Friend flies home for Christmas and promises to call me upon landing. After a day and a half I have convinced myself that they are probably dead and the likelihood of me getting the news within the month is slim to nil because I am nowhere close to next-of-kin and no one with them knows I exist.

Isn’t it fun how holidays bring family together?

Stevie Wonder Fries My Chicken

I gave the “cherish the pillow” talk to Rachel Tanner last night, so I’ve decided not to share that theory here for a while. It takes a bit of gusto for me to adequately provide the impassioned explanation necessary of such a theory. And I think I spent most of my pillow gusto last night, we’ll have to save it for another time.

However, Jess suggested I begin all my explanations by saying, “I have another theory about that…”

So, I have another theory about music that truly soothes the soul. The next time you are stressed, feeling depressed, or need to feel loved, I have the perfect solution for you: listen to classic R&B.

First off, you must know that I use the phrase “classic R&B” loosely. This musical genre can range from Marvin Gaye to Michael Jackson, but listeners will soon realize that any number with the potential to fall into the same category as Stevie Wonder in all of his glory will do.

Some key examples:
PROBLEM: Feel like there’s no hope for some people in the world?
SOLUTION: I’ll Take You There, The Staple Singers

PROBLEM: Need to see yourself as desirable?
SOLUTION: Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Babe, Barry White
P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing), Michael Jackson

PROBLEM: Just plain worried about all the things you need to get done?
SOLUTION: Lovely Day, Bill Withers

PROBLEM: Want more time in your day?
SOLUTION: It’s Your Thing, The Isley Brothers

PROBLEM: Looking for moral support?
SOLUTION: Reach Out, I’ll Be There, The Four Tops

No problem whatsoever? There’s music for that too.
She’s a Bad Mama Jama, Carl Carlton
Blame It On The Boogie, The Jacksons
I Heard It Through The Grapevine, Marvin Gaye
(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher, Jackie Wilson
Cruisin’, Smokey Robinson
Ain’t Too Proud To Beg, The Temptations
I’ll Be Around, The Spinners

Call me crazy, call me old school, but try putting Stevie Wonder into Pandora and tell me you don’t feel better. Better yet, you’ll probably quickly cultivate this innate desire to don spandex or gold lame and prance around with an imaginary microphone.

We’ll start a feel-plumb-good club and dub it boogie fever, and the next time you pass me on the street you’ll say, “Won’t you take me to funky town?” And I’ll respond, “I’ll take you there…after the dance.” Ultimately people will wonder what they’re missing, so we’ll have to warm them up to our epiphanic discovery with an enthusiastic rendition of What’s Going On?