BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Somewhere back in ancient history, that being 2009, I had myself a crisp stack of “Office Depot Rewards Dollars”… Okay, so it wasn’t really a stack. It was more like a gift card looking thing. However, the point is I had this handful of  their somewhat free money that I had received in exchange for spending a whole lot more of my not so free money in their stores.

But there was a problem… The “free money” had an expiration date  and it was rapidly approaching. Compounding that problem was the fact that I didn’t need any office supplies at the moment. I know, totally effed up, eh? I mean, I suppose I could have bought another case or two of paper, but my cabinets were pretty much stocked and I didn’t have anyplace to store it.

So instead, I went out and bought myself a webcam. Why? Because it was free money… Well, free in a Miracle Max sorta way. You know, mostly free, but I already explained that. And since I didn’t need any office supplies, and I didn’t have any room for storing extra supplies, I needed to get something small. And a webcam is pretty small. I should also note that I picked up a couple of flash drives and some stuff for the o-spring too. In order to offset the frivolousness of the webcam, of course…

But anyway…

After setting up the little plastic ball housing a CCD and a cheap lens, then farting about a bit, I used my new webcam to create my profile pic on Facebook. Soon afterward I ran off at the mouth about how I had done this really cool thing with my new bit of technology…  “Born Again Luddite” that I am, although I know about, understand, and in most cases can repair  all of this “new technology”, I’m way behind the curve in the ownership department where tech toys are concerned, and I know it…

At any rate, it wasn’t long before someone suggested I use this toy to do a daily picture, just for the sake of posterity. You know, one of those progressive “Murv Gets Older” sort of things. Well, since E K uses me as her “picture in the attic” so to speak, I already know I’m graying prematurely and don’t need any reminders. Still, the idea had some merit if one applied a bit of warpedness to it. And me being me… Well… I couldn’t leave it at something as mundane as posterity. I had to step across the line, stick my tongue out at everyone, then go all willy nilly with knees bent running about advancing maneuvers on the other side of said line.

By that I mean The Daily Swervin’ Project was born. An new profile pic each day on my Facebook Page – with a few exceptions when I was out of town and didn’t have access to a computer. When conceived, the plan, much like the mostly free money, was given an expiration date – that being 1 year from inception. And so, it began on November 14, 2009 and in keeping with the date stamped on side of my head, November 13, 2010 was the final Daily Swervin’.

What may come next in the realm of Facebook Profile Pics remains to be seen. However, for now, as promised, a flash presentation has been created. A retrospective of sorts. 365 profile pictures all in sequential order, complete with a bit of classical music from Handel.

“Why with classical music?” you ask.

“Simple,” I reply. This way the 6 minutes of your life that you’ll never be able to get back won’t be completely wasted…

The Daily Swervin’ Project

I’d start a Twitter account for this sort of thing, but I just don’t have time. Besides which, I’d just get myself accused of trying to capitalize on the “Dad Says” dude, and his success.

So, anyway, there we were, on vacation. I should probably write a vacation blog and tell all sorts of stories about how E K made us march through the woods and over huge boulders, all in the sweltering 95+ heat, with 12,000,000% humidity, but I’ll have to get to that later… Maybe… I guess it’s a we’ll see sort of thing.

Okay, so back to the real story here. There we were, on vacation, last night of the trip, and we were staying at The Davie School Inn. When we asked about “eats” the owner directed us to The Brick House restaurant, a couple of blocks away. A little eclectic fusion sort of bistro with interesting decor and good food. We even sat at the “Twister Table”… Seriously. It was painted like a Twister mat. Kinda weird, but kinda cool at the same time. After ordering up a couple of Mothership Wits for ourselves, and a Root Beer for the O-spring, we set about perusing the menu. When all was said and done, after salivating over the many wonderful sounding selections, believe it or not we all ordered sort of the same thing – E K had steamed mussels and a house specialty salad. I had steamed mussels and a spinach salad. The O-spring had… Yes… Steamed mussels, but instead of a salad she opted for French Fries. Odd combination, yeah, but hey… She’s a 10 year old. Besides, how many 10 year olds do you know who willingly order steamed mussels and then rave about them for two hours? Yeah, that’s our kid. Go figure…

But, that’s not what this is really about. Well… It is sorta, but not exactly. You see, as we sat there enjoying a wonderful dinner, some tunes were wafting in from above. This prompted E K and I to discuss our Vinyl Collection, because it has yet to be all converted to CD. In particular, we were talking about The Police and Sting. Why? Because a song by Sting was playing, silly.

Anywho, fast forward 10 minutes or so. The kid is blowing bubbles in her root beer, shoving French Fries into one side of her mouth, and discovering the creamy goodness of the steamed mussel broth at the bottom of her bowl. Yet another song by Sting begins pouring in from overhead. Being old, and because of that a bit addled, I looked at The Evil Redhead with a puzzled expression.

“That isn’t the same song we just heard a few minutes ago, is it?” I asked.

E K, being in the middle of masticating a mussel, held up a finger to indicate I should wait a second for her answer. However, before she was able to engage peristalsis and swallow the food, the O-spring spoke up.

“No, it isn’t the same song,” she said, then by way of explanation offered her personal analysis of the brass section content. “The other one was a lot more horny.”

E K choked on the half swallowed mussel. I spewed Mothership Wit all over the wall across from me. The server applied the Heimlich Maneuver to the redhead, propelling the glob of  seafood along a bizarre trajectory that landed it in the pale blue beehive of a 97 year old patron across the room who was trying desperately to enjoy a Bruschetta, even though she had forgotten her teeth. Another server who was attempting to avoid the shellfish projectile slipped, sending a tray full of chilled soup cascading across a party of 18 several feet away, prompting the…

Okay… So it wasn’t that dramatic. But, EKay’s eyes got really big, she half choked on the piece of garlic bread in her mouth, and I almost – not quite, but almost – spewed a mouthful of Mothership Wit across the table.

The O-spring looked at us and said, “What?”

E K leaned over and whispered, “You probably should have said brassy, because horny is a slang word that means someone really wants to have sex a lot.”

The O-spring having been through the “talk” at school, besides being brilliant as well, knew what sex happened to be – in theory.  Also, being 10, while she is familiar with the non-specific theory behind it, the subject is still residing in that “EWWW, GROSS!” area of her psyche. Personally, I’d like for it to stay that way until I’m dead, but hey, I’m a dad, and that’s how dads are.

So, since that’s where the concept resides, that’s what the O-spring said. “EWWW, GROSS!”

This was somewhat heartening, to say the least…

There was a moment of quiet, then she looked across the table and said, “You’re going to write a blog about this, aren’t you, Dad?”

Obviously, she hadn’t lost her faith in me…

(Aww, come on, quit groaning… you knew I would have to make at least one Sting song lyric related pun…)

More to come…

Murv