BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Yep, I know… Y’all weren’t expecting another blog entry until Wednesday morning when the next installment of Mahwage deploys from the queue.  However, I did warn you back when I extolled the virtues of the “post this in the future” function of WordPress, that I might occasionally drop a little something on you completely unannounced if the mood or circumstances struck.

Well, this is one of those times… I will admit, however,  that I considered just adding this missive to the queue for future posting as well, but since it somewhat involves that annual February event known as the “Salad Bowl”… Wait… “Cereal Bowl”… No… That ain’t it either… Well, all I know is that it has bowl in the title and people have parties while looking at Football on TV, so there…

Now, those of you who know me fairly well are certainly aware that “Football” isn’t my thing. Neither is Baseball, Basketball, or Soccer. Hockey, well that’s a different story, but since the “Rice Bowl” or whatever they call it has something or another to do with Football and not Hockey… Well, I guess we need to talk about Football.

Obviously, my personal perception of this activity isn’t quite the same as that of the overwhelming majority of the masses. In fact, when I set out to describe my view of this particular sport I have found it to be a waste of time to bother reinventing the wheel. What I mean by that is this: Andy Griffith explained it best in his old monologue, “What it was, was football…“

Yeah… The sheriff of Mayberry. Harry Broderick from Salvage One… Matlock… Uh-huh, that guy. For those of you who may be way too young to remember, before Mister Griffith became Barney Fife’s keeper, or appeared in movies, he was quite an accomplished stand up comedian of sorts. Yeah… No kidding. He didn’t have any cool puppets, nor did he insult the crowd for effect. He was a bardic sort of comedian. He simply told funny stories, and one of them happened to be all about an experience with seeing a “football” game, ostensibly for the first time. It became one of his most popular and beloved monologues, and is a classic.

Now, I’m certainly not about to plagiarize Mister Griffith’s routine, (I do, however, highly recommend it if you have a chance to hear it – much of his material is available on CD by the way), suffice it to say, my perception of football is much the same as his: A bunch of guys running around in a cow pasture fighting over a petrified pumpkin for no apparent reason.

But, of course, I didn’t come here to talk to you about “Football,” but you already knew that… I came here to talk to you about the “Soup Bowl” party… (You know, that actually sounds kinda close to what I remember hearing it called… Hmm…)

You see, every year some friends of ours host one of these massive shindigs. A bunch of folks show up, each toting a dish of food and a cooler. So, as always is the case with our gatherings, there is food for days and much malted beverage to be imbibed. I suppose, in most respects, that is what brings everyone together… But then, there is that whole pumpkin in the cow pasture thing on TV…

Of course, not everyone attending the party is that much of a “Football” fan… Granted, we do get caught up in the excitement near the end and we will all be plastered to the TV hooting and hollering, but that usually happens sometime around the last 5 minutes or so. Maybe even the entire last quarter if things are close and much violence is ensuing, if you know what I mean. But, I think that’s all just a matter of contagious excitement or something.

Still, for the most part, there are the “Football” fans and there are the Commercial fans. Generally the commercial fans consist of the wives. That isn’t intended as a sexist remark by any stretch of the imagination, it just happens to be how things are with our particular group. Still, some of the wives are Football fans too. Well, to some extent. In fact, I can actually remember coming down the stairs one Sunday to find E K lounged out on the sofa with a beer in her hand, watching a football game and explaining it to our daughter who was all of about 3 at the time. But, even taking that little event into account, E K isn’t what you’d call a rabid fan by any means…

Yes, just in case you are wondering, there really is a point to all this rambling…

So here’s the thing. Generally, what happens is that the wives will gather in one room and play cards or some manner of dice games or some such. I tend to mosey back and forth between the camps being a bit of a social butterfly, so to speak. But, that’s not really my point either…

Back to the “thing”…

Last night, the game being played by the ladies was some kind of semi – yahtzeeish – bone – throwing – what have you that involved rolling dice and passing tokens left, right, center, or even not passing them at all depending on your roll, until the last person with a token rolled a “dot” or some such, and won all the tokens in the center. Whereupon the game started all over again. Fairly simple, and it even looked like a bit of fun when things got rolling, (pun not intended, but I’ll definitely take it…)

Now, the folks hosting the party have a 21 year old son who was there along with a friend of his. Both of them are good kids.  I just thought I’d throw that out there… Well, actually, it does also play an integral part to my monologue here…

You see, the friend, we’ll call him what’s is name to protect the innocent, while interested in the “Football” game, was also familiar with, and interested in, playing the game with the dice. So, since the first half of the football game was kind of boring, he joined the ladies in the dining room.

In case you haven’t done the math just yet, that made him the sole male at a table full of mature, but nonetheless incredibly gorgeous women. And, you know, that whole mature thing has its perks as well, but we won’t go there…

Well, actually we will, but not just yet…

Anyway, damn smart kid, IMHO…

At any rate, long about halftime we husband types were standing around in the kitchen gnawing on some hot wings and popping open fresh beers. One of the husbands poked his head through the doorway to see what was up with the dice game, then started laughing and jokingly announced so that everyone could hear, “Hey, what’s is name is in there being a girl with all the rest of the women.”

It was a good-natured jibe and definitely drew a round of chuckles.  Still,  you know me… I simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity to explore the half-full, half-empty principle where it applied to this situation.

When the chuckling died down I replied, “Yeah, but look at it this way. He’s the only guy in a room full of good looking women. Seems like a smart move to me.”

One of the other husbands snorted and said, “Yeah, but they’re all old and married.”

I had pretty much expected a response in that vein, after all, I’ve known these guys for a long time. I’m not saying they are completely predictable, but I do know how they think, so I definitely wasn’t surprised by what he said. Of course, as we all know, when you expect something it is much easier to be prepared… And, I was.

I nodded in response to his rebuttal and said, “Well,  I guess it’s all in how you look at it, you know… I mean, if they’re old then so are we, right?”

“Well, yeah,” came a chorus of responses from the men, punctuated here and there by a “no sh*t” or two.

“Well then,” I continued. “So you have a whole room of mature, hot women who are married to the likes of us old bastards, which pretty much means they are probably all getting pretty desperate, know what I’m saying? And right now they’re sitting in there with a guy who is still young enough to get it up repeatedly without  the aid of pharmaceuticals.”

A chuckle ran through the room, but I wasn’t finished yet. I let things settle for a moment before pulling the pin on the punchline.

I looked around at the guys and shrugged, then gave them a nod. “But, you’re probably right,” I finally offered. “I mean, it’s not like guys ever have that whole older woman fantasy when they’re his age…”

Yeah, I know… Pretty evil, eh?  But I just couldn’t help myself.

More to come…

Murv

Part 1 of 12…

What’s a nice girl like you… Doin’ married to that guy?

We’ll get to that in a minute. Right now I just have to say that I absolutely loved that bit from The Princess Bride.

“Mahwage…Mahwage is what bwings usth togethwerrrr …tooooo-dayyyyyy.”

Of course, I actually got a huge kick out of the whole movie. I even own the DVD… But, like usual, I didn’t come here to talk to you about a 1987 comedy. Well, not one that spent time on the big screen, anyway…

The reality is this: I get asked, more often than you can imagine, how it is that E K and I met up, “lell in fuhve”, and came to be hitched. I fully suspect that there is a kind of interest there born of circus sideshows. You know, the train wreck awe of seeing “Timmy the ape boy” or “Lulu the tattooed lady”. What I mean is, my guess would be what’s really going through their minds at the time is, “How in the hell did a troll like you end up with a hot babe like her?” But, in the end that is really just my own self-deprecating insecurity showing through.

I usually tell myself to ignore what my off-kilter grey matter “thinks” they are asking and simply answer the query with an abbreviated rendition of the  true and bizarre tale. You know, just enough to tell them what time it is in at least four geographical zones, but not quite enough to explain exactly how to build a clock. However there is an inherent problem with that approach, because more often than not it just ends up begging a few more questions. And then a few more… And then a few more…  Until finally, the entire story has been told, albeit in a roundabout and somewhat disjointed fashion – and as always, leaving out something or even some things entirely, simply because the discombobulated sequence has confused me and I forgot.

The truth is, the full span of our story is semi-complicated. I say semi because it isn’t really fraught with major complexities – just a few bumps, a couple of dips, a hill or two, a small mountain, and a handful of incidents that read like a script for an episode of a sitcom. All in all, no different than anyone else’s “love story”, other than the fact that it’s our story, and not their story. Know what I mean?

Because it truly is a FAQ when I am on the road, and even in email from interested fans, I had this bright idea that maybe I should blog about it.  Get the story out in the open and in a chronological, coherent fashion so that the next time I am asked I can say,  “Here’s the thumbnail sketch, but if you want the whole story, then you should read my blog…” I mean, how’s that for a segue to my website, eh? (no, not the mall cop electric two wheeler thingy – I’m talking about the  actual meaning of the word and all that).

Besides, when you get right down to it there is also that whole dying brain cell factor to consider. I mean, since I’m getting old and stuff like that, it might be  time to think about recording these important memories for posterity (or, posterior as the case may be) before I lose them for good. I mean, hey, my kid might need something to laugh at in her later years when I am in Depends^TM, drooling all over myself, and being a burden on her. (You see, I think E K will probably still be a hot babe and most likely have run off with “Ricardo the Pool Boy” at that point… I’m pretty sure I’m her picture in the attic so to speak. As the years go by, I just keep getting greyer and she keeps getting prettier…)

Well, moving on, I think we all know how bright ideas can turn out to be really intense Xenon flashes with no diffusion filter fired directly into your face, or in some cases just a really dim flashlight with almost dead batteries. It all just goes back to perspective, I suppose. At any rate, I think maybe  this particular stroke of brilliance is kind of like a whole row of  bulbs in one of those fancy, flashy signs, winking on and off in a taunting fashion. Why? Well, allow me to explain… You see, when I sat down to compose this blog, I gave it a bit of thought. First I had the initial question to answer, and then there were the often forwarded followups…

Yeah, you guessed it… Dominos began to fall, and before I knew it I realized that this “little ditty ’bout E K and Murv” was in no way something Mister Mellenkamp would be able to condense into 4 or 5 verses over  approximately 3 1/2 to 4 1/2 minutes. I mean, he’s good…real good, in my opinion. I am actually a fan… Loved Scarecrow. Great CD…

But, I really shouldn’t go off on that tangent…

You see, the thing is this story has legs – and, I mean besides those shapely gams belonging to E K herself – yet another tangent that could keep me occupied for hours, but we won’t go there in public... The simple fact of the matter is that it will take more than one song, or even music video, to do the story justice. Well… maybe if it was a music video… Hrrrmmmmm… Well, let’s just not go there either…

Seriously… it became painfully clear to me that this tale really and truly has a life of its own. One that I wasn’t going to be able to condense into one blog. Therefore, I set about the task of figuring out just what it was going to take to do it justice. Well, the answer surprised even me. All I can tell you is this – it’s way bigger than a breadbox.

And, so begins a series of blog entries. An interconnected web of how E K and I came to be a couple joined together in wedded bliss (or so they say, whoever “they” are), and moreover the insanity punctuating it all. At this stage, I have sketched outlines for 7 separate entries to tell this story. Some long, some not so long. But, in any case, 7 separate incidents throughout the process, each of which deserves its own title and place in history. Some of them are funny,  some of them are simply Hallmark Channel^TM sappy, and others are just plain “WTF” moments. But, in the end, the real point is they are all 100% true, with witnesses and everything…

And, just so we are clear, I’m not going to guarantee that the number of entries involved here won’t grow to 10, or even 12 before everything is said and done… it could happen. I am, after all, a “writer of books”, and the process kind of does that fluctuating thing at times. But, right now, I can almost assure you that there will be a minimum of 7 over and above this introduction.

So, what I would like to do now is start you off with a picture.  A picture from the first page of our wedding album (note: we did not hire a professional photographer for the basic reason that we couldn’t afford it, therefore all of our pictures in the album are candid and amateur… but, we feel that captures the moment even better than if they were truly posed.) When E K reads this blog she just might beat me about the head and shoulders for showing this pic to the world, what with it not being the most flattering of them, for either of us. But, I think it sets a tone that you will come to understand as this blog series progresses… (Note – throughout this series you will see my dear and lovely referred to as E K as I do now, as well as Kathy, her given name, and even Kat, her preferred moniker… E K has become her tongue-in-cheek persona over the years, so it is just one of those things. Suffice it to say, the three names are interchangeable and refer to the same person, just in case it seems a bit confusing…)

By way of explanation, the photo below was taken in the kitchen of our  recently purchased (recent as in 1987 when the photo was taken) “Handyman’s Fixer Upper” of a house (read between the lines here – “needs to be totally gutted and completely redone”).

That would be my young and gorgeous bride on the left, running about with a container of sugar and her mouth hanging open. The guy in orange with his back to the camera would be me.  (see, I told you it wasn’t exactly flattering.) As you can see, the house needed more than just fixing up. It needed life support, which we were both willing to provide. Unfortunately, we had just purchased the money pit less than 30 days prior to this photo being taken, and had already been spending every waking hour  when not at work, refinishing hardwood floors, patching plaster walls, rewiring, and all manner of other things involved in rehabbing a house.

Oh, and the MOST IMPORTANT point. This photo was taken a mere handful of hours prior to our actual wedding ceremony and reception, all of  which took place in our partially remodeled living room, October 31st, 1987.

But, before we can get to that, we have to back up a bit and start at the beginning… A beginning which, unfortunately was a very dark day for our country and space program. And, an even more horrible day for 7 astronauts.

January 28, 1986… The day of the Challenger disaster.

I know, I know… It seems a morbid way to start a blog series about love, romance, and marriage, but certain events in our lives are impressed upon us like technicolor still frames, individual in a sense, but interconnected by a thin thread that ties everything together and makes us whole…

More to come…

Murv

… NEXT: Mahwage: Love At First Sight…