BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

If this blog post seems a bit odd – as if I am not entirely sure to whom I am speaking – well, there’s a reason for that.  I am actually posting it in two platforms. Depending upon where you happen to have your browser pointed while reading this will determine your next choice.

Choose one:

• Here, on the fresh, new, WordPress incarnation of Brainpan Leakage, and over yonder on the old, rickety, Myspace version.
• Here on the old, rickety, Myspace incarnation of Brainpan Leakage and over yonder on the fresh, new, WordPress version.

Okay, now that we have the flowchart crap out of the way, let’s get down to business.

Some of you might be wondering about my decision to move my blog, so rather than field questions in email, I have elected to be preemptive about it and give you an explanation here.  First off,  given some of the email I have already received, I suspect I need to run down some of the basic points:

1. I will no longer be posting full-fledged blog entries on Myspace after the one you are currently reading. All of my blogging will be done via the new WordPress interface, and you can easily subscribe to it by surfing yourself over to www.mrsellars.com/mrblog
2. My Myspace page is not going to go away. Well, let me qualify that – I am not going to make it go away. If Tom hits the wrong key on his keyboard while adding a new video and accidentally tosses my page into the void, well, there’s not a whole lot I can do about that. Talk to him.
3. There will still be something resembling posts on my Myspace blog. Kinda… As I said in point number 1, they will NOT be full blown blog entries. What they will be is a snippet of text combined with a link to the WordPress blog entry. They will show up as a title in the blog listing, just like normal. An example of this is the entry just prior to this one, entitled Day-Jah-Voooo. Some of you have already discovered this and made your way over to the new blog.
4. It is up to you. The blog entries can still be read by going through Mysapce, dinking around with their link security, and ending up at the new blog. This, however, does add steps for you. It would probably be easier to simply subscribe to the new version and avoid the hassle. But, like I said, that is entirely up to you.

Now, I suppose I should address the burning question: Why the move?

Simple really. In fact, the title of this blog entry says it all. But, to take that compressed, dessicated gist of the answer and reconstitute it, I will borrow – and paraphrase – a Dr. Harold W. Smith line from the movie Remo Williams: The Adventure Begins…

“Myspace is a great social networking tool, my boy, but its blog interface doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to…”

Truth is, paraphrased or no, that may not be entirely accurate. The Myspace  Blog Interface might just work EXACTLY the way it is supposed to. However, the fact remains that it doesn’t work very effectively. In fact, it just plain sucks. While you are all probably well aware of this, I shall endeavor to explain anyway…

It all began a tad over two years ago when I started blogging in November of 2006. That is when I was dragged, kicking and screaming, into having a Myspace page to begin with.  I have yet to forgive either of my publicists for that, even though it was an incredibly wise and smart decision for them to knock me over the head and deposit me there/here (choose one). They often make wise decisions on my behalf, then force me to become involved whether I like it or not. That’s just how they are. And, while what they do is good for my career as an author, I can still hold a grudge like a cat who just got a bath.

But, I guess I am doing that digressing thing again…

So, anyway, while there have been many, many blog entries in the original incarnation of Brainpan Leakage, what you, the readers can’t possibly know, is that you have missed probably an equal number of entries that never made it to the screen. Why? See the above opinion about the state of the Myspace Blog Interface (or perhaps it would be easier to call it, the MBI).

In a nutshell, the MBI has unceremoniously gone into la-la land when I have tried to post entries, sending whatever inane ramblings I had just typed into the ether, never to be seen again. On other occasions, it has suddenly wiped the screen free of those nasty, annoying words right in the middle of me typing them – usually when I am about 3/4 of the way through with the entry. Given that typing is a big part of how I make my living, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me that caused the sudden disappearance. I actually do know my way around a keyboard…

Now, I thought maybe I could circumvent this whole vanishing issue by typing my blogs in Word, or even notepad, then cutting and pasting. Well, that didn’t work out so good. You see, our friends at Microsquish love to embed control codes. The Myspace blog interface is not set up to handle them, and unfortunately no amount of editing – via wysiwyg or html – will allow you to remove them completely. They just keep reappearing and making the text of the blog go all fribble-dee-frabbit. (Yes, sometimes I make up my own words.)

On top of all that, even if you make the blog publically viewable, there are a ton of folks who A) Avoid Myspace like the plague under any and all circumstances or B) Don’t know that you don’t have to have a Myspace account to see a publically viewable blog, and therefore resort to option A.

The last straw, the one that broke the proverbial camel’s back, came just a few days ago when I typed in about 75% of a blog and it suddenly went poof right before my eyes. It was a long blog, but it was one that might well have entertained folks. It was yet another rambling about a clacking domino inside my head as my brain endeavors to download all of the memories I have stored there over my almost half century of existence. But the operative points here are long, 75% finished, and poof.

I was, to say the least, pissed. My calm was damaged. I said many very nasty words, more than once, and aloud. Loud aloud. I think I might have even called Tom a big doody head, what with him being the Myspace ambassador and all.

I suppose I could have spent time retyping it, which probably would have been more entertaining than what you are reading right now, but I didn’t. Instead, I opted to spend that time, plus a little more, to find a better way, in order that my calm no longer be in danger of getting damaged, and Tom could go on about his business without wondering if I was calling him names behind his back.

And, I believe I found one…

My new blog interface is extremely robust. It has autosaved drafts, so there’s no more silly losing of blog entries going on. It is incredibly customizable with widgets, skins, features, and has amazing editability. It is accessible by EVERYONE with an internet connection. It allows for not only common tags but customizable tags as well. There are pingbacks, feeburns, remarkable handling of images and links, notification emails, an easy to navigate dashboard… I could go on and on…and on some more after that…

Yeah, just slap a red wig and some high heels on it and I would marry the damn thing, I’m so in love with it…

And so, there you have it. I’m having an illicit affair with a piece of software. Don’t tell EK.

So, back to the slightly serious… I have now officially “migrated” all of the blog entries from the Myspace version, starting at the beginning posts from November 2006. Well, not ALL… Just the entries with good, timeless content, which worked out to somewhere around 3/4 of them. The rest were contest announcements and such which were dated and weren’t really worth  the time and effort to bother moving.

Hopefully, that answers the question(s). If it doesn’t, well, I am certain I will hear from you.

Okay… Now that the explaining is over I am going to go play with the dominos and see what kind of leak they manage to create this time…

More to come…

Murv

Nope, not the pizza. They make okay pizza, I guess, but the truth is I got kind of burned out on them quite a few years back. You see, during my college years I had friends who worked at Dominos and we were all the time ending up with pizzas that hadn’t been picked up, or pranked deliveries, or simply an employee discounted “pie” as they called them. We were eating Dominos pizza all the time, so I pretty much had my fill. I mean, I’ll eat it if it’s there, but given my druthers, I’d rather have a Saint Louis Style (thin, crispy crust with provel cheese) from Imo’s or one of the local mom ‘n pop pizzerias.

But, like my usual self, I’m off on yet another tangent. I didn’t come here to talk to you about pizza today. I also didn’t come here to talk to you about the little rectangular tiles with the dots all over them either.

Well, yeah, I guess actually I did plan to talk about the dotted rectangles, but only metaphorically, and just at the beginning. Are you following that? Good, because someone has to. I’m starting to get lost…

Anyway, on with the metaphor. You know how when you’re a kid – or even an adult – you tend not to actually play dominos the way the game is meant to be played? Instead, you spend hours painstakingly lining them all up in intricate patterns, with specifically prescribed distances between each, and then after all that hard work you knock the first one over and watch the 30 second (if you’re lucky and have A LOT of dominos) chain reaction. Go on, admit it. We’ve all done it. Sometimes we even do it with boxes of Hamburger Helper and crap like that you find in the cupboard. Well, at least I do… But I guess we won’t go there…

So anyhow, memories are like that too. You knock one over and the next thing you know there is this whole cascade of memories rattling around in your brainpan. Some good. Some bad. Some funny. Some, not so much. Well, that’s what happened this morning. I was sitting here, minding my own business, taking care of the morning email – well, the night’s email that I was just then seeing in the morning, but…yeah…digressing again – So…There I was… Minding biz… Doing email thing…

That’s when it happened. A particular email from a friend sparked a memory about my wife’s maternal grandfather (now long deceased). It’s kind of a cute memory, and a story I’ve told to many folks to illustrate a point about aging and reality. But, as with Dominos the pizza, and dominos the game, it’s not the actual memory I intend to share today. Yeah, it basically went clack, knocked over another memory, then another, and the next thing I knew there was this other memory left standing – improper spacing of the dominos, I assume, which means I must be having gaps in my memory…but, we won’t go there either…

So… I have absolutely no clue if I have told this story here before or not, but I’m going to tell it again anyway. Why? Because it’s funny and besides, this is my blog so I get to run off at the mouth in it all I want. So there. (hmmmm…wonder why they don’t have just a plain old “sticking tongue out smiley” on this blog interface…)

Okay… On with the tale.

Now, this is a true story. I am telling you that because as you read it and visualize it, you are going to be imagining an episode of The Benny Hill Show or Monty Python going through your head. But, I’m here to tell you this really happened, and there were a whole host of witnesses.

Back when EK’s grandparents were still alive, but most definitely in their waning years, they resided at a very nice assisted living facility. On holidays – Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc – the family would gather out there for a big dinner in the dining room, then retire to their apartment for visiting, etc. This all went on early in our marriage, so EK and I were young and spry back then (trust me, that factoid comes into play later)… Anyway, time marches on and eventually folks pass away, cross over, kick the bucket, expire, or whatever euphemism you wish to apply. In the case of EK’s grandparents, her grandmother went first. Now, as one would expect, and as statistically happens, her grandfather began a steady decline following her loss. After all, his wife of almost 75 years was gone. He ended up moving out of the apartment proper, and into the attached nursing facility. He didn’t last terribly long after that.

Yeah, I know, I said this was a funny story and the above is not funny at all. I realize that. But, we are getting to the funny part and it has nothing to do with death. Well, maybe a little… It actually has to do with life in the face of impending death.

Right around 1 year before EK’s grandfather simply gave up altogether and allowed himself to die, we gathered out at the assisted living facility for Thanksgiving dinner. What with grandma being gone it was a much more somber celebration than it had been in the past, but it was still very nice. At this point, grandpa didn’t move around so good. He could walk, but not a great distance by any means. So, since it was a nice day, as is often the case with Saint Louis around Thanksgiving – fairly cool, but with the sun shining and not bitterly cold – the family decided a nice walk around the “lake” in front of the facility would be in order (actually, where I come from it would be called a pond, but here in Saint Louis they think it is a lake, so I just go along with them). So, with grandpa loaded up in his wheelchair, we set off for a liesurely afternoon stroll.

Now, as much as the family tried to lighten the mood, the tone was still very somber. After all, grandma hadn’t been gone all that long, and holidays were kind of her thing. In fact, she used to “save up” their dining room “meal tickets” so that the family could gather with them. And, from the stories I have heard, grandma used to cook up a storm and put on a hell of spread during the holidays. I met and married EK a bit too late in life to have enjoyed those particular family gatherings, but the get-togethers at the facility were still wonderful.

So anyway, back to the story… We made our way down the hill on one side of the small “lake” then came around the end, and started up the hill that banked the other side. The path itself was a concrete sidewalk so the going was smooth, and the direction we were heading would take us right back to the nursing center, and grandpa’s room. All good. Well, we made it about halfway up this side when everyone decided to stop for a bit to “smell the roses”. Admittedly, the scenery was nice and serene, and we all thought it might be nice to just rest a moment and look out over the “lake”.

We all turned to face the tableau and drink in the splendor of nature. Some geese were flying overhead making geese noises, there were a few wispy clouds in the blue sky…the crisp autumn air was filled with the loamy smells from the carpet of leaves that had fallen off the trees in the small, urban wooded areas at our backs. We were all gathered together, enjoying it as a close knit family unit. It was pretty much “Norman Rockwell Family Postcard Perfect” as we stared out across the glassy water at the bottom of the somewhat steep, grassy incline before us.

It stayed perfect for about 5 seconds, because then I heard the screaming…

Yes, screaming. Well, maybe more like a yell than a scream. In any event is was somewhat weak, but still quite audible and filled with maybe a bit of fear, but mostly what sounded to be complete surprise. And, it seemed to have started nearby, but was now moving away from us…

Wondering what was going on I brought my gaze quickly downward and saw, much to my horror, grandpa, still seated in his wheelchair, arms flailing as he rolled ever faster down the bumpy, grassy hill toward the lake. You see, it seems that my brother-in-law (who shall remain nameless, and I have several so it will be easy for him to remain anonymous) had neglected to set the brake on the wheelchair. Due to our position on the rise, and the fact that he had turned grandpa toward the lake so that he could see what everyone else was enjoying…well, to put it simply when he let go of the handles to point at something, gravity took over, as it tends to do.

Here is where the young and spry comes into play… Quite obviously we were all terrified. Here we have a somewhat frail, 90 year old man, hurtling toward a “lake” in a wheelchair, down an incline, on a crisp autumn day. The water in the “lake” wasn’t exactly warm as you can guess. So, while some gasped and screamed, others of us sprang into action, running headlong down the hill after the wheelchair.

Well, as it turns out, grandpa had way too much of a head start on us, so, weak cry, arms flailing, and everything you can imagine from an episode of one of the aforementioned comedy shows later, he hit the water. Now, grandpa was a very practical and intelligent man, so rather than allow himself to be catapulted across the “lake” when the front wheels of the chair struck the muddy edge, he stuck his feet straight out in front of himself and held on. This manuever saved him from taking a chilly swim, however, he still ended up “wading” so to speak as he slipped down in the chair. When all was said and done, the water ended up at about his knees as I recall.

So, as one could expect, a bit of minor panic ensued. My mother-in-law was extremely concerned for her father, my brother-in-law was concerned – and completely mortified, EK wasn’t far behind me coming down the hill, and my father-in-law and one of my other brothers-in-law who was there that year were neck and neck with me in our race to save gramps.

Arriving at the edge of the “lake” and trying to avoid falling in ourselves, we dragged grandpa out of the water. My father-in-law and brother-in-law got on either side of him and more or less carried him back up the hill as I raced ahead with the wheelchair and soaking wet blankets. When we all reached the top of the hill they deposited gramps back into the chair and he assured us that he wasn’t hurt, but that he was getting cold from being wet, naturally. So, while the rest of the family straightened themselves out and started regaining composure, I lit a fire under my own ass and pushed gramps in his wheelchair as fast as I could up the sidewalk and into the nursing center where we could get him changed and warmed up.

Now, at this point, my own heart was racing and I was deeply concerned. I mean, after all, the man was 90 years old, he was soaking wet up to his kees and damp elsewhere because of the water splashing all over him. It was 45 degrees outside, his blankets were pretty much useless since they were cold and wet, and we were still about 100 yards from the nursing center at the top of the hill.

After we had traveled maybe twenty yards, I started hearing this odd noise coming from gramps. I dug in and pushed faster as I asked, “Are you okay, grandpa?”… I was CPR certified at the time, but really wasn’t in a hurry to put it into practice if you know what I mean. At this point, instead of getting an answer, I noticed that the noise was just getting louder and the wheelchair was starting to vibrate. It was then I realized that grandpa was laughing his ass off. Downright belly laugh guffawing…Almost to the point where he was going to risk not being able to catch his breath… I couldn’t help but start to laugh too. When he was finally able to stifle the laughing for a few seconds he said, “That was fun. Can we do it again?”

With that, we both burst into laughter yet again. We were still chuckling like a couple of wingnuts when I got him into his room and the nurse on duty starting helping him change into some dry clothes.

When the rest of the family arrived only a minute or so behind us, they were still in the concerned mode, and rightfully so. I think perhaps grandpa and I must have appeared to be total idiots to the rest of them because we were still grinning ear to ear, and whenever we looked at each other – or at the brother-in-law who let go of the handles – the chuckling would start all over again. But, he and I knew the reality… In that moment, he felt alive.

It might have been brief and I’m sure it was scary. I know I would have been a bit terrified if it was me in that chair, even at 30 instead of 90, but it still made him feel alive.

That was the one and only time I had seen the man laugh, or even really genuinely smile, since his wife had died. And, the memory of it seemed to be the only thing that made him smile for the year he lived aftwards.

Well, that and a glass of smuggled in Port Wine, but I’ll save that for a different blog, because we have now come back around to the beginning of our chain reaction – a joke about “smuggled booze” is the original domino that sparked my telling of this whole story…

More to come…

Murv