BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

…A stately pleasure dome decree…

(This blog was originally entitled “Two in one day” as a reference to the fact that I had managed to find time to post two blogs in one day. However, the first of the two wasn’t important enough to bother with migrating it here from Myspace, therefore, some obvious editing has been done, but more importantly, the name has been changed to confuse the audience…)

Not a record, but damn close considering how busy I am these days… But, I happen to have a few minutes in between household projects today, and I have a small story to relate…

It all starts with birthdays. Now, in theory (notice I am pointing out IN THEORY) I have one of those coming up. Honestly, I am not all that big on celebrating it. I mean, yeah, as long as I am around to see them that means I’m not dead, but, they really aren’t a big deal to me. I guess it was just the way I grew up. In my family the whole birthday thing pretty much stopped being a big deal when you were about 12. After that, the only hallmarks were the biggies – 16 – driving time. 18 – voting time (and for the boys, registering for selective service). And, finally, 21 – Legal drinking age. Other than that, birthdays were more or less just another day.

HOWEVER, Evil Kat’s family was exactly the opposite. Birthdays are a big deal. They have some manner of compulsive need to celebrate them. Now, it used to be that each and every birthday was celebrated individually with dinner, etc. Nowadays, with everyone being older and having a ton of things to do, scheduling such has become a nightmare. Therefore, in the interest of making it all work they have started doing birthday’s by quarters – i.e. 1 gathering for January – March birthdays, another gathering for April – June birthdays, and so on.

I was hoping that when they got combined it would be easier for mine to get lost in the shuffle. However, it has not. I made some seriously intense attempts at convincing folks that they had my birthdate wrong, with plans to do the same when the bogus date I offered rolled around. The idea was that I would be able to keep them bouncing back and forth so that they would forget it. Unfortunately, EK overheard and sold me out.

So, they know when my birthday really is…

Okay, now let’s add insult to injury. Every year I am asked what I want for my birthday. For some odd reason, “nothing” is not a sufficient answer for these folks. And, as always happens, EK ends up poking and prodding until I give up an answer. I tried tossing really expensive items out there in hopes that they would get the hint, but alas, that didn’t work either… So, in recent years I have finally given in. I have started giving them lists of inexpensive items that I would like to have, but haven’t had time to buy for myself.

(Guess what? I’m not actually to the point of this blog yet… But, you’re used to that by now, I suppose…)

So, last night was the 1st Quarter Birthday Gathering. This year I had supplied a list of DVD’s I wanted to add to my library. For those of you who don’t know this, I tend to collect TV series and movies that have either inspired me, or have some connection to my younger days…Stuff like Millennium, Pretender, The Die Hard Quad, etc… Among the movies on my list this go around was a cult classic, and one that most folks wouldn’t figure as my kind of flick – Xanadu.

Yes, Xanadu. The glitzy, schmaltzy, Olivia Newton-John pop-rock musical fantasy flick about a boy, a girl (actually a mythical goddess), and a roller disco.

Now, I am sure you are asking yourself, “why in the hell would Sellars, of all people, have a movie like Xanadu on his list?”

Well, actually I expected the family to think the same thing. I mean, horror writer guy wants a campy roller disco movie? Doesn’t really make sense, does it? Well, they didn’t bat an eye, so I got myself a Xanadu DVD among my gifts last evening.

But, back to why… There are many reasons…And, they are all relatively simple… Here are just a few…

1) Remember the bit about a connection to my younger days? Well, Xanadu hit the theaters the summer before I went away to college. As it happened, there was a cinema a few miles away that ran it as a matinee – all summer. So, since I often had nothing better to do, I would finish my running around in the outdoor mall then go park myself in the air conditioned cinema with a soda and a hot dog, and watch Xanadu. Admission was something like a buck fifty… Couldn’t beat it.

2) Yeah, but why Xanadu of all movies? Three words and a hyphen. Olivia Newton-John. In my youth, like many other red blooded males, I had it bad for ONJ. A crush of mammoth proportions. I mean, how could you not? That face, that body, those legs, that accent…And she could sing too. What wasn’t to love about the woman? Hell, I can remember spending a small fortune on 10th row floor tickets when she came to Saint Louis on the “Get Physical” tour. I even owned all her albums… For you kids, albums are those big, black, round things with grooves. They are what we dinosaurs had before CD’s. You can see them in museums, and if you are lucky, your parents might even have a few stashed away in a box somewhere.

3) Gene Kelly. Yeah, Gene Kelly is in the movie. And, while he only has a few dance numbers, we are talking about GENE FREAKIN’ KELLY here! He made it look so easy! And, getting to see him dance was a treat.

4) The music… Yeah, some of it is pop, glitzy, disco stuff…But, remember that was a part of that era. ELO (Electric Light Orchestra) and Jeff Lynne did quite a bit of the music. I happen to be an ELO fan.

5) ONJ’s character is a Muse. As in the Greek Goddess… Daughter of Zeus…all that jazz. Now how cool is that? I mean, she’s exactly what I would have wanted my muse to look like back then… These days, well, my muse is a redhead and she dresses a bit differently, but we won’t go there…

Anyway, those are just a few of the reasons…And, because of them, Xanadu has pretty much stuck out in my mind for years. Now, I heard that it had been redone as a Broadway type musical, and even saw some clips from that. Honestly, I think they hauled off and took a completely wonderful, campy, movie and totally ruined. However, there is still the original on DVD.

Which finally brings me to the point of this blog. I’ve been busier than hell and haven’t been able to spend much time with my family as of late. So, today, in between loads of laundry I took a couple of hours to hang with the munchkin’ now that she’s feeling better and over her stomach flu (I was hanging with her when she was sick, but that really wasn’t quality time if you know what I mean.) Anyway, we decided we would open up Xanadu and give it a watch, since with her being 8 she had never seen it, and it had been years since I had watch it as well. I fully expected her to enjoy the movie because she is all about music, dancing, and that sort of jazz.

And, she did.

What I didn’t expect, however, was that when the movie was over she burst into tears. I had no idea what was wrong, until she sobbed “that was beautiful”…

When I thought about it, I realized she was correct. And, maybe that was a hidden allure of Xanadu all along. Boy meets goddess, boy loses goddess, boy stands up goddess’ dad to get goddess back, and in the end, he does.

Who wouldn’t love a story like that?

More to come…

Murv

…And an E…BOOZE RUN!

Okay, so I’m not so good with songs, but that was the best I could do with the word booze since the song BEER RUN was going through my head.

Now, in reality I had intended to blog about Jane (aka The Bitch in the Box), because yes, I really do think Jane is kinda hot. Even if she is simply a box of electronic components with a sexy voice that sits on the dashboard and barks orders. (turn here, turn there, take the motorway, etc…)

But, Morrison beat me to it. Go figure. (But, what with Morrison getting on in years and not really being quick on the draw, I guess I should just let her have that one and call it good ) If you want to read about it, go here: Bitch In The Box.

So…Anyway, back to the Booze thing. What I am about to tell you is a little known secret about Morrison. She’s a bootlegger. Well, actually, I don’t suppose she’s a bootlegger in the strictest sense, but that’s what I like to call her. Why? Because it’s fun to pick on Morrison.

Anyhow, here’s the deal. New Hampshire has no sales tax. They also sell their booze in State owned and operated, discount liquor stores. So, wine and spirits are much cheaper there than in most other places throughout the US. Anywhere from a few bucks to even 20 bucks per bottle, depending on what you are buying.

So…Whenever we are on tour through New England, and have a need to pass through New Hampshire, or near New Hampshire, or within some secretly prescribed spitting distance radius (to which I am not privy) around New Hampshire, we go liquor shopping.

Not for just a couple of bottles, mind you.

Morrison fills a suitcase.

A big suitcase.

Really.

There have even been threats of leaving me and my luggage on the side of the road in order to fit the bounty into the vehicle.

I’m serious.

Now, lest you think wrongly and assume I am telling you Morrison is a drunk, let me dispel that. Morrison rarely drinks. I’ve known her for years and have seen her take maybe three drinks that entire time. She’s just not a drinker. No kidding.

Smoker? Well, that’s another story entirely, but she already lives in a place where cigarettes are cheap…And, of course, there is always the coffee.

(Yes, folks, that is REALLY just coffee in that cup…I know it for a fact. I’ve made enough of it for her when she’s stayed with us…Hell, I even have a 2 burner, 3 minute Bunn™ that I keep going at all times when she is here. Note, that when she is staying with us is the only time that piece of equipment actually sees action. We affectionately call it “The Morrison”. as in, “Hey, did you get The Morrison out of the basement? Morrison is gonna be here any minute,” and “Hold on while I fire up The Morrison. If she wakes up and there’s no coffee we’re all gonna get killed.”)

So, nope, Morrison is definitely not a drunk. But, she still fills a suitcase with assorted bottles of booze. You see, whenever we are going to be within the secret spitting distance of New Hampshire, Morrison’s husband and friends make out a list, check it twice, and then send her on a mission to return with good booze at discount prices. So ritualistic is this practice that I have now been on three separate “booze runs” with Morrison. It’s a good thing the folks in New Hampshire put several of these liquor stores right out on the highway near the state line. You almost have to wonder if they are doing that just to lure folks in.

Anyway, this tour we did a booze run. As usual, while Morrison was in the parking lot tossing things everywhere in order to fill the suitcase, I stood by with my diminutive personal stash– a bottle for me, and a nice bottle of Scotch as a gift for my wife.

Now, here’s the sad part of the story. And, it actually has nothing to do with Morrison, as amazing as that may seem.

I flew home on Saturday (6/2)…I had left behind my open bottle at Morrison’s place because I drink enough of their booze when I am on the road with her that I am sure I owed them at least that. Probably more. Unfortunately, I was so wiped out from the 15 days on the road, (yes, from the time on the road, not from the drinking) that by the time Saturday rolled around, my brain was firing on only one cylinder and it had a bent valve at that.

Yes…Without thinking, I put my wife’s gift– a rather expensive (even by New Hampshire discount standards) bottle of 16 year old, French Oak Cask Aged, Reserve, Glenlivet Single Malt Scotch– into my carry-on. I know better than this. I have logged more hours in the air than some flight attendants, so I know what I can and cannot take in a carry-on.

But, I did it anyway…Like I said, without thinking. Most likely because my brain simply wasn’t up to thinking.

So…At Dulles International airport, there is now a TSA official with a very nice bottle of Scotch. They told me they were going to throw it away, but I argued with them about that, insisting that at least ONE of them HAD to be a Scotch drinker, and that if they were going to confiscate it anyway, they needed to do me the kindness of keeping it as a gift, with my compliments, and raising a glass to me as they enjoyed it.

I’ll admit, it was my mistake stuffing it into the wrong suitcase…This certainly qualifies me for the idiot of the year award…

…But, if those TSA folks threw that bottle of Scotch in the trash, then I think I am in no danger of winning, because that would make them bigger idiots that me.

More to come…

Murv