BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I had pie this weekend. In fact, I had some seriously kick-a$$ pie this weekend.

Now, in case you are running to check your calendars, no, this was not “Pie Weekend” as designated by the TV Food Network, or even by me for that matter. I just happened to have some pie this weekend. Seriously kick-a$$ pie in case you didn’t catch that the first go around.

However, I suppose I should back up and flesh out the story a bit so that you don’t think I am merely bragging on the fact that I had some kick-a$$ pie this weekend. In point of fact, that is exactly what I am doing, but since I get paid to make up lies – hence the job title “Author” – I shall proceed to toss random words at this blog until I have obscured the fact that I am merely bragging on the pie. Rest assured, that if subliminal suggestion works as it should, while you will come away from this blog thinking it was about something else, you will definitely remember the pie. If it doesn’t work, well hell, you’ll remember the pie anyway, because that’s what this is really all about after all.

So anyway, there was this intimate little gathering here in St. Louis this past weekend. It took place at Tower Grove Park downtown. Like I said, it was small and intimate. Only about 12 gazillion people showed up. Yes, I’m talking about the 16th annual Pagan Picnic.

An event that started all those years ago as a group of Pagans meeting up in the park, progressed to a picnic lunch, and has now morphed into the single largest two day pagan/alternative spirituality festival in the Greater St. Louis area. I try to make it a point to attend each year if my schedule allows, and they always do me up a nice spot in the shade where I can sign books, chat with folks, and even hold a workshop or two. It’s a blast each and every time I go. Just to give you an idea about how much fun this thing is, this year’s guest speakers included Moi, Dorothy Morrison, Mickie Mueller, River Higginbotham (his partner, the lovely Joyce was out of town, unfortunately), Tish Owen, Terry Hinkle, Mike Nichols, Wendy Martin, Don Lewis, and Ellen Dugan, so there was definitely a full ticket. In addition there were musical guests and about a million vendors of all things fine, wonderful, pretty, shiny, funny, wearable, and even edible (no, not wearable and edible like, well, you know, those edible ummm, well… Anyhow, you know what I mean. You could buy a t-shirt, or some meat on a stick. Best 12 inches you’ll ever have… Oh my, this is just getting worse.. Ummm… Back to the pie I think…Damn, that could be taken out of context too… Well, stop it. Get your minds out of the gutter and read along.)

So, back to the G-rated version…The only drawback with the picnic this year was the heat. It was just plain hot, muggy, and whenever there was a breeze, it was also hot and muggy. Plus, it would try to pick up our canopy and make it fly away, but that’s another story. (A legendary story in fact… One they call “Hang Gliding Pagan Authors,” but I’ll let someone else tell that…) Anyway, just to be on the safe side, I have already put in my suggestion for next year to be cooler. I’m sincerely hoping that the organizers manage to talk the parks department into installing air conditioning and sofas before the next picnic. You know, the kind of sofas with the recliner and built in cooler for icy beverages. I could be all about that. Especially if it had pie. (Thought I’d forgotten about the pie didn’t you?)

So…Anyway…Saturday night was what my dear friend “Anastasia the Language Bitch” has officially declared the “Murvmoot”. That being the BBQ and Party at Murv’s house… You know, My house… (BTW, I just officially declared her the language bitch since she speaks like forty gazillion of them, but she doesn’t know about this yet… Imagine her surprise when she finds out her new nickname. Shhhhh… Don’t tell her. I want it to be a surprise… BTW – let me be clear on this, Anastasia is NOT a bitch. It’s a nickname…all in fun…that sort of thing… you know…)

So, on with the double talking -pie- Since we had several out of town guests, including Dorothy Morrison and Tish Owen, -pie- we were set to party. Anastasia and Mike came over, as well as my publicist and bud “Chunkee.” World reknowned artist, Johnathan Minton and his S.O. were in attendance, as well as Patrick Owen, Tobacconist Extraordinaire, and the high exalted poobah of Paganism, Reverend Duane Marhsall and his squeeze, Officer Jackie (Don’t ask. She has a badge and she knows how to use it.)

The evening was ever the blast with much alcohol consumed, followed by many pork steaks, much smoked turkey, cole slaw, tater salad, baked beans, and all the other trimmin’s tossed in there as well. This, of course, was followed by much more alcohol… (No, I didn’t forget….)

Anywho, one of the guests not mentioned above (because he is getting the special mention HERE) happened to be a dear friend and co-founder of the “Murv’s Stalkers” (Yes, that is what they call my official fan club. Yeah. Not kidding. If you are interested in joining, let me know and I’ll put you in touch with them. Or, maybe one of them will put a comment under here with a link or something…) So, to continue… Meester Seitzenheimer (aka just about anything you want to call him) brought along with him a couple of homemade Key lime pies.

He was not aware that Key lime pie is one of my absolute all time favorites.

He is now.

Therefore, I had some seriously kick-a$$ pie this weekend. And, you know what’s even better? The leftovers stayed here. Guess what? I’m gonna go have some more kick-a$$ pie.

See… I told you it was all about the pie.

More to come…

Murv

Well, actually, I have been, but that’s a different story.

So, why do I want to be on TV? For the fame? The glory? The hot chicks?

To be honest, none of the above.

Let’s step back for a minute. Not to TV land, but to early last week in Murvland. For reasons that don’t bear exploring at this juncture I had to make a mad dash to the hardware store during a downpour. For yet still other reasons that don’t bear exploring, while in the parking lot of said store I fell. I fell hard. I fell hard three times. Onto concrete. Wet concrete. Hard, wet, concrete.

Okay, you get the idea.

Anyhow, I was bruised. I have a purple hip and a purple stomach where I fell on top of the item I was carrying, (yeah, for a dyed in the wool Browncoat to have a “purple belly” it really sucks). I also have shattered cartilage in one knee, and a lot of achey muscles. I’m not as bad off as I was last week, but I’m still a bit sore here and there.

Now, this incident didn’t stop me from going on with my life. I didn’t end up in the hospital or anything that drastic. However, at 46 and some change one does not just get up, brush off, and go on as if nothing happened. No, that is reserved for the 20 year olds… So, while I was still moving about, it was slow going, with a lot of pain. Yes, I groaned, moaned, and even whined a bit.

What in the name of Pete does this have to do with being on TV, you ask…

No, there weren’t any cameras in the parking lot filming me… Well, actually I don’t know if there were or not. Maybe there were and I just haven’t seen the Youtube video just yet. But, that’s neither here nor there… I fell, I hurt, I moved slow…

Now, on TV it is a different story. I watched the season finales of Bones and House the other night and discovered that the world inside the tube is radically different. People almost completely heal within hours or even minutes. For the truly horrid injuries it might take a couple of days, but that’s just for the REALLY life threatening stuff.

For instance – On Bones one of the main characters took a penetrating round from a revolver. I didn’t get a good enough look at it to say what caliber, but it was at a minimum a .38. Moreover, the wound was in his right chest. He wasn’t wearing body armor or a bullet proof vest either. He bled a lot. He passed out. We didn’t know whether or not he would survive. Something on the order of one week later (maybe even less) he was not only up moving around, but tackling bad guys and waving his arms about. The only evidence of the wound was that he was wearing a bandaid. Other than that, he was just fine and dandy. Now, I won’t even go into the rest of the stupidity that tried to pass for a storyline in that episode, but suffice it to say, unless Patrick Duffy shows up in a shower at the beginning of the first episode next season, they’ve lost me as a viewer.

On House we had yet another semi-miracle. Of course, Hugh and the crew perform those weekly, but this one was really cool (in some ways, literally). A patient who had been severely injured in a bus crash, then purposely put into hypothermia, including filling her lungs with slurry, is warmed up and re-awakened (basically so they can tell her she is dead as soon as they turn off the bypass machine or in a few hours, whichever comes first). She lays on the bed and carries on a clear and coherent conversation with her boyfriend so they can say goodbye. The fun part about this (besides the enormous technical inaccuracies that a layman could spot) was the fact that this two part episode only spanned something like 24 hours in TV time. What I found really amazing about this is how clear, coherent, and without pain she was. You see, when my appendix burst several years ago I spent a week in the hospital. I won’t go into the gory details, but I wasn’t clear and coherent for at least 3 days. I wasn’t without pain for better than a week. After what she endured, and with the limited time frame, I’m thinking maybe a handful of “ouches” and an “I forgot what I was saying, sorry about that,” or two would have been in order.

So, you see… That’s why I want to be on TV. It obviously doesn’t hurt as much when you get injured, and apparently it doesn’t hurt anywhere near as long. I could definitely do with the not hurting.

But, even if I don’t get to be on TV, I suppose I will never write for it either. Why? Because, in my mind if I write something it has to make sense. Sure, even I have elements to my stories that require suspension of disbelief, but you are only allowed just so much of that before suspension turns into “you’ve gotta be effing kidding me…”

You see, suspending it is one thing. Shooting it in the head, burying it in the back yard, and forgetting you ever saw it is completely different. It’s also not very nice.

More to come…

Murv