Pops is cool.

So we're in the Starbucks grabbing a much needed 9th cup of coffee,when suddenly the muzak went from the normal vanillafied, sensitive ponytail eco-folk crap they usually lump together on their hemp cd/coasters, to bonafied Soul with a capital S. The guy making his 43rd white chocolate latte behind the bar would be little help solving the mystery of the band, as his indignant shrug and harumph indicated, so we started yelling out guesses: Wilson Pickett! Ike! Eisley Brothers, maybe? Dad suddenly gets the fever and starts to move. "Ow! Good God! I did it again! Awwww, shit y'all!"

Turns out he just spilled hot coffee on himself. Poppa needs a brand new shirt!