BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Being on a book tour is hard work.

On the outside, looking in, it probably doesn’t seem that way to most folks. But, trust me, it is. Take, for instance, this most recent tour.

Each day, Morrison and I would get up at the buttcrack of dawn. As in 4AM or even a bit earlier. Sometimes a bit later, but not by much. This would immediately be followed by us complaining about how we were too old for this crap. Instead of giving up and going back to sleep, however, we would take our turns getting a shower, then stuff all of our “possibles” (as Morrison calls them,) into our respective suitcases, and then spend a few minutes disassembling and reassembling the 3 dimensional puzzle that was the trunk and back seat of the rental car. Once we had jumped up and down on the trunk lid a few times, finally getting it to latch, we would hop into the vehicle and hit the road. Our first stop would usually be the office of the motel for a cup of coffee and a stale donut. If no such comestibles were available to us, we would find a Dunkin Donuts, local diner, or even a stop ‘n shop where we could grab the aforementioned caffeine and carb fix.

Then, Jane, AKA “the bitch in the box” would bark her orders at us as we navigated the streets of unfamiliar cities, eventually making our way to an unfamiliar highway, then striking out on the next leg of our journey. The drive could be 4 hours, or it could be 7. It all hinged on where we were expected to be next (as outlined in the sacred blue folder, which lived for 15 days tucked behind the sun visor on the passenger side of the car…) Sometimes we had to be in one place by 11AM, only to turn around and be in another place by 6PM. Somewhere in that mess we also needed to check in to our motel, freshen up our road weary faces, and do what it is that one does when your job is signing books and entertaining workshop attendees.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. Both of us truly enjoy going on book tours and meeting folks. I’m simply pointing out that this is NOT the glamorous life you see depicted in movies. It’s work. It’s tough work. And, it involves long, long days and nights. Typically, our work day is 14 to 16 hours.

You will notice in the above diatribe that nothing is mentioned about lunch. Just the stale donut and coffee at 5AM or thereabouts. Why no lunch? Because, when your schedule is that tight, and you are zipping across entire states going from bookstore to bookstore, lunch isn’t always an option. That stale donut/bagel and weak coffee is your primary sustenance for the day.

By the time you get finished with the appearances for that calendar date, it is almost certainly close to being the next day. As in, 11PM or after. You climb back into the car and head for the motel…or to the home of a friend where you are going to crash…and set out again. Sometimes the friend or motel is close. Sometimes it’s two hours down the road so that you are just that much closer to your next gig. It’s just the way of things. When you get where you are going, you suddenly realize that the donut and coffee are fully digested, every single nutrient that could be gleaned from them has been and has been used to its full potential…It also dawns on you that your adrenal gland, which has been keeping you upright for the past 8 hours is now tapped out. So, before you climb into bed to get your 3 to 4 hours of sleep, you roll into a diner and get a hamburger…or a cheese sandwich…or you even drop by the Quick E Mart and toss down one of those not so appetizing, pre-made, pre-packaged chicken salad sandwiches. (Well, I ate a sandwich, Morrison had M&M’s. I think she was looking for comfort food that night, and the Quick E Mart didn’t have a steak.) Anyway, the point is that you dump some kind of fuel into your system so that you can keep going.

So, what does this have to do with Pizza? Glad you asked.

After one of our gigs…I think it was in Rehoboth, MA, but don’t quote me, because I really did lose track of where and when I was (this is not unusual)…we had a one and a half hour drive to get to our crash point. We were staying with some friends who happen to live in Salem, MA. Since we had never been to their place before we had some directions with landmarks. A few minutes outside Salem, Morrison mentioned to me that one of the landmarks was the fact that their apartment building had a pizza joint on the ground floor.

Neither of us had eaten a thing since that morning. The magical word PIZZA had been uttered. We both looked at one another and said, “Pizza!” Our stomachs began to growl. Our mouths began to water. And, we said PIZZA! yet again. The monster was out of the proverbial closet.

We arrived at our destination, and with the help of our friends Kim and Alec, carted our luggage up to their spacious and exceptionally cool apartment. Kim called downstairs to order us a Pizza, primarily because we crawled out of the car and didn’t even say hello. We just kept saying, PIZZA and sighing wistfully. Fortunately, Kim and Alec are very bright and on the ball, which meant they were both able to quickly decipher the inane ramblings of two wiped out authors on tour.

The Pizza place was getting close to closing time so they told her they were only serving slices, and not making whole pizzas. Alarms went off. Eyes watered. Emotional breakdowns were on the verge of ensuing. Pizza was what we needed. Pizza was the only thing that would sustain us at this point. Without pizza we would wither and die. So, we all marched downstairs right into the pizza place. If nothing else, we were going to get a slice.

That was when Morrison gained a momentary spark of lucidity and genius. She looked at the girl behind the counter and said, “Are any of those pizzas back there whole?” The girl said, “Why yes, we do have a whole cheese pizza.” Morrison waved money at her and said, “Give it to me.” Note, she did not say “please, may we have that one,” or “would you be willing to sell us the whole pizza.” No, she said “Give it to me.” Obviously, since she was waving money she didn’t mean that the girl should literally “give it to her,” but it was obvious to everyone in the place that Morrison wasn’t leaving without that pizza.

I was reaching for my wallet. At that point we were both willing to toss all of the green we had onto the counter in order to obtain the sacred pizza. Fortunately, they were scrupulous folks and didn’t take advantage of us in our deteriorated states. We got the pizza, went back upstairs then stood in Kim and Alec’s kitchen, a slice in one hand, and a nice, cold, hard cider in the other. And we ate.

And we ate…

And we ate…

All in all, I can guarantee you that the pizza was pretty much average as pizzas go.

But, that night…Well, let’s just say on that particular night, it was the best damn pizza either of us had ever eaten in our lives.

More to come…

Murv

PS. In a day or two I’ll tell you about round two…New York style pizza (actually, they call it “pie”) purchased in New Jersey…

Or, so she would have you all believe…

Now, before you die hard “Morrisonites” go nuts and threaten to burn me at the stake, read on, digest the evidence, and THEN make your decision. I suspect you will reach the same conclusion as I.

Now, to understand exactly WHY I am calling her friendship into question, we must begin with Chicken and Dumplings. Why Chicken and Dumplings you ask? Well, for starters, C&D’s are pretty darned good. Especially to folks who are Southerners like Morrison and me. C&D’s that aren’t totally screwed up (i.e. all mushy and gloopy) are comfort food to the Southern palate. They harken back to mama’s kitchen, the big cast iron kettle on the stove, and the wonderful and peppery aroma of stewed hens fresh from the yard combined with the tender and flavorful dumplings that have simmered in the lovely juices. (Damn…now I want a plate of them…*wistful sigh*)

But, to continue, they are a meal that sticks with you for just the right amount of time– they warm you and they even carry the right combination of enzymes to make you feel better when you have a cold. In short, they are one of the most perfect foods on the face of the earth.

Where the hell am I going with this? Read on…

Now, there is something else you should know about Chicken and Dumplings. If you pull into any Cracker Barrel in the United States, they will have a big ol’ pot of C&D’s simmering away in the kitchen. Now, while it is romantic to think they have a replica of mama’s kitchen back there, complete with the cast iron pot, I know better. It is a commercial kitchen, and the C&D’s are more than likely bubbling away in a big stainless steel stock pot, or in a tray on a steam table. But, that’s okay. They learned how to make C&D’s the right way. I even watched a show on Food Network where they talked about learning how to do it properly from a Southern Gramma, so there you go. All I can say is that I’ve had them on countless occasions, and they are VERY good. Damn near the way mama (and, my Grandaddy Babb, who owned a diner in Fulton, KY where I’m from) used to make ’em.

And, of course the point above is that they are already on the stove…What does this mean? Simple – Pull into a Cracker Barrel, and if you’re in a hurry, order the Chicken and Dumplings. They’ll be in front of you FAST, they’ll be good and filling, and you’ll be back on the road in no time.

I know, you still have no clue why it is that I think Morrison is actually evil and out to get me…Keep reading, you’ll understand soon…

So, as you all know Morrison and I tour together quite a lot. And, as I have talked about in the past, book tours encompass many modes of transportation. One of the primaries, however, is still the good old automobile. So, this means that be it my truck, her Jeep, or even a rental car, we cruise the highways and byways of the U.S. much like Tod and Buzz on Route 66. (Yeah, I’m dating myself again, but that’s not the point here…)

Now, being hard working authors, we get hungry. Powerful hungry in fact. Meaning, we need to eat. However, you must remember that there are times when we are doing multiple stores in multiple cities all in one day. So, we are doing a lot of driving and rushing about to get to places on time. Stopping to eat requires that it be QUICK, reasonable, and since we both like for it to be at least halfway decent, Cracker Barrel has literally become the “Official On The Road Restaurant of all Morrison-Sellars Book Tours”… Now, THEY might not know this, but we do…(Hmmmm…maybe we should tell them…That way maybe we’d get some kind of endorsement contract or something…Maybe even some free Chicken and Dumplings…)

Anyway, now I am digressing…

So, here’s the thing. Whenever we stop at Cracker Barrel, since the Chicken and Dumplings are so quick to be had, this allows Morrison an opportunity to shop (let me tell you, this is something she does like a maniac. It’s just plain frightening)…Anyway, so she shops in the “Country Store”…Thus far, she hasn’t forced me to strap a rocking chair to the hood of the vehicle or anything, but she has actually done far worse…

You see, the folks at Cracker Barrel sell some pretty odd crap. Everything from the nostalgic candies of my youth to John Deere hats. However, they also sell silly mechanical noisemaking animatronic bizarro holiday oriented thingywhatsits.

AHA! Now we have the evidence!

Yes. Morrison, being the good “Aunt” to my child that she is, has found it necessary on such occasions to purchase, for my child, these bizarro animatronic whatsits.

We currently have a Parrot which digitally records 5 seconds of sound, then morphs it through filters and replays it not once, but three times in succession at high pitch, high volume, and high speed. However, the thingywhatsit that triggered this particular blog is this:

This damn Easter frog thingywhatsit is currently sitting in a chair in my dining room. As you can see, it ain’t exactly small. On top of that, it is wired with both sound and motion sensors. Now, the thing about these sensors is that they are selectively operating sensors. What this means is that if you for some reason, (like you’ve had a few too many and have lost your mind) actually want to show someone how it works, you can jump up and down in front of it, shout, clap, and even fire a gun next to its friggin’ head and it will just stand there staring at you. (and yes, I’ve always checked to make sure it is switched on.) However, if it just happens that someone’s cell phone rings three blocks away, or a drosophila melanogaster (aka fruit fly) flies past the window, this freakin’ thing starts waving its arms and babbling in a high-pitched, childlike voice- It’s the best Easter ever! Time for an Easter egg hunt! It’s Easter time! Hooray for Easter! ad nauseum…

And that, my dear friends is why I am convinced that Morrison is not really my friend, but actually someone sent by a foreign espionage type agency on a mission to drive me insane.

And, you know what else? I think Kristin Madden is her partner.

Murv