BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I watched out my back window as the next door neighbor’s girlfriend hopped over the chain link fence as if it wasn’t there, then jogged up the back stairs – pretty much taking them three at a time. Since there are only three stairs to begin with she, for all intents and purposes, went from the ground up to the deck in one leap. She then zipped across my deck and began pounding on my back door.

Normally, in a case like this, one might imagine that there was a dire problem that needed addressing. Like perhaps a fire, or some other emergency. However, in this particular case I had a good idea there was little or nothing to worry about on the other side of the fence. What had attracted her to my door was going on right in front of my face.

I stood up then hooked around the center island and opened the door. Before I could even say hello my neighbor’s girlfriend pointed and said, “I want some of what she’s having.“

It was a cliche statement, yes, but then I’m not the one who made it. Besides, I couldn’t really blame her. After all, there was a highly animated cliche writhing all over my kitchen island even as she spoke.

And, it was not E K…

You see, as we have established on many an occasion, I like to cook. (That  subject change give you whiplash? No? Then try the next one…)

In the South, hospitality is something deeply ingrained into your being as you grow up. There are the standard manners like Please, Thank You, Yes Ma’am, Yes Sir, and the like. Adults are addressed as Mister or Miss followed by a first name. Unless of course they are so familiar as to become Aunt or Uncle, regardless of blood relation. But, as I said, those are just the manners… The thing here is the hospitality.

What I’m trying to say is this – if someone visits your home, at the very least offer them a drink. If they show up and help you do something, I don’t know, like say build a barn, or roof your house, you FEED them. No ifs, ands or buts… No butts either, unless of course it is a pork butt you have slowly BBQ’d on the smoker for about 6 hours, then pulled apart and served with a nice vinegar based hot sauce for those who want an added kick. Of course, ‘tater salad, slaw, and a slice or two of bread are a necessity as well… But, I digress even further…

Back to regional manners and the like…

And so, myself being from a more civilized section of our country, i.e. The South, whenever someone helps me out I repay them by not only helping them out when need be, but by feeding them…

It’s just the way things are done…

So, anyway, we have now made a couple of turns around the chicken coop and are back to the animated cliche.

A few weeks back I was needing to rip the old roof off my shed in the back yard. After all, the roof was better than 15 years old and had seen its share of hail and highly acidic walnut shell droppings from the squirrels. The tree rats had also endeavored to build nests here and there throughout, widening their ingress and egress with a good bit of gnawing. Therefore, in a word, the shed roof was shot.

Enter Rhonda and Dave. You may remember Rhonda from the Bail Money blog. She and Dave worship at the altar of The Evil Redhead… And, Rhonda texts me a whole bunch. So, anyway, Dave, Rhonda, The Chunkinator, and Johnathan came over to lend a hand. Truth is, while I was taking care of other crap, they pretty much did the job themselves.

So, what did I do? Well, I fed them of course…

The problem is, I had not been to the grocery and we were woefully short on supplies. However, the rule of thumb around our house is that if it isn’t nailed down and it stays still long enough, I can probably cook it. So, I set about rooting through the freezer and pantry. Within a few moments I had a pile of ingredients and a few kitchen utensils in front of me. While continuing to converse with the gang I ground, grated, crunched, cracked, seasoned, and mixed until I had myself a meatloaf formed up and wrapped in aluminum foil, ready to toss out on the grill to join the slab of ribs Rhonda and Dave had brought with them.

That’s it. Meatloaf. Just plain old, average everyday meatloaf made with whatever I had on hand. Nothing special. But hey, food is food and when it is time to feed hungry folks a good old fashioned kitchen sink meatloaf will fill stomachs, guaranteed.

It was after we sat down to dinner that things became a little When Harry Met Sally-ish…

I was gnawing on a piece of rib when I heard the first moan. I wasn’t quite sure what it was at first, but it didn’t really sound like anyone was in major distress, so I continued eating. Seconds later, it sounded again, but this time louder and even more guttural. It was followed by a nasally whine, a squeak, another moan, and then a loud clap as Rhonda leaned forward, slapped the surface of the island, then arched her back and began tossing her head around like she was in some kind of shampoo / conditioner commercial, all while whimpering and moaning.

I stopped eating, rib leavin’s all over my face, then looked over at Dave and said, “Dude… At the dinner table? I mean, come on… Can’t you two wait until you get home or at least out to your car?”

“I’m not even touching her!” he countered.

Sure enough, both of his hands were occupied with a hunk of ribs, and in point of fact, he was sitting several feet away from her near the end of the island.

Before I could say anything else, Rhonda began rocking back on the barstool and moaning at the ceiling as her eyes rolled back in her head. In a total Meg Ryan moment she repeatedly slapped her hand on the surface of the island, sending utensils skittering off onto the floor as she screamed, “Yes, Yes, Yes, YES! Meeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaattttt Loooooaaaaaaaaaaafffff!”

Seconds later she was writhing all over the kitchen and whimpering loudly.

I cast a glance around the room, thinking perhaps we were about to hear a live rendition of Paradise By The Dashboard Lights, but Michael Lee Aday was nowhere to be seen.

“She always have this reaction to meat loaf?” I asked Dave.

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “Never seen her eat it before.”

“Don’t… like…” Rhonda started, then screamed one of those screams like you hear in a bad porno movie, not that I’ve ever seen one, mind you. She whimpered for a moment, then breathlessly started again, “Don’t… Like… Meat… Loaf…”

“The singer or the food,” I asked. “Because I hate to tell you this but…”

I didn’t get to finish. She was already screaming and panting again. And besides, it was at just about this particular moment I saw my neighbor’s girlfriend vaulting over the chain link fence.

Unfortunately, relations in our neighborhood have been a bit strained ever since. You see, our impromptu visitor left in a fairly bad mood that evening, leaping back over the fence then shaking her fist at us before going inside, pretty much because Rhonda wouldn’t let anyone else have any of the meatloaf. In fact, she took the leftovers home with her. I think maybe she had it for dinner the following night too, because there were some very odd posts on her Facebook wall. I couldn’t make much sense out of them, other than the fact that they were some seriously pleasure oriented onomatopoeia.

Too bad it was an off the cuff, kitchen sink meatloaf. If I’d saved the recipe I’m pretty sure we would have been able to throw together another one then videotape Rhonda and sell copies on the Internet for a whole lotta money.

And there you have hospitality in its finest hour… Help me rip off a shed roof and not only do you get dinner, but a floor show as well. And, who knows what other bonus Dave found in his “pay envelope”…

Damn… Now that I think about it, maybe I need to figure out what I can whip up that will have the same effect on E K…

More to come…

Murv

Let me tell you something, Buzz Lightyear ain’t got nothin’ on my childhood.

The year was 1967… The date, December 25th…

I was right at two months shy of being 6 years old and just as important – especially to a wide-eyed child who had a fascination with the space program – the United States was less than two years away from safely landing two men on the Moon then returning them safely to Earth.

Of course, prior to Science Fact establishing a foothold, Science Fiction is what will capture our attentions…

Lost in Space was keeping kids entertained, me included. I even had a puppy love crush on Angela Cartwright who played the part of Penny on the series. Much to my chagrin I suspect my Kindergarten teacher, (Miss Flynn was her name at the time), probably still has an audio recording (on reel-to-reel tape, originally) of me saying, “Penny on Lost in Space is my girlfriend.”

Yeah… for real… Of course, Ms. Cartwright was several years older than me, and had absolutely no clue that I even existed, but hey, that was a minor obstacle to a 5-going-on-6 year old. So there… I preemptively embarrassed myself. Therefore, if I ever run for public office and the tape surfaces, nobody can claim I was suppressing it.

Star Trek, in its original incarnation complete with an overacting William Shatner and stoic Leonard Nimoy, was keeping adult minds occupied with thoughts of space travel and life beyond our solar system. And, some of us kids followed it as well. Although, I will readily admit that I didn’t have a proper appreciation for the women’s Starfleet uniforms until I hit puberty, but we won’t go there…

Instead, let’s get back around to December 1967… Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in particular… You see, even back then the toy industry was on board with current events marketing and media tie-ins. While I often tell my daughter that when I was her age I received a stick, a rock, and a cardboard box for Christmas if I was lucky, the truth is there were a few plastic items under the tree – although, they didn’t begin to harbor the electronics and technology of today. Back then, if “Santa” left you something that ran on batteries, it was considered the high-ticket item of the holiday.

So, 1967… There I was, an almost 6 year old with a crush on a gorgeous older woman “space babe” who happened to be a TV star coupled with an intense fascination with the U. S. Space Program. “Santa” had it pretty easy that year…

The toy of choice for boys (yes, I realize that is sexist, but we are talking about 1967 here so please just suck it up and deal with the fact that our society hadn’t pulled its collective head out of its collective ass just yet… I was only 5. I had no influence on attitudes just yet, not that I do now either)… Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah… The toy of choice for boys that year was an astronaut action figure known as Major Matt Mason. (He was originally introduced in 1966 and gained steam by the following Christmas)… Yeah. WAYYY before Buzz Lightyear came onto the scene…

Click Here For 1966 Major Matt Mason TV Commercial

Major Matt Mason was cool. He was a military astronaut, he was bendable, had a removable helmet to go along with his molded on pressure suit, and he came with bitchin’ accessories like a Jet Pack and Space Sled. The Sled involved flying it around by hand while making your own whooshing noises, however the Jet Pack was another story. You hooked a string to a point above you such as a doorframe, then pulled the string on the bottom of the pack – a whirr of the flywheel gear would ensue, the spiraly decorated spindle in the back would turn, and Matt Mason would zoom upward. Of course, when you released the tension on the string he would plummet back to the ground, but that was just a minor technicality, because on the Moon there would be far less gravity to deal with. Besides, Major Matt Mason was a Major… And an Astronaut.  The perils of space were many, but he was tough and he could take it…

And, those were just the accessories that came with him on the blister card packaging – (therefore, you tended to collect extra Jet Packs and Sleds each time you bought a figure to replace the damaged Major. You see, the wires in his arms and legs didn’t hold up to the friction of bending and unbending for very long… The perils of space he could handle. The perils of being bent into a pretzel by little kids were a different story…) – But, back to other accessories. He even had himself an oddly barrel-shaped suit for excursions on the Moon’s surface, sold separately or even with a figure in the package (after all, those appendage wires would soon be breaking). The corrugated arms of the suit moved by the use of an ultra-high tech mechanism, that being an air bellows. Squeeze – the arms splayed open. Release – the arms folded back toward the shell. See, I told you we didn’t need no stinkin’ batteries…

Well, almost… The Major did have a few powered accessories – the most notable of these being the Space Crawler. A bizarre contraption with offset spoked legs that thumped and wobbled across the floor with him in the driver’s seat. Let me tell you, on hardwood you could definitely hear him coming… The round humps that have little, molded turbine-looking tops were where you put the two D-Cell batteries required to power the motor. One of the really cool things about the Space Crawler is that it was designed so that you could turn it on its side, attach it to the top of the multi-level moon station (something I received from the red-suited elf the following Christmas) and it would spin around like a big radar antenna.

In addition to receiving the Moon Base/Station, I also picked up a few of the Major’s crew, an alien or two, as well as the FireBolt Laser Cannon. After all, if you are the Earth’s first line of defense against alien invasions, you definitely need a Laser Cannon.

Alas, as with most childrens toys, the Major, his crew, and all of their accessories disappeared from my toy box as they broke, fell from favor, or just plain ended up lost. Unfortunate, because they were discontinued in the early 70’s and are now a toy collector’s dream, garnering some serious cash.

And so, what has made me relive this here for you now? Well, obviously Christmas Eve is tomorrow. I’m Forty-Odd years older than that kid who played with a bendy astronaut doll and had a crush on Angela Cartwright, but even after all this time I remember Major Matt Mason, and the fact that it was one of my favorite toys of all time.

I understand that Tom Hanks is currently developing a film based on the toy. Given how close he and I are in age, it wouldn’t surprise me if he had a Major Matt Mason too.

You know, of course, it will be a moral imperative that I go see this movie if it ever comes to fruition…

And, lest you think I only dreamed this childhood memory…

Christmas Eve… After the fat elf visited. I was down the hall in my room, of course, fast asleep…

A little closer look at what the dude in the red suit left under the tree…

Yes, that’s me on Christmas Morning…

No, I’m not pulling his head off. Just his helmet…

And what of my crush? What of Angela Cartwright / Penny Robinson and Lost in Space? Well, as you can see in the first Black & White picture, 1966 was a good year Space Toys. I was able to defend our home against alien invasion with an official Lost in Space laser rifle (that broke down into three laser pistols)… And, those spinning things it shot off the end? Hurt like hell. True story…

More to come…

Murv

(Color images of Major Matt Mason toys and accessories borrowed from various nostalgia and antique toy sites around the web. Black and white photos from the Sellars family photo archive.)