BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I’m old enough to remember Young.

Robert Young, that is…

Father Knows Best…

Marcus Welby, MD…

Ring a bell?

Well, I’m sure it does with most of you. If it doesn’t, then just pretend. It doesn’t matter all that much  since I’m going to explain the connection anyway.

You see, in addition to Doc Welby and the like, Robert Young also did the Sanka™ commercials. Decaffeinated Coffee – Oh boy…

Now, as an aside here, I have to say that Decaffeinated coffee is an extremely vile thing. It’s also an oxymoron of mammoth proportions. It’s akin to de-opiated heroin, or non-toxic rat poison. It just doesn’t make sense… But, you know, digressing and all…

So, the commercials would always start with someone going off the deep end.  Something on the order of the following: Mary would be slicing veggies for the cucumber & watercress finger sandwiches she was going to serve to her bridge club with afternoon coffee – because back then all women stayed home, vacuumed the floor and washed the windows while wearing cotton dresses and high heels, and then had plenty of time for a visit to the beauty salon and do the grocery shopping. Then they would have afternoon bridge club with the other similarly attired moms from the neighborhood. It was a different sort of time…  A time when dress wearing moms sold Tupperware in their living rooms and men wore polyester leisure suits. Anywho… Mary would break a nail, or spill some milk, or slice the cucumber too thick, or something equally as minor, whereupon she would start screaming, run through the house, and stab all of the other Afternoon Bridge Party MILFs to death with the butcher knife she had been using for the sandwiches.

Okay, so maybe not THAT drastic… But, there would generally be some sort of overreaction to a minor issue. And, that reaction was always Robert “Doc Welby” Young’s cue to step forward from the background. In a concerned, trusted, fatherly tone he would say, “Mary… Why so tense?”

I know. Perfect opening for a soft porn flick, eh? Well, except that porn usually has less plot than a Sanka™ commercial…

Moving right along… At this point, Mary would unload on the guy who played a doctor on TV. He would listen, nod, then diagnose “Mary” with caffeine overload and immediately prescribe Sanka™ instead of regular coffee. Of course, as usually happens in the perfect world of commercials, Mary was instantly cured, turning once again into a happy, airheaded, suburban MILF in pink pumps, with perfect hair, a clean house, and a serving tray specially designed to display Sanka™ – cans AND jars – for everyone to see.

It was all very Stepford Wives-ish if you ask me.

Of course, there were other versions… “Joe… Why so tense?”… “Enrico… Why so tense?” …. “Aunt Bee… Why so tense?”… You get the idea. My version was a lot more fun though.

And so, why am I even bringing up Sanka™?

Easy. Because even though E K can’t stand coffee, I told her the other day she needed some.

Sanka™ that is, not regular coffee. E K on two Coca-Colas a day is bad enough. Sure don’t want any more caffeine in the mix.

At any rate, the reason I did so is that we were talking about dinner arrangements we were making with some friends. She mentioned that it had to be on a weekend because one of said friends didn’t like going out on weeknights. The conversation that ensued went something like this –

Me: Good, I don’t either.

EK: Why? It’s not like you have to be anywhere the next day. You work from home. It’s not like you have to go to the Bad Place.

Me: Because weekdays are my quiet time.

EK: How so?

Me: You and the o-spring are gone and I have my house to myself.

EK: So?

Me: Why would I want to go out and deal with people on my quiet days?

EK: So you’re really saying you just don’t like going out.

Me: Have a Sanka™. I’m just kidding.

EK: (SiGh) You’re ALWAYS kidding these days.

Me: Because I’m happy. I don’t have to go to the Bad Place anymore.

The first thing that really struck me is that she didn’t immediately beat me to death for calling it “my house.” I’m sure punishment will ensue at some point.

The second thing that struck me was the truth behind what I’d said. I’ve been relatively happy for a handful of years now, and a good portion of why is the fact that I don’t have to go to the Bad Place anymore.

Allow me to explain…

More to come…

Murv

To Be Continued in:  The Bad Place…

“Nyah, nyah, I win…” Mike said to Luets.

You remember Mike and Luets, correct? I wrote about them just the other day in the blog about how competitive Luets is, and during that blog I also pointed out just exactly how non-competitive Mike happens to be. However, I also noted that he “lives to get one over on Luets”, so I guess in a weird sort of way, he is competitive. Just with Luets and nobody else.

However, none of that explains why he was giving her the, “Nyah Nyah” treatment. But, trust me, I was just as confused at the time as you probably are now. So, are your seatbelts fastened? Good, because it’s subject whiplash time.

We live in a small house.

It’s not tiny, mind you. It’s definitely larger than the duplex apartment E K and I lived in early on in our relationship. And, it’s also much larger than several other houses I’ve been in over the years. But, by the same token, it’s just a 100+ year old, 1.5 story bungalow in a relatively quiet neighborhood. When we bought it, we were after a fixer-upper, and that’s exactly what we got. And, fix up we have. While it isn’t a showpiece by any stretch of the imagination, it’s not bad for what we started out with – as well as the limited funding available to us in our earlier days. Suffice it to say, the house is small but nice, and more importantly, we own it, not the bank. Yes, the house is paid off. Free and clear. Our little corner of the world. I could secede from the union if I wanted… And, still might. But, that’s a different story.

Still, small as it is, it was always just fine for us – until the o-spring came along, that is. The thing being, children are sort of like that foam insulation you spray into cracks to seal up drafts. Once you let them out of the proverbial can, they just expand exponentially – and I’m not just talking about their physical growth. What I mean is that everything they own takes up every available inch of space in your home. Even though it will all fit into said child’s room, it grows legs and deposits itself everywhere BUT said room.

But, I’m digressing… Although, only a little…

You see, when O-spring came along, E K and I gave up the master bedroom (which happens to be the only one on the main floor) and turned it into a “nursery” which has since become the o-spring’s room. This meant that we moved up into the half story. To accomplish this we turned the old loft-like storage room into a bedroom. Well, actually our contractor buddy Steve (see the hell house blogs) did. And, the room directly across the stair landing remained our office.

So, whenever you see one of my status updates on a social networking site or one of these blogs mentioning me being in my office, that’s where I am. Across the landing from our half story bedroom. Said office – with the exception of a few airplanes, hotel rooms, and a stint in our dining room when the A/C was broken – is exactly where all of the Rowan Gant novels have been written. That also goes for the novelette, and just about every article I’ve ever penned for any magazine, e-zine, website, or whatever. It’s my office. It’s where I work. I really don’t think of it as much of anything other than a room where I go do my job.

Seriously.

It’s nothing fancy by any stretch. A sloped, peaked ceiling, some walls, a counter, some cabinets, and a couple of desks. Sure, I’ve networked the hell out of it, but then I’ve done that to the whole house. That’s just something that came along with being a computer tech for so many years. But still, all in all, it’s just a room. A room where I go to work.

So, imagine my surprise when Mike looked at Luets and said, “Nyah, nyah, I win…”

And then, she proceeded to pout.

Being the curious person I am, it was a moral imperative that I ask what was going on. And, they told me.

You see, Mike and I had just returned from being upstairs in the office where we had gone to grab something we needed. I honestly can’t even remember what it was. It was no big deal to me. We just ran up the stairs, grabbed whatever it was – or checked whatever email it was… Or whatever. My point being, we ran up to the office, then right back down.

But, apparently, there was wayyyyy more to it for Luets and him. It seems they’ve had a long running bet about which one of them would be the first to actually, physically see “Murv’s Office.” Apparently, it is some manner of Holy Shrine or something. Granted, there are a few nail holes in the wall but none of them look like any biblical personages… Nor do they look like any of the characters from my novels. There are the OOAK action figures on my desk of Ben Storm, Felicity O’Brien, Constance Mandalay, and Miranda… (Never have been able to create a decent Rowan, but that’s another story)… But, what I’m trying to say here is this – the nail holes just look like nail holes.

Honestly, this confuses me. While I’ve had a few personal epiphanies during the times I hang out in my office, I don’t think they really translate to shrine material… I mean, it’s just an office. And, it’s not even clean, because I can tend to accumulate a lot of paper and such when I am researching. It’s not filthy, mind you, but it is definitely in a state of disarray. And, like I said… It’s just an office.

However, now that I’ve been made aware of this little tidbit of info, I suppose I should straighten it up a bit then invite Luets upstairs to see it. Maybe I should even get myself some of those stanchions and a velvet rope to cordon off my desk. Of course, I’ll also need a sign that says “Please No Flash Photography”…

Hmmmm… Maybe I could charge admission… And, now that I think about it, what with E K being so much more popular than me, I wonder how much they’d pay to see the secret room in the basement where she tortures people?

Something to think about. Could be a whole new source of revenue. Then maybe we could buy a bigger house.

More to come…

Murv