BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

As many of you already know, I recently had the opportunity to take a vacation with my wife and daughter. This was the first vacation The Evil Redhead and I had taken since before the O-spring was born, meaning it had been more than 10 years since our last excursion. However, since the economy hasn’t been the greatest, the land of mouse ears wasn’t in the cards. Instead, we elected to explore nature in southern Missouri and the Ozark Scenic Riverways.

Of course, since we have these high-maintenance, geriatric, special-needs felines roaming the house this meant we needed someone to keep an eye on them. Enter our good friends Anastasia and Mike. While gone, in order to keep these two brave souls up to date on the progress of our vacation I embarked upon an adventure in text messaging.

Since many have been asking “how was your vacation?” I thought I’d post a bit of a travelogue in that same sort of format.

What follows here are not the actual text messages I sent.

Why?

Because I couldn’t tell the real story in 160 characters or less.  Of course, if you ask my wife she’ll just call it revisionist history, but then Evil Redheads are like that…

* * * * * * * * * *

Day 1: Woke up. Packed van. Drove.  Actually, rode. E K won’t let me drive. Ate fried chicken. Drove (rode) more. Checked into motel. E K immediately declared war on flies (again).

Night 1: Toured downtown Eminence, Missouri for 3 minutes 27 seconds. Saw everything twice. Asked business hours @ local eatery. Question seemed to confuse hostess who proceeded to vapor lock. Decided it might be better to eat somewhere else. Went next door. Had steak. Returned to motel and went to bed at 8.

Day 2: Woke up. Drank really bad coffee obtained from nearby gas station after standing in line for 20 minutes to pay for it. Only one person ahead of me but she wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box.  Went to Two Rivers.  Dude in van took us up river and kicked us out at the bridge. Paddled canoe. Ate lunch. Paddled canoe more. Arrived back at Two Rivers.

Night 2: Ate bratwurst. Played Uno with O-spring and E K. The Evil Redhead cheated. Not sure where she is hiding the cards. Looked at news. Saint Louis reported a full 24 hours without anything evil happening. Attributed the outbreak of goodness and niceness to E K being out of town.

Night 2 (continued): Went to Bed. An hour later woke up gasping. E K had shut off power to my CPAP and was watching from the doorway. Reconnected power to CPAP and Evil Redhead wandered off, grumbling to herself as she reworked her sinister plan.

Day 3: Woke up. Drank more bad coffee made with overly-chlorinated tap water. Intestines officially sanitized. Went hiking. E K pushed me down a hill. In order to make her stop grinding her foot on the back of my head I had to remind her that we canceled my life insurance.

Day 3 (continued): E K not happy that her plan to do me in was thwarted. Made me wash up at the outhouse nearby, then told anyone who asked about my scrapes and bruises that I am clumsy and fell down. Talked me into taking cave tour. Attempted to lose me in caverns, but was unsuccessful due to my clever use of breadcrumbs, glow in the dark twine, and a Coleman electric lantern.

Day 3 (continued): Once back out in the open I offered a lady park ranger ten bucks and a beer in exchange for Federal Protection from the redhead. Ranger declined, patted me on the head and then high-fived E K. It was then I realized that I was on my own and may not survive the vacation.

Night 3: Ate grilled chicken, Played Uno again. The Evil Redhead cheated again. Still can’t figure out where she is hiding the cards. Watched rain outside window. Went to bed. Laid awake listening to young couple next door “mucking like finks”.

Day 4: Woke up. Drove to Alley Springs. E K attempted to lose me on hiking trail. Reminded her that I had her car keys in my pocket. Evil Redhead grumbled quite a bit, then tripped on the trail and blamed me. Visited the Mill at the spring. E K attempted to push me into grain chute but I wouldn’t fit. Redhead grumbled some more. Vacation obviously not going as she had planned.

Night 4: BBQ’ed a pork tenderloin. Tish’s Hair helped. Fixed some truly amazing brown & wild rice faux risotto. Made note of recipe. Ate supper. Drank beer to stop the voices in my head. Went to bed.

Day 5: Woke up. Drove to Big Springs. E K still couldn’t lose me on trail so she used her evil powers to make gnats swarm my head. Then she made me buy her ice cream at The Jolly Cone in Van Buren. After finishing ice cream she threatened me with a spork. I promised to be good.

Night 5: Ate supper. Went to bed. Listened to different crew next door. This time no mucking, but much loud laughing and talking.

Day 6: Packed van for trip to Arcadia Valley and next to last day of vacation. E K frightened the 3 guys next door who had been loud all night. They apologized profusely and then cowered on the corner of the porch. Not sure if it was the red hair, the bullwhip, or a combination thereof. As soon as she turned her back they jumped into their cars and left.

Day 6 (continued): Visited Johnson’s Shut Ins. Watched from observation deck while E K and O-spring played on rocks. Didn’t join them as there appeared to be too many places where E K could hide my body.

Night 6: Checked into Fort Davidson Motel. Visited Fort Davidson across the street. E K attempted to do me in with a civil war cannon, but discovered it was non-functional. Redhead not happy. Ate BBQ at Baylee Jo’s which meant I didn’t have to cook. Yay! Finally vacation time for me! Went to bed early.

Day 7: Woke up. Ate breakfast at motel restaurant. Yay! More vacation time for me. Wondering if E K has finally resigned herself to keeping me around, or if she has hatched a foolproof plan and I am a dead man walking. Packed van for trip home. Visited Elephant Rocks State Park as a last hurrah. Remained wary of redhead.

Day 7 (continued): Evil Redhead looking exceptionally hot today in shorts and figure hugging top. Local Mennonite group arrives at park for picnic. I watch with great amusement as a trio of hormonal, adolescent boys from the congregation spy E K climbing around on a large boulder and are instantly transfixed.

Day 7 (continued): The trio of sexually repressed, pubescent males can’t stop staring and soon proceed to pop tents and snap suspenders. Although I can empathize, I laugh so hard that I almost fall off rock.  Eventually leave park and drive home, taking long, scenic route. Remain wary of redhead during frequent stops at landmarks along the way.

Night 7: Vacation complete. Saint Louis news reports that hiatus is over and evil has returned to the city.

And there you have it.

More to come…

Murv

THE PUF REPORT: Part 4 of 5

Some of you may have heard me mention that I often travel with an MRE in my luggage. An MRE being: Meal, Ready to Eat. Yeah, cooked to death, preservative ridden, irradiated, vacuum packed, shelf stable for 99 years, food sort of stuff. The very same scientifically balanced glop they feed our men and women in uniform. Some MRE’s are perfectly edible. Not 5 star dining, mind you, but edible nonetheless. Others are oddly horrible mystery foodstuff that doesn’t even vaguely resemble the description on the outside of the watertight packaging. But, you can still choke it down, and it is scientifically proven that you can not only live on it, but it isn’t likely to kill you either.

Those of you who have never heard me wax prophetic about MRE’s are probably wondering why I would bother carrying such in my luggage. Well, you see, it’s like this – When you get booked in at a festival, you never know what you’re going to get in the way of eats.

Yeah. I know it seems like a no-brainer, especially since it says right there in my contract that you have to feed me. However, I have been flown in to far away cities, picked up and hauled out to the middle of nowhere for a fest, only to have the organizers say, “What? You didn’t bring your own food?”

Of course, those are few and far between. Still, they have happened.  Right there with them are the fests where they feed toddler portions to grown adults because they don’t know how to plan meals. Three chicken nuggets and 5 french fries does not a meal make for a 47 year old fat guy like myself.

However, I think what may be worse, in fact I know it’s worse – and unfortunately these happen way too often – are the festivals where they serve you something virtually inedible. For instance:

I have been served raw eggs. Yes raw eggs. Not runny, not overeasy, not sunny side up. R… A… W… Raw.

I have been served spoiled pork chops. Spoiled as in gone bad folks. Salmonella and all that good stuff.

Rancid, rotting potatoes. I mean, come on… If I wanted my potatoes that far gone, I’d buy a bottle of Vodka, okay?

Unidentifiable mixtures of who knows what, cooked so far beyond tastelessness that they have moved into the direction of making you gag, so that even Oliver Twist wouldn’t ask for seconds.

And, in one instance, my wife and daughter (along with several other attendees) contracted food poisoning at a festival. Severe enough that paramedics were involved.

But, fortunately, there are other fests. We’ll call them, those fests. They are the festivals and conventions that live on the other end of the spectrum. They feed you so well that the best restaurant in the city can’t hold a candle to them. There are some stores that fall into this category as well, such as Violet Flame Gifts. We will call them, those stores… But, right now, we are talking about fests…

And, PUF is one of those fests…

You see, at PUF I have my Rachel. Some of you may even have read about my Rachel in one of my novels, namely Blood Moon. She was the character Aileegan.

Now, the thing is my Rachel is in Ally-bammer, and she’s  actually Doug’s Rachel. Doug is wayyyyy bigger’n me. Doug could break me in half with his little finger. Fortunately, however, Doug likes me (the feeling is mutual) and he lets me borrow Rachel.

No… Not for that you dirty minded monkeys… E K would kill me and stuff. In fact, I’m not sure if she’d kill me first, or just stomp on my corpse after Doug killed me, but the effect would pretty much be the same. I’d be all corpsified and gross.

You see, what Doug actually does is he loans Rachel to the VIP’s at PUF. That is to say, he and Rachel are at PUF every year, working their tails off. But, more specifically, Rachel is the one and only, lifetime designated, Chef to the guest authors. Sometimes Rachel runs the whole kitchen, sometimes not. But, you can always find her there. And moreover, she ALWAYS cooks breakfast and various other goodies for the VIP’s.

Take for instance this year. We arrived to find the following resting on the table of the common room in the cabin –

Raspberry Chocolate Chip Cookies

Some kind of pizza meatball things (I want MORE of these!)

These were just a bit of comfort food on which we could nosh if the mood struck.

Now, I would be horribly remiss if I didn’t mention something else we found. This, however, was from our good friend Tracy –

Carrot Cake

And, not only was it Carrot Cake, it was probably the best freakin’ carrot cake I have ever put in my mouth (Sorry, Mom)… The only problem with it was that it was so big we couldn’t finish it. But, let me tell you, I had carrot cake every day, and I even brought a piece home with me.

Now, getting back to Rachel… Here’s the thing… I’ll put our Rachel up against Rachel Ray any day of the week. Our Rachel will whoop her ass, I’m telling you. Not only can she out cook her, blindfolded and with both hands tied behind her back, she’s really cool too. None of that ridiculously inflated perkiness. Just regular perkiness. So, if the FoodNetwork wants to set up a “cook off death match”, we’re in.

Anywho, of all the festivals where I have been, even the fests that feed you well, PUF and Rachel, feed us like you wouldn’t believe – Apple Cream Cheese “Burritos” with Caramel Sauce, Fresh Cinnamon Rolls, Chorizo Frittata, Little Canadian Bacon Cuplike Thingies with Eggs, Cuban Pork Breakfast Sandwiches… And I could go on… And on… And on…

And, believe me, I am not even scratching the surface of the food that Rachel cooks for us, much less that of the communal feast which has a spread that goes on forever, and variety like you wouldn’t believe (now that the previously mentioned Lasagna Law is in force. See PUF REPORT Part 2 of 5 – Where’s Kat?) And, if that weren’t enough, this year an attendee made Kahlua cake especially for the VIP’s as well… Not just one Kahlua cake, mind you, but two – one of them was diatetic so that two of the VIP’s who are diabetic could enjoy it as well.

Yes… We eat very well… Awww, hell, we eat like friggin’ royalty. And, not only do we enjoy it, we appreciate it as well. If nothing else we know PUF will keep us fed and happy.

However… There was a darkness over our food experience this year. More specifically, over my personal food experience. You see, every year my Rachel makes for me – specifically for me – something called the Sacred Pie. It was mentioned in Blood Moon as well. It is this amazing melange of sausage, apples, cheese, and maple syrup, baked into a wonderful crust… and… wellbtthpppt… nmbbttpp…

Jubba mimmint…

Okay… Sorry about that. I was starting to drool… Anyway, back to the issue at hand. Rachel knows that I will actually hoard Sacred Pie. Often times she will make two. One for the cabin and one for me to take home. She does this because she is well aware that I will parcel out the second pie and have a slice for my lunch every day for the week following PUF.

I love my Rachel…

But, I’m supposed to be addressing the issue, so here it is. There was no pie this year. Rachel, with much sadness and trepidation, followed by disbelief and anger, informed me that someone had stolen the sausage from the refrigerator in the kitchen. Sausage she had purchased specifically for the purpose of making the Sacred Pie.

Yes… Stolen.

Vanished… Gone… Absconded with, and all that… Thou shalt not steal… Ill gotten sausage… Hot… Looking for a ground pork fence…

I was sad. I cried. I fell down on the floor and bawled like a baby.

I was absolutely devastated…

In fact, my reaction was so startling that E K experienced an uncharacteristic fit of compassion. Yeah, I know… Miraculous, eh? Of course, I think it is tempered by the fact that she still gets to be evil You see, not only did she comfort me, she promised to find and horribly torture for an extended period of time whoever was responsible for thieving the ground up pig leavin’s. Rachel, being Rachel, with a wicked gleam in her eye, offered to help E K with this task.

So what it comes down to is this – There’s a pork thief out there somewhere who is on the run. I’m not sure who it is, but I’ll be looking hard at anyone with grease stains on their shirt and a satisfied look in their eyes. Rest assured if I ever do catch up to this particular scum-sucking, lily-livered, low down wretched cur of a sausage stealer, there’ll be hell to pay.

And, I know for a fact it’ll be hell, because I’m just turnin’ ’em right on over to Rachel and E K, and they are a hell of a lot meaner than me… Not only that, Rachel has knives, grinders, and other scary kitchen utensils (shudder).

Ya’know… Now that I think about it, I might just have to skip the pie next year unless I provide the sausage myself…

More to come…

Murv

The next installment in THE PUF REPORT: Part 5 of 5 – She Loves Me… She Loves Me OUCH!