Banana Pancakes

I ate some banana pudding years back, and it inspired me to write. This morning I ate banana pancakes, and it brought on the same effect: acid reflux - and inspiration to write.

Must be something about the bananas.

About the same time years back, my first friend got married. It seemed in many ways to be a big pain in the ass. There are flowers. And family wishes. Times and costs and quotes and plans, lots of plans. But the kind of pain in the ass, I too, would like someday.

Just as I've discovered when these same people have had babies, and realized from the registry, babies need a lot of things, in marriage, via a registry, to be man and wife, you too, need a lot of stuff.

Today I sought out to prove, without the fanciness of a registry, I too could make things in my kitchen.

I thought wrong.

I'd craved, jonesed, for banana pancakes, so it was those I would make. How difficult could it be.

Very difficult when you don't read all the ingredients.

First, I'd bought the wrong oil. Correction, I hadn't bought any oil.

Next, I'd not any of the pans necessary for pancake making. Or pancake mix, mixing. A fancy mixer I wouldn't need, what with some old fashioned hard work and elbow grease.

Wrong.

I then discovered why the Los Angeles Department of Housing has been fining my landlord monthly for refusing to install a smoke detector in the kitchen. And for not fixing kitchen windows. I discovered these things.

But I did come to discover what also I set to prove at the start of my theory: I could produce something moderately edible without the help of fanciness. And I did. Produce. Moderately edible banana pancakes.

My writing style many times sells myself short. They were actually awesome. Sellable. Marketable. Eat all 8 that I made, good. That great.

Jack Johnson eat your heart out.