BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I talked to my child’s principal today… But, we’ll get to that in a minute… Right now, the wayback machine is calling…

The last time I was called to the principal’s office, I was in high school. Yeah… Way back when dinosaurs roamed the earth and all that jazz…

Now, please don’t misunderstand. I wasn’t a troublemaker by any stretch of the imagination. As it happened, my infraction had more to do with freedom of the press, and the administration wanting me, as well as a few other student journalists, to roll over on each other regarding a source from a news story. Fortunately, we had a hell of a staff advisor and the inquisition came to a swift end, minus the use of thumbscrews, detention slips, or suspensions.

Yeah… We were a regular bunch of Woodwards and Bernsteins back then.  I don’t even remember the exact story to be honest, but it probably had something to do with seriously hard hitting news, like some football player’s grades being fudged to keep him on the team, (because, of course, that so rarely happens). Or, maybe it was about a particular inferior brand of floorwax was being used by the janitorial staff.

Truth is, the story probably wasn’t even that “sexy”… We probably managed to get our hands on the lunch menu for the following week a few days early and broadcast it on the student radio station, KRSH, or something stupid like that… I really and truly don’t remember…

Suffice it to say, as you can see, the incident was so traumatic that I’ve simply blocked it out after all these years…

Yeah… Well… Saying it was traumatic  sounds much better than saying it was just so unimportant that I didn’t bother to remember… But, I digress…

Anyway, like I was saying, we took our Journalistic integrity very seriously back then… Last I heard, some of my cohorts even went on to become actual paycheck earning, byline having, Journalists, while I went the direction of writing Fiction instead… Of course, judging from the news I read in the papers and see on the tube these days, it would seem they went in the direction of Fiction too…

But, I suppose I should keep my opinion to myself where the integrity of today’s Journalism is concerned… Besides, this is really supposed to be about getting called to the principal’s office… So, let’s get back to that.

As I said at the beginning, I had occasion to chat with my child’s principal  on the phone today. Don’t worry, it wasn’t anything too serious. The reality is I had recently voiced a concern over the school district’s Internet policies. As it happened, the principal was kind enough to call me to discuss it.

Very cool… I was impressed by the attention to the matter, the timeliness, and the overall concern expressed… By the principal, that is.

The district’s policies, well, that’s a different story… But, we won’t go there right now.

The thing is, because of the subject we were discussing, I happened to mention that my feelings about the policies were partially driven by the somewhat ugly things I have learned doing research for my novels. I mean, given the subject matter about which I write, I’m bound to learn some pretty disturbing things about human nature and sociopaths, correct?

So, no big deal, right?

Well, if you remember one of my previous blog entries, (They’re Creepy And They’re Kooky… – March 2008), I don’t exactly run around broadcasting my profession to folks at my child’s school. In fact, other than Internet marketing and when I am actually “working,” (i.e. at a book signing,) I don’t say all that much about it at all, unless asked, of course. It’s not that I’m ashamed of it, but hey, it’s just my job. I mean, after all, it’s not like I would walk in to a parent-teacher conference and say, “Hi, I’m Murv, the plumber,” or “Nice to meet you, I’m Murv, the aircraft mechanic.”  Therefore, why would I go around announcing that I am an author? Again, unless asked of course.

My point here being, apparently the principal did not know what I do for a living. Or, at the very least, he didn’t know what the subject matter of my novels happened to be…

…And, by the same token, he probably didn’t, and still doesn’t, know what I used to do for a living… That being the fact that I was a Senior Level Electronics Tech and Internet Systems Administrator for 25 years…

“So, what does that have to do with anything, much less being called to the principal’s office?” you ask.

Well, you can take the Tech out of Geek land, but you can’t take the Geek out of the Tech… What I mean is, I still have my finger in the whole electronics and Internet thing… Including, analytics and IP tracking…

So, imagine my amusement when within an hour or so of hanging up with the principal I do a quick scan of my website logging and see, plain as day, that my legal name has been Googled, along with the tag “books,” all originating from an IP address registered to the school.

And, of course, Google dumped him right into my blog…

Given the sometimes racy jokes, unsavory words, and often tongue-in-cheek innuendo  my posts generally contain, I have to wonder how long it will be before I get called to the principal’s office…

Oh, do you think they’ll let me bring my notebook computer with me to detention? I have a lot of work to do and I could use the quiet time…

More to come…

Murv

Part 5 of 12

Continued from: Mahwage: So I Have This Idea…

…And I’m, gonna get maie air air reed…

Okay, old song reference, I know. I’ll stop singing now.

Unfortunately, Tom Hanks wasn’t available for my bachelor party… He was busy building his career as I was preparing to embark upon this odyssey.  But, that really didn’t matter. Given that at that point in history we weren’t on speaking terms – and we aren’t right now either, for that matter ,(probably because we’ve never met), I figured I’d just find someone else to arrange the entertainment.

But, let me back up a second…

In the last blog, E K finally said yes to the big question. While you would think that I would have jumped up and run around the room screaming, “She said YES! She said YES! WooHoo, she said YES!” – a very logical assumption given the circumstances, mind you – the reality is, I didn’t. Truth be told, it took something on the order of 30 seconds, maybe even a full minute for it to sink in that she had given me an answer that was vastly different, and diametrically opposed to the one she had been giving me to date.

Now I had a problem. No ring. Yeah, back when I had originally broached the subject I didn’t have one either… I had just been winging it. Given the answers I had been getting, I hadn’t been in a hurry to go purchase one either… Fortunately, my frugal live-in girlfriend turned fiancee didn’t mind. I think that just for grins we ended up using a cable tie, or piece of string, or something innocuous that was laying around the shop at the time. I doubt she even has it anymore because she’s nowhere near as sentimental as me, but watch her read this blog and prove me wrong. If she does, I’ll be sure to let everyone know…

(Just as an aside, for the record, a few years later when things were no longer so tight, I saw to it that she received a full blown engagement/wedding set with as much gold and as many sparkly rocks as I could manage in a tasteful ring…)

At any rate, now a snowball began rolling downhill, and it just kept growing…

For one thing, we made arrangements to take E K’s parents to dinner, whereupon I asked her father if it would be okay for me to marry his daughter. Yeah, I know, old fashioned, but even though it seemed to surprise him I think he appreciated the gesture.

Then, we were in the middle of buying the house, which as noted in the first of this blog series, was a fixer-upper from hell. I suppose we were just in such a hurry to get out of the duplex – not because it was a bad place, mind you. Not at all. In fact, it was actually very nice, and the landlord was a great guy too. You see, it’s just that the lease had a “verbal-handshake” rider saying no pets.

I can see the question marks now… Yeah, Kathy’s cats… explain that one, Murv…

Well, you see, we had signed the lease on the duplex and were in the middle of shaking hands when the landlord said, “Oh, I forgot to ask, you don’t have any pets do you? Because, they aren’t allowed…”

At this point, E K and I simply looked at one another then turned to him and lied through our teeth. We had been looking for an apartment for what seemed like forever, and this was the first one in our price range that hadn’t rejected our application due to my rocky credit history and hers as well – you see, she wasn’t delinquent on anything, but having been married and at that point not officially divorced just yet, her name was tied to her ex-husband’s debts, which made it look like she owed way too much to way too many folks to be able to afford an apartment.

So, re-acquiring the earlier thread – we bought ourselves a fixer upper. Being twenty-somethings, giddy in love, and in a hurry to get out of an apartment before we had to sign another year long lease, we probably didn’t inspect things quite as closely as we should – and, by the same token, probably paid far more for the house than it was worth, which is most likely why they accepted our offer immediately with no qualms whatsoever… But, oh well, live and learn…

Here’s the thing – we had set the date for our wedding to be October 31. Halloween. Samhain. Not the traditional sort of date, but hey, given that on that night the veil between the worlds is said to be at its thinnest, relatives and friends who had already gone over to the other side (i.e. croaked) would find it much easier to attend… Hey, works for me.

At this point, all manner of things were in motion – for one, we were beginning to wonder if we were going to have to postpone the wedding for legal reasons. It seems the attorney handling E K’s divorce had been ditzing about, and while it was one of those uncontested, sign on the dotted line, thank you very much, goodbye sort of divorces, the legal eagle had been postponing and postponing getting the paperwork filed. She seemed to have a bit of a procrastination issue. Rule number 1, never use an attorney who advertises in the TV guide. Yeah, I’m not kidding… But, in this case it wasn’t EK’s “frugalness” to blame, it was the ex-husband’s militant stinginess. There’s a huge difference… But, I digress… The thing here being, in the state of Missouri you have to be  legally divorced for X number of days, (I can’t remember the actual number), before you can remarry. Or at least at that time, (back in the dark ages), that’s the way it was. I’m not sure what the statutes are these days.

Fortunately, the procrastinating mouthpiece finally got off the pot , or sh*t, or whatever she needed to do that she had actually already been paid to do.   The old marriage was dissolved and we ended up meeting the deadline with something on the order of 3 days to spare. So, that was all good.

Now came the new money issues… Obviously, since Kathy had been married before her parents weren’t going to pop for a wedding, even if they could have afforded it, so it was all on us. And, we had just bought a house, so we weren’t exactly flush with excess cash. We looked at halls, and even hotel suites, to rent for a reception but just couldn’t hammer them into our budget, no matter how hard we tried or which corners we cut. So, we finally made a decision… We would pour our limited funds into fixing up the house as best we could in the interim, buy some food, and have the wedding right there in the living room…

Yeah. Stupid eh? Well, we were young. Give us a break.

The problem we faced now is that by the time we reached this decision and had officially closed on the house, we only had about 30 days to make this happen. Somehow we did… (Remind me to tell you sometime about running a floor sander for hours on end…)

Of course, in the pictures you will see over the next few installments, it is obvious that things are woefully unfinished – no baseboards, partially sanded woodwork, and don’t even get me started on the kitchen, which remained untouched as far as remodeling for a few years. We were concentrating on the living room and dining room, since that was where things were to take place. The rest was, unfortunately, temporary storage for the time being…

So, where did this leave us? Obviously planning a wedding and reception, but it also left us being our own caterers as well. And, being the eclectic, bizarre folks we are, we didn’t want all the traditional wedding food one has , in Saint Louis, at least.  That being tasteless roast beef, baked mostaccioli, and green beans almandine. No, we just had to be different. Therefore, our menu ended up consisting of a spiral cut Honey Baked Ham® from none other than the Honey Baked Ham® company themselves. In addition, we also served veal parmigiana, and apple-rice curry. Erin, remember Erin from ComputerTrend, the busty blonde? Well, Erin’s husband was actually a restaurant manager at a local country club so he loaned us some extra chafing dishes they had laying about, which was a huge help. With that, we were almost finished with the menu save for several large boxes of assorted heat and serve hors d’oeuvres, also purchased from HBH… When we placed that order the guy at the counter called into the back, “I need x y number of boxes of Whores Duh-Vores…” E K had plenty of fun with that…

We ordered up a keg of beer,  and I even picked up everything I needed to make sauce for the veal patties. We should have been set, but we weren’t…

My dad dropped by for a visit and asked how things were going. Beaming, we told him all was good, and outlined the menu choices. He nodded, grunted, then asked, “So what kind of cake are you getting?”

Kathy and I looked at one another. Then we looked at him. Then we looked at one another again.

I said, “Uhm…uhh…”

Kathy said, “I guess we aren’t. We can’t afford one.”

My father raised an eyebrow, then snorted and said, “Bullshit. You can’t get married without a cake.”

With that, he reached into his wallet and withdrew a 100 dollar bill and handed it to Kat while adding, “Let me know if it costs more.”

And so, we went “cake shopping”… This was new to me. Even with all my experience with restaurants and diners, (on my mother’s side of the family) , I had never been all about the baking end of things… So, I did what any self-respecting man should do… I gave in to whatever E K wanted, listened closely so that if she needed help making a decision I chose whatever it sounded like she was leaning toward, and voila… We had a cake…

At this point all of the guys reading this are probably doing a rundown – “Lemme see… ya’ got ham, ya’ got beer, ya’ got cake… Yep, we’re good.”

If I had to guess, however, I’d say you women readers are most likely all pretty antsy at this point. I suspect – though I may be wrong – that you’re probably dancing around in your seats, shaking your fingers at the screen, and muttering, “But… but… but… what about… but…“

Do you mean, “What about The Dress?”

Yeah, I figured as much.

So, yeah… We also had to go wedding dress shopping. Yet another new experience for me, especially since I was wholly unaware that the groom was in any way involved in the selection of the dress.

Okay… We’ve established that this wasn’t Kat’s first rodeo. In addition to that, our house isn’t all that big, (i.e. no room for a 90 foot long train), and we were out of money. Also, while she can be as girly girl as the next woman, she isn’t all about too much foo-feraw…

And so, we went wedding dress shopping at… wait for it… Kmart®. Yeah, “Definitely Kmart, definitely definitely definitely Kmart…” I think I might have even picked up a 3 pack of tighty-whities while we were there.

Now, before you ladies get together a mob to come after me, it wasn’t my idea. It was Kathy’s. But, let me tell you something, she picked out an incredible dress and couldn’t have looked any better in my opinion, and it came in at around 40 bucks. She already had a brand new pair of white heels, so no new shoes were needed in her estimation. See what I mean about her being frugal? Yeah… it amazes me too…

So… Now were were set. She had a dress, we had a menu, the polyurethane was dry on the newly refinished hardwood floors, and we even had rings… we’ll get to those in a bit. My best buddy, Scott Ruddle, (after whom Detective Benjamin Storm in the RGI novels is modeled), was tapped to be my best man, and Erin (remember Erin?) was to be Kathy’s Matron of Honor. We had a license, and we even had a preacher – Kathy’s father, who is a Baptist Minister…

The day was fast approaching, and little did we know all hell was about to break loose…

More to come…

Murv

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