Me and Drito, A Love Story (Kind Of)

Each of us has an inescapable character in our lives -- the boss who makes your day insane, the mother who always rearranges your furniture when she visits, the ex whom you can't seem to  keep out of your life....  These are the characters who get under our skin, embed themselves in the invisible fabric of our lives, and never ever let go.  

Or perhaps we never let go.  

As many of you know, for me, this character is a three-sided orange demon known to most people as the Dorito.  When I found myself chirping, "drito," whenever I was near an open bag, I knew it was bad news.  Maybe chips shouldn't have pet names....

They say admitting you have a problem is half the battle, so to assist others who may be similarly afflicted, I've created this visual list of diagnostic warning signs.  If I can save even one belly....

FOUR SIGNS YOU NEED HELP

1.  You decorated your fireplace for the holidays like this:

2.  You woke up one morning from this weird dream:

3.  One thing led to another, and the next thing you knew, you were in Paris!  

4.  You often use the words, "hangover" and "Dorito" in the same sentence.

Really, if even one of these things has happened to you, please get some help.  Together, we can stand strong! 

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Canine Portraiture by w.d.lee

By popular request, here it is -- a sample of canine portraits in honor of the best friends in our lives....

When I was a little kid, I really really wanted a dog named Fluffy.  My parents never got me a dog, but I got a little brother.  Then my little brother started asking for a dog.  Then we got a dog.  Then another dog.  You get the picture.  

Jeanie was a Shetland Sheepdog and by all means, a true bitch.  She had attitude and a fierce shepherding instinct.  As I kid I did not understand why she always attached her teeth to my pants.  But now in my old age, I am starting to understand her ways.   I have to fight that same urge everyday.  

Sharhei was a mutt, the model of hybrid vigor in both health and temperament.  She came home in a cardboard box one weekend and never left although by then we understood another dog to mean more poop to pick up.  Her portrait was the first drawing that led me to discover that (1) hey, I like drawing dogs, and (2) hey, I can draw them so they actually kind of look like themselves!

Many many years later, I don't have any dogs of my own anymore, but it's always a privilege for me to be able to draw someone else's beloved pet.  In the hours I spend with pencil and paper, I feel like I get to know the dog even when I've not met him or her in person (or in dog).  

If you're interested in having a unique piece hanging in your home, please contact me for a quote.  All I need is a good, high resolution photograph of your friend.  You will receive the original drawing, and as a tribute to all the love these animals have given us, 25% of all proceeds will be donated to a local SPCA of your choice.

Unfortunately, at this time I do not draw felines because my heart, through and through, belongs to the canine.  Woof, woof!  

Looking forward to hearing from you....

"Maddie"

"Copper"

"Bear"

"Babaloo"

"Bill"

"Loki"

"Seamus and Phina"

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Fifty Shades of Chicken

Chicken is everywhere.

You see chicken at the Olympics.

Whole Roasted Shot-Put

The Critical Drumstick Hand-off

Shish Kabob Javelin Throw

Winning the Gold Medal in Chicken Olympics

You can find chicken at any contest of strength.

Tug-of-Chicken

Chicken Will Fit Through a Face Guard

Completed Poultry Pass

The Drumstick Wave

  
Chicken can be spotted at the airport.  

Reporting for Duty as the Onboard Meal 

Even chicken can't escape crime.

Contraband Chicken

You need chicken in Kung Fu movies.

Tai Chi Chicken

Drumsticks Make Great Nunchucks

Chicken will suddenly appear on people's heads.  

Is There Something You're Trying To Tell Me?

You see chicken in the sky.  

Chicken in the Sky!

Have YOU hugged a chicken today?

Chicken Makes Everything Better

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Drawing on the Subconcious

Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud, fathers of doodleology, would argue that our drawings reveal symbols from our subconscious. If they are right, I am in real trouble.  For the past few months, I've noticed a certain recurring theme in my daily doodles, a frequent image that seems to pop up often where maybe it should not belong:

Yes, judging from my doodles, apparently I am obsessed with whole roast chickens.  If asked what is my favorite food, I wouldn't have thought the whole chicken would have necessarily even made the top ten.  So what is this all about?  

If I think really hard, my earliest preoccupation with chickens dates back to the third grade when I read C.S. Lewis' The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.  I know, you're thinking, I don't remember any chickens in The Lion, the Witch, and The Wardrobe?  

You are not mistaken.  

For those of you who do not recall, the story centers around four siblings -- Peter, Susan, Lucy and Edmund -- who crawl through a closet full of fur coats into the fantastical land of Narnia.  Although it has been nearly three decades since I read this book, I still remember one thing very clearly:

Turkish Delight.

You see, somewhere along this adventure, Edmund got tangled up with the villain in the story, the White Witch, queen of Narnia.  For purposes here today, suffice it to say, she was a pretty lady who lured Edmund to the Dark Side using tins of some magical food called Turkish Delight.  

In the third grade, I was still mastering the idiosyncrasies of America and so it could not be expected that I would understand anything of a place as remote and exotic as Turkey.  All I knew about Turkish Delight was that it was kept in a tin and that it was so damn delicious that Edmund readily betrayed his brother and sisters with nary a thought.  

Of course, the abstract deliciousness of Turkish Delight piqued the curiosity of my belly, but my mind was engaged in an altogether different subject -- what ethereal food was this that one could so easily trade his own flesh and blood for a mere taste?  In this way, Turkish Delight seemed to share a power that I had only otherwise observed in Stovetop Stuffing.  

In the 1980s, there were a lot of commercials on TV depicting young boys deserting dinners cooked by their mothers in pursuit of something called Stovetop Stuffing.  The plot was usually the same: little boy Timmy would rush home and realize that Bobby's mother was making Stovetop Stuffing.  Timmy would make some lame-ass excuse to escape his own family dinner and then hightail it to Bobby's house, where Bobby's young and beautiful mother would be shaking a box of something unbelievably irresistible -- something called Stovetop Stuffing. 

The thing is, the commercials never really clearly showed the viewer what Stovetop Stuffing was.  Maybe this was deliberate or maybe it was assumed that any red-blooded American would intuitively know what stuffing was, but for a little Chinese girl growing up in Kentucky, Stovetop Stuffing was as mysterious as can be.  We Chinese had no equivalent to chopped up pieces of bread covered in spices.  The two words Stovetop Stuffing offered some clues (clearly, it was to be prepared on the stovetop), but there, the trail went cold.  At least for me.    

Stovetop Stuffing and Turkish Delight thus became symbols of those things in life that we find cloyingly irresistible even without knowing all the details, things so wonderful that we don't even feel guilty about our total lack of willpower.  The path to Stovetop Stuffing and Turkish Delight is that of a happy, delirious moth diving headfirst into a blaze of glory.  It is where we go willingly, happily, and blissfully without thinking.

And that is why, naturally, at the age of eight, I decided that the White Witch's tins of Turkish Delight must have contained delicate pieces of THE MOST SUCCULENT CHICKEN ONE COULD EVER IMAGINE.  

I mean, why else would Edmund have turned to the dark side?

If what lay within the mystery box of Turkish Delight were a Rorschach test, I daresay I failed ... but rather blissfully.  Turns out that those tins of Turkish Delight would have contained pieces of overly sweet, super sticky candy.  Bleh.    

Edmund was a fool.  

So Answer Number One to why I am obsessed with roast chickens:  nostalgia ... and an active imagination.  

Answer Number Two would probably be a question of genetic inheritance.  Once during a family vacation in Europe, after eating a perfectly roasted chicken in Paris, my mother asked us to leave her behind in the middle of the trip so she could become a rotisserie apprentice and learn the secrets of perfect chicken.  We said no and made her come home with us.  What I learned from that experience was that my own mother could exhibit the same telltale symptoms as Edmund -- a willingness to abandon one's family in pursuit of something unbelievably transcendentally delicious, in her case, a perfect roast chicken.

Mom Wanted To Be A Rotisserie Spy

Should it be such a surprise that I might be similarly weak in the knees for such poultry given that the woman who birthed me also had this tragic flaw?  

The other reason why I might be obsessed with roast chickens is because when I'm really hungry, and I mean TERRIBLY HUNGRY, sometimes in my mind people's heads turn into whole chickens.  Now I didn't invent this -- cartoons depicting this very phenomenon can be found everywhere in pop culture -- so don't judge me.  Just don't get too close to me when I'm hungry.
  

Don't Let This Happen To You

Another reason to invite a whole chicken to the party is that it offers something for everyone.  The whole roast chicken is an equal opportunity food.  In addition to a myriad of different parts, the bird has both white meat and dark meat.  So whether you're a health fanatic hell-bent on a low-calorie, high-protein diet or someone who doesn't mind living dangerous on the dark juicy side, the whole roast chicken satisfies all!

Finally, the whole roasted fowl makes an ideal everyday accessory because it is very easy to carry and run off with it.  In fact, the thing even comes with built-in handles -- two very handy drumsticks that can be waved in the air at sporting events or that can keep your awkward hands otherwise occupied at cocktail parties.  

Convenient For Getaways

Better Than Pom Poms

Never Feel Awkward Again!

So there it is; my subconscious is filled with whole roasted chickens because deep down inside, like any other red-blooded American, I want me some Turkish Delight!

What delights your Turk?   

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Why Do I Draw?

Why do I draw?

I draw because sometimes I see something that makes me pause, and my mind freezes a Kodak moment.

I draw because once in a while I need to reach an idea hiding somewhere I can almost touch.    

I draw because I need to push out a thought stuck in the mud in my mind.  

I draw because I like to laugh.  A whole lot.  

I draw because I have secrets to share and stories to tell.

I draw because there is so much to see.  

I draw because sometimes I can find no words...

... where only a picture will do.  

I draw...

Sharing Is Caring

... for you!

Thanks for coming back.  

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In A Galaxy Far Far Away....

I'm sorry to be the one to inform you, but you've been reading the blog of someone who actually likes Star Trek.  But we come in peace.  We call ourselves trekkers.  

Before you hastily close this window, I said, "trekker," not "trekkie."  If this distinction escapes you, then yes, maybe you should just come back next week....  

Or if you're feeling curious, just read on.  Trekkies are basically just groupies obsessed with Star Trek, and they are in fact TOTALLY NUTSO.  They spend thousands of dollars on conventions every year, and yes, they wear uniforms and pointy ears while attending seminars!

I, on the other hand, have only aspired to attend a convention, and I have never ever worn space-related uniforms of any nature nor any prosthetic ears of any sort!  (Although I'm not saying I wouldn't try them on for a few minutes if someone were to hand me a pointy pair of Vulcan beauties....)

Who Can Resist?

Some people are born into royalty or life in the mob.  I was born into Star Trek.  By that I mean I was forced into it by Big Brother (the same guy who got me into all that trouble with Doritos).  I guess if you sit on a bean bag long enough in the family room without moving, this kind of thing happens before you know any better.   

Ensign Little Brother and I Really Never Had a Chance: 

BEFORE...

... AND AFTER 

Big Brother was born into the Star Wars generation.  In 1977, shortly after we moved from Taiwan to America, my dad had heard much hullabaloo about this Star Wars thing and decided to take us so we could have this important American experience.  Never mind that none of us really spoke a word of English at that time.  In fact, in 1977, I was just a baby and likely not saying much at all.    

"Blah blah booobie...?" 
(tr. "What the...?")

By the time Empire Strikes Back came out, Big Brother had learned enough English in school, but I was still only four years old.  What English I did know was acquired completely from Mr. Rogers.  Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood of Make-Believe, however, did not include any stormtroopers or AT-ATs, so naturally I cried every time these interstellar bad guys appeared onscreen.  Consequently, most of my American Star Wars experience was marked by general hysteria.    

While I was shrieking my head off, Big Brother was having a deep spiritual experience.  And like many of his generation, he has never been quite the same ever since.   

   

After being properly primed for all things spacey, somewhere along the way, Big Brother also fell in love with Star Trek.  And because for most of the first decade of a little sister's life, she is little more than a shadow to a Big Brother, naturally I fell into that hole right after him.  By the time he had found Star Trek, I had scraped enough English to make sense of what I was seeing on TV.  It might have been Big Brother brainwashing that had started it all, but Star Trek was colorful, funny, and had catchy theme songs.  Before I knew what was happening, I kind of liked it.    

If the Force was strong in Darth Vader, Luke, and Leia, Star Trek was just as strong in Big Brother, Little Brother, and me.  Little Brother and I were unknowing heirs to Big Brother's bathroom collection of Star Trek novels.  (It was many hours with these books that I gained the scholarly knowledge that made me the trekker I am today.)  From a very early age, Little Brother could draw just about anything, and soon his bedroom was cluttered with self-created ship schematics.  Every night before bed, the nacelle engines of his plastic model U.S.S. Enterprise would glow under his bedspread, fueled only by AA batteries and a powerful imagination.  (And occasionally, the muffled sounds of photon torpedoes.)   

As for me, in middle school, I decided I would teach myself to raise an eyebrow à la Spock, and to this day, this isolated muscle remains extremely well-developed, as true and sure as anything in my life.  Shunning the social habits of my peers, I practiced my Vulcan moves at night, arching my eyebrow in the mirror and longing for the ability to execute an immobilizing nerve pinch.  I started writing my own Star Trek novel based on a new character that I hoped would eventually make it onto the TV series -- a half-Orion, half-Vulcan female Starfleet officer -- basically a smart but sexy Vulcan lady the color of Incredible Hulk.    (Had I gotten further than Chapter 3, she would have been bad-ass and broken a lot of hearts.)      

I won't go so far as to say that but for the brotherly brainwashing, I would not have possessed any of the habits of the nerdy, geeky, or dorky all on my own.  But on good weather days, I might have passed as almost normal.  

That was then, and this is now.  Today, my trekker instincts are second-nature, particularly irrepressible if I've sniffed out a fellow-trekker at a cocktail party.  (And yes, this does not often happen.)  If you are otherwise a normal human, I will play along for now, but know that deep down inside, this Vulcan is just dying to pinch you.  
      

Live Long and Prosper

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