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  • Coffee Talk…

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    coffee-cup-01

    “Awww, just shoot ’em,” Karen said.

    It was an interesting response to spoiled milk, but hey, we all have our own take on life, correct? What? You don’t understand what I’m talking about? Well, I suppose I can see where the above might be a little confusing. How about if I back up a bit and see if I can explain…

    So, I have these two girlfriends…

    No, not like that… Sheesh… Get your minds out of the gutter, please. What I am saying is that they are girls, and they are my friends, therefore they are my girlfriends. And, since they are my girlfriends we do girlfriend stuff… You know, we sit around drinking coffee (or soda, or water, or nothing) and generally gossip about whatever comes to mind.

    sweater Well, that’s as far as I take it, anyway, because I just have to draw a line in the sand when it comes to shoe shopping, painting my nails, or getting all googly eyed over Antonio Bandera Pitt DiCapriGereFord-McWhoever. Not that there’s anything at all wrong with that. In fact, it’s healthy in a lot of ways. However, I’d much rather get all googly eyed over E K. (I’d
    throw some actress’ names out there but I’m still recovering from the last beating The Evil Redhead gave me, and I’m not sure how much my insurance can handle right now…)

    But, back to my girlfriends. We’ll call them Karen and Mindy. Not their real names for reasons of anonymity, of course. Also not my original pick for pseudonyms either. I actually wanted to call them Karen and Brenda, but girlfriend #2 didn’t like Brenda, so I have to call her Mindy. She was almost Muffy, but we won’t go there. Although, when she shows up doing the whole sweater arms tied around her neck, sunglasses on top of her head, and Star-make-a-bucks cup in her hand, she definitely looks like a Muffy… Or even a Buffy.

    But, Buffy starts with a B, and that makes it too close to Brenda, so I think we’ll just stick with Mindy. Of course, after she reads this we might end up calling her Miffy.

    I guess we’ll see.

    Now that we have that settled… (sigh)

    So anyway, here’s the thing. I only get to see Karen and Mindy for two weeks out of each calendar year. One straight week during the summer, and 5 consecutive Saturdays during the winter. I’m sure you are wondering why this is… I mean, if I were you I would certainly be wondering.

    Well, I’ll tell you… It’s like this. Karen and Mindy are my College girlfriends, and by that I don’t mean we went to college together, because we didn’t. You see, twice each year I take the O-Spring out to one of the local community college campuses for “College for Kids” classes.

    Yeah, as I’ve rambled on about before, my kid is utterly brilliant. Yes, I’m sure yours is too, but mine is more brillianter. (Yes, I know that’s grammatically incorrect. Remember, I’m a word on paper putting type person what make those things with words and stuff what tell things like… umm.. stories.. yeah… that’s it… So, I’m a professional… Therefore you should NOT try bending the English language over the dining room table at home without proper training. It’ll just get messy.)

    Summer-College-for-Kids Either way, back to this college thing… My kid is utterly brilliant, and so is Mindy’s kid and Karen’s grandkid. Therefore, because of this whole “College for Kids” thing it makes us college friends. Not “The Big Chill” sort of college friends, mind you, but college friends nonetheless.

    Of course, once again I can tell that y’all are wondering how this all came about. Well, it’s pretty simple, actually. Parents of gifted kids will often seek one another out and come together to share notes. Important things like, “Who should I call when my kid clones the neighbor’s dog using only a PlaySkool Pretend Doctors Kit and a Dora The Explorer juice tumbler?” or “So, how do you handle it when your kid builds a supercollider out of Legos and aluminum foil and creates a God particle in your living room?”

    See what I mean?  Really important crap…

    And so, anyway, this friendship developed between Karen, Mindy, and yours truly. There’s even a particular corner on the second floor of the Science West building where we park ourselves around a table and chit chat – remember, I said no to the shopping – while we wait for the kids to finish their classes each day. This corner actually used to be my special quiet place. I would take my notebook computer with me, sit on the back side of the table, and write (we writers do that sort of stuff.) However, one day Mindy found me and, well, whenever I am on the campus I simply haven’t been able to get any work done since. She won’t allow it. But, that’s just part of Mindy’s charm.

    And, yes, you guessed it – as it happens, this particular August week it is “College for Kids” week, and yeah, you guessed it again, I’ve been visiting with Karen and Mindy. That’s where guns and spoiled milk come into play.

    There we were, talking about fast food and airports. (Hey, I said we talk about whatever comes to mind…) Anywhow, I had just finished telling about my bad Fuddrucker’s experience, how they had ponied up a gift card, and that I was impressed by their integrity. Mindy became wide-eyed and fidgety which was a sure sign she had her own story to tell.

    Well, as signs go this one was pretty clear.

    “So I was looking over the counter,” Mindy declared. “And I could see that the girl was using expired milk for my latte…” expiredmilk

    Karen piped up. “Did’ja shoot her?”

    Mindy looked horrified. “No.”

    “You shoulda just shot ‘er,” Karen reiterated.

    “Anyway,” Mindy continued. “I told her, ‘don’t use that in my latte, it’s expired,’ so she put it back in the refrigerator. You know she was going to use it for someone else, but since I was standing there watching she didn’t use it in mine.”

    “Yeah,” I said, not entirely sure where this was going.

    Mindy shook her head in an animated fashion as her eyes grew wider still. “Can you imagine that? Expired milk!”

    “Was she running with scissors too?” I asked.

    “No.”

    “Okay, just wondering.”

    “Shoulda just shot her,” Karen offered.

    “So anyway,” Mindy said, ignoring Karen’s advice. “I kept watching and she started to put 2% milk in my latte. I mean, come on, 2% milk?!”

    Karen grunted, “That’s what guns are for, you know…”

    “So I said, ‘no, no, no you don’t’,” Mindy explained. “I only take skim milk in my latte. And do you know what she said?”

    I shook my head. “Nope. I wasn’t there.”

    “She said it was really skim milk, it just said 2% on it.”

    “I’m tellin’ you, you shoulda just shot her,” Karen grumbled.

    “So, what did you do?” I asked.

    “I stepped away from the counter and called Star-Make-A-Bucks corporate office. I have them on my cell phone speed dial, of course…”

    “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I mused aloud.

    Unfazed, Mindy continued. “…I told them that I was standing right there at the airport and that their employee was trying to use spoiled milk in my latte.”

    “Awww, just shoot ’em,” Karen said.

    I had always figured Karen for the non-violent type, I mean, what with her being pretty laid back. After all, she didn’t even object over her pseudonym like Mindy had, know what I mean? But her grumbling at this particular moment definitely wasn’t bearing that out.

    “I couldn’t shoot her,” Mindy objected.

    Karen sighed. “Why not? You forget your gun?”

    “I don’t have a gun.”

    “See,” Karen said, clucking her tongue. “There’s the problem.”

    “What do you think, Murv?” Mindy appealed.

    I shrugged. “Karen has a point. If you don’t have a gun you can’t shoot the girl with the expired milk.”

    “See there,” Karen announced, then lowered her voice to a grumble. “M R agrees with me… You West county people make me tired. I think when I get home I’m just going to sit in my chair.”

    After that, we talked about squirrels. Sounds like a good time, eh?

    All I can say is I’m glad our kids are brilliant, because I think maybe the three of us have gone the way of the expired milk.

    More to come…

    Murv

  • I Cannot Tell A Lie…

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    Angry Lying BeaverHere’s the deal… I don’t lie so good.*

    Well, let me qualify that… You see I don’t lie so good in person. I lie great on paper. Do it all the time. Hell, I’ve got 9 complete volumes of almost 100% pure fabrication available in bookstores with a 10th on the way later this year. So, like I said, it’s the whole in person lying thing that doesn’t work out well for me.

    And, I guess that’s why I simply could not believe I was getting away with it.

    “Getting away with what?” you ask.

    We’ll get to that in a bit… First I should warn you that we need to chase a random chicken or two in order set the table… Of course, you already knew that would happen, didn’t you?

    Here’s the deal – I’ve given this whole lying thing a lot of thought. Now, don’t get me wrong, I was brought up to be truthful, and that’s exactly the kind of value system I am trying to instill in my offspring. But, after ruminating long and hard on the subject, I’ve concluded that there are two sub-classes of lie that are ethically permissible under particularly defined circumstances.

    The first is kind of obvious – we all know that there is that occasional, proverbial “white lie” that gets told, even by the most honest person. Sometimes it’s a minor twist of words, and other times it could merely be a lie of omission – for example, kind of like when I didn’t tell E K she had forgotten to put the tuna in the tuna helper – (Young And In Lust… I mean, Love… 01/11/2009). Know what I mean? I “kinda lied” for the express purpose of saving her embarrassment. It was one of those untruths you have to use every now and then to simply avoid hurting someone’s feelings, and by default they come under the heading of tact. Therefore, if used properly they can be forgiven. Yeah… Basically “tact lies” are like “free lies”. No dogma or anything such as that attached, because it usually affects more good than harm. That’s what makes it a “white lie”. Of course, they are only sans dogma if you follow the rules.

    Granted, even “tact lies” sometimes backfire, or even glance harmlessly off the target and fall by the wayside. If you let them spin out of control, however, they could detonate in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you never know who might get hurt, so you have to be careful. For instance, there are times when you might well be better off to just bite the bullet and tell Aunt Bernice that her “Famous Candied Turnip Upside Down Pickle Relish Tart” really isn’t a family favorite and you wish she’d stop serving it to you, especially since it sent everyone to the hospital emergency ward the last go around. But, you should always keep in mind that these are judgment calls. If you aren’t going to suffer any ill effects from said foodstuff, and you don’t want to make Aunt Bernice cry or anything such as that, it might be prudent to invoke the “tact lie”. There are times when you just need to say, “This is delicious,” choke it down and smile, then feed the remainder to the family pet while Auntie is out of the room.

    But, this first classification really isn’t the issue here… Read on…

    The second class of permissible deception is, of course, lies told in the commission of a practical joke. Now, I’m not talking about practical jokes like the kind the underwear model from “That 70’s Show” does on TV. I personally find those to be completely ridiculous. Therefore, it is important to remember that these lies are bound by even stricter regulations than “tact lies.” You see, with the “practical joke deception lie” the fun needs to be harmless. Yes, by its very nature said fun is going to be at the expense of someone else, however you need to be absolutely positive that they will be willing to pay that price. What I mean is, you simply have to be cognizant of whether or not the dupe / mark / “victim” is going to find the joke funny, or be hurt physically or emotionally. If either of the latter is going to be the case, then the fun isn’t really harmless, is it?

    Now, the exception to this is a state of agitation we will call “momentarily miffed”. Generally, this is okay, in my book at least, primarily because my definition of the phrase is, “a split second of prime annoyance that immediately turns into laughter because the situation is just so damned funny.”

    So, unless I have missed my guess, I think you’ve probably figured out by now that what I was amazed to be “getting away with” was a “practical joke deception lie”. If you haven’t picked up on that, start back at the beginning and read very slowly. If it still doesn’t dawn on you, simply drop me a line and I’ll send E K over to explain it. Note that if you choose the latter option you should be absolutely certain that your health insurance premiums are up to date, as E K can be somewhat intense with her explanations, especially if she thinks you are merely being stubborn or not paying attention.

    So, now that we’ve fricasseed that chicken, let’s run over to the other side of the yard and chase that Rhode Island Red over there. Trust me, I’ll eventually get back around to the bucket of extra crispy I sat out on the table at the beginning. I always do…

    I need to take this opportunity to point out that I’m not an actor.

    First off, I don’t have the looks. But mostly, I simply don’t have the talent. It’s just one of those things. You either have it or you don’t. Once upon a time I actually did have it, but then I lost it at a very early age, somewhere along Purchase Parkway in Kentucky, but that’s not even a chicken, that’s an opossum, so we’ll follow it a different time.

    Back to that acting thing – when I was in high school I was actually a member of the Drama Club. Mrs. Osthoff, our faculty advisor, was terrific. She made the whole process fun for everyone involved, no matter what the level of talent, and strived to make each student feel important. But, whenever time rolled around for us to do a school play, I was always the groomsman and never the groom. What I mean is, I was customarily tagged to be the “student director” instead of onstage talent. As far as any type of onstage part, if I was especially lucky I would be cast as the “only, and I mean only if everyone else is sick or dead, last resort understudy” for the least significant and smallest role in the play. Yeah… The likelihood of me seeing costume and makeup was actually less than me being able to get a date with a cheerleader. (Although, I did eventually marry one – okay E K likes to point out that she wasn’t a cheerleader, she was on the drill team – close enough in my book, so maybe the above wasn’t the best analogy…)

    But, I digress…

    Like I said, Mrs. Osthoff was good for making everyone feel important, so she painted a vivid picture of the necessity for a student director, and in doing so shored up my self-esteem. Still, I wasn’t exactly stupid. I also took it as a fine piece of anecdotal evidence that served to tell me I was never going to be hitchhiking to Hollywood and making a name for myself – at least, not on the silver screen.

    However, as with many other rules, this one had an exception. In my case, it was radio. You see, as I’ve mentioned before our school had a student run radio station. Of course, the transmitter was low power so on a clear day if you had a high end stereo system, a kite attached to it by 1000 feet of 16 gauge braided copper wire, an entire 75 yard role of aluminum foil that was crumpled into a Buckminster Fullerine type of configuration and tied to the kite’s tail, then held your head cocked to the left with your tongue sticking out “just so,” you could actually tune in KRSH-FM to catch a program or two. But, this would only work while standing on top of the Chuck-A-Burger, which was positioned diagonally across the street from the school.

    Okay, so maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Truth is we had relatively solid broadcast range of about 1 mile, give or take. After that it started getting a bit dicey and a good FM antenna was definitely a must. But, I suppose I should move on. What I’m driving at is the fact that one of the things the drama club did in addition to the annual stage play was the re-creation of old “Shadow” radio plays. Yeah, “who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men, yadda yadda…” That “shadow”. The funny thing is, whenever we would record a radio play, I seemed to suddenly come into my own.

    What I mean by that is, I would be cast in a major role. In fact, I was always cast as the villain of the particular episode we were taping. I can still remember the first role I had – I was an aspiring mystery writer turned burgeoning, sociopathic, paranoid-schizophrenic almost serial killer.

    Hm… That kind of explains some stuff, doesn’t it?

    Still, what this illustrated was that I did in fact have some minor sort of acting props. Just not if you could actually see me. Of course, as years wore on and I learned more and more about body language and the like, so I suspect I’d be a bit better at it now than I was back then. Not that I have any intention of trying, mind you. I’m definitely still not an actor, especially in close quarters.

    You see, I have been told that no matter what the timbre of my voice, the posture with which I stand, or the gestures I make – or even, don’t make – my eyes give me away. I’m not entirely sure what it is about my eyes that betray the fact that I am spinning a yarn or hiding a truth. I suppose it could be that they are brown, and the old adage says that having brown eyes means you are full of sh*t.  Who knows?

    All I can say is that I was told this by a girlfriend way back when, so I took it to heart. Back before E K and I got together, I had a tendency to wear sunglasses – or at the very least, tinted lenses – constantly. This annoyed her because it made it hard for her to “read me”… But, back then, since I was worshiping her from afar, I didn’t want to risk her catching on to the fact that I had fallen for her.Bucket of KFC

    Okay… Now that the table is set, is everyone ready for that bucket of extra crispy?

    Good… So, I’m sure you are wondering just exactly what it is I was lying about.

    Why, Tupperware, of course

    More to come…

    Murv

    … To be continued in – But, It Was Right Here…

    * Yes, I know “so good” should be “very well.” Don’t make me repeat my disclaimer, because if you do I’m gonna send E K after you.