BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

There are these bizarre, unwritten rules that we are supposed to follow. Not everyone has the same set of rules, or if they have similar rules, they might not be to the same degree. It’s sort of like that whole “moral-ethical” dilemma question I pose in my Ethics Workshop. What it comes down to is that whole, “we each have morals/ethics, but they are a little bit different than the guy sitting on your left or right might have.”

Same thing for the rules. We all have these unwritten rules that we have to follow, but each person’s is a little bit different – or sometimes a lot different – from those of their neighbor(s).

Some of them are self-imposed. Others are imposed by some bizarre, nameless collective in the sky. Kinda like “the cloud” I guess. Although, most of us realize what the cloud actually is… But we won’t tell the folks who don’t. We’ll just laugh at them behind their backs. Or in front of their backs as the case may be. You never know with “the cloud.”

But back to those unwritten rules. As I said, some of us have rules that are vastly different than those of our neighbors. Case in point, authors. You see, we have unwritten rules that we have to follow, and they haven’t got a damn thing in the world to do with writing. Among these unwritten rules from Mount Olympus (or wherever) is one that really, really irks me.

People get to say whatever they damn well please to us, and we are supposed to stand there and just smile and nod like one of those bobble headed cow figurines on the dashboard of your grandmother’s car…

What? That was only MY grandmother? Oh… Well, you know the figurines I’m talking about, so all good…

Anywho, I thought you might like to know what really goes through my head when people say ridiculous things to me.

Now, so you understand, I’m not talking about bad reviews. I don’t care about that crap. I’ve already stated many bazillions of times that I don’t even read reviews. They waste my time. Either you like my work or you don’t. Me calling you names if you don’t isn’t going to make you like it any better, whether I do it in public like the moron on the internet, or I do it in my head.

So, nope, that’s not what I mean. What I am talking about is when folks say ridiculous things to me during, at, or around a book signing or appearance. The unwritten rule says that I am supposed to nod and smile.

Now… You may be wondering what brought all this on. Well, nothing actually. I just happened to be looking for a blog topic and at the same time I accidentally thought about some of the utter crap that people have said to me over the years. Those two thoughts collided and I figured, “What the hell? I might be able to make something out of that.”

So… Here it is. Some of the things people have literally (I’m not kidding) said to me over the years that I have had to smile and nod at. And really, I am NOT kidding. People have actually said these things to me. And, I’ve nodded and smiled.  But here, as you are about to see, what my grin and bobbling head are doing on the outside are diametrically opposed to what is running through my gray matter.

Make note, you’ll probably find this to be a bit snarky, but ya’know, one good snark deserves another-

Random Person: “If you give me one of your books I’ll read it and let you know if it is any good.”

On The Outside: Smile… Nod… Smile

On The Inside: “If you give me your wallet I’ll go out and buy myself dinner and I’ll let you know if it was any good. Wake up you moron. Since when did I OWE you a book? On top of that, who appointed you Book Czar? Whether you like the book or not that doesn’t mean it’s good or bad. That goes for any book, not just mine. Get over yourself.”

Random Person: “You need a new cover artist. Your covers really suck.”

On The Outside: Smile… Nod… Smile

On The Inside:  “I’ll tell him you said that. By the way, you need a new fashion consultant. That shirt you’re wearing is about to make me puke.”

Random Person: “I really hated [Insert M. R. Sellars Book Title Here] .”

On The Outside: Smile… Nod… Smile

On The Inside: “Well damn. I was writing it just for you too. I’ll call the publisher and tell them to recall all of the copies and hold a public burning. Will that make you feel better?”

Random Person: “[Insert Number] of years ago I talked to you at a book signing and told you that you needed to write a book about [insert topic here] and you promised me you would. When are you going to do that? I’ve been waiting! You owe me!”

On The Outside: Smile… Nod… Smile

On The Inside: “Noooooo, actually I just nodded and smiled at you a lot. I never promised you a damn thing. I might have said that I would think about it just so I could make you go away and leave me alone, but I never promised you sh*t. You just made that up in your head. On top of that, I would still have to sell the idea to my publisher, ya’know. So, the long and short is this – If you want a book about that topic so bad I’m not stopping you from writing it.”

Random Person: “Here’s [insert babbling here] idea for a book. You can use it but you have to split the royalties with me. When can I expect a check?”

On The Outside: Smile… Nod… Smile

On The Inside: “{sigh} Not again… While your idea about pagan pirate space aliens with three penises kidnapping all of the exotic dancers in New Jersey and turning them into go-go dancing sex slaves on planet 72W-99DXZ is fascinating – especially when you seamlessly (cough) work in the disembodied ghost of Sherlock Holmes solving the Jack the Ripper case while aboard the sinking Titanic, and partnering with glowing mummies who eat nothing but SPAM… I… Uh… I just don’t think I can do it justice. Write it yourself and leave me the f*ck alone…”

 

Random Person: “Next time you have a book release party you need to have chocolate cake. I don’t like yellow cake.”

On The Outside: Smile… Nod… Smile

On The Inside: “Listen… Lardass… I just watched you eat three pieces of that damn cake, then walk past the table and stuff handfuls of hors d’oeuvres into your shopping bag as well as your face, along with one of the unopened bottles of Champagne. If you don’t like yellow cake then don’t eat it. It’s not like I charged you for any of it, and by the way, I also noticed that you didn’t even buy a goddamned book, so shut the f*ck up and get out of my face before I kick your food stealing ass into next week.

Again, I would like to stress that YES, people really and truly have said the above things to me. There are plenty more too, but I’ll leave it at that. I think you get the idea…

So, the next time you see me nodding and smiling at someone, odds are I’m ripping on them in my head. Guess what? That’s exactly how I keep myself smiling…

More to come…

Murv

On any given day my life could be a sitcom. Or a soap opera. I guess it just depends on the day. Personally, I prefer the sitcom days because I don’t do drama. I laugh at drama. I shoot spitwads at the llama. But I don’t do drama. I even send friends packing when they bring their drama to my home.

Rule number 1437.5 – If you bring drama to my house, leave it in the car with your llama.

But, sometimes drama sneaks in the back door when someone leaves it open, and you have to chase it out with a broom. Been there, done that. But let’s run around a different block. As I said, I prefer the sitcom days, and I have way more of them than I have accidental soap opera days.

Now, if you follow me on Facebook (there we go with The Zuckman’s social network again… talk about drama…whewww…) Anywho, if you follow me over there you hear me mention E S. No, not E K… E S. No, E S is not Evil Stephanie, EKay’s heretofore unknown half-sister just announced on national TV. (How’s that for a gratuitous Oprah reference?)… But back to the story – E S stands for Ethical Society.

Yes Virginia (Fred, Joe, Sandy, Arlene, Bob, Carol, Ted, Alice, etc…) I am a Secular Humanist. Thought I was Pagan didn’t you? Not for quite a long, long time now… I have my reasons, but that’s another blog. Suffice it to say, I’m not anti-pagan, just like I’m NOT anti-Christian, anti-Semitic, anti-Muslim, etc. I’m good with all of ’em, but I’m not any of them either.

But, like I said, different blog.

So, anyway, the O-spring has friends at E S, as do Her Supreme Evilness and I. And we hang out at E S on Sunday’s, and even at other times. Like recently. Right after that foot of snow dropped on us. We even had some more falling from the sky to top it off a bit. Get where I’m heading? Good, because I don’t either.

Wait… Maybe I do. You see, after E S this past Sunday, the O-spring went home with one of her friends so they could hang out and do tween o-spring stuff. What with all the snow they did sledding and all that general wintry fun crap we used to do when we were young enough to be able to get back up off the ground after slamming into a snowbank at the bottom of the hill. Anyhow, as will happen they ended up snow covered, and as the snow melts the coat, etc ends up wet.

Fast forward to that evening. This is actually where the sitcom moment comes in. The Redhead and I hop into the Evil Mobile and head over to retrieve our kid. We arrive, business as usual, our friend – we’ll call her Alison because I promised I wouldn’t use her real name –  invites us in and calls the girls down from upstairs. While we wait for the kids to actually make it to the main floor, what with them being tweens and all, we stood around in the sitting room – yeah, I know – chit chatting.

Alison eventually says, “I’d better get o-spring’s boots. They were wet so I’ve been drying them out over here.”

The Hottest Thing In Kids Shoes

She takes a step over to the fireplace and when she turns back around she is holding a suede girls boot. Nothing terribly odd about this, except that smoke is rolling out of and off of it. Literally. In fact, it looks just like one of those smoking shoes that is left behind after Larry, Moe, Curly, or Shemp is blown out of his socks…

We all looked at it. No drama. No excitement. No nothing.

After a moment of us all staring at the smoking boot, in a calm, even voice Alison said, “I think I burned it.”

I replied, just as calmly, “Burned? Actually I think it’s still burning.”

It was. Smoke was still rolling off of it. Out of it. Around it. There even appeared to be some glowing embers spreading along the side around what used to be a buckle. And the rubberized sole was looking just a bit drippy.

The smell of a tire fire was beginning to permeate the room.

We all looked at it again. Calmly. No exclamations. No hurry. Just standing there staring at the hottest thing in fashion footwear for kids, so to speak.

“Yep,” E K finally said with a nod. “It’s definitely on fire.”

Alison said, “I think I’d better put it out.”

“Well, at least the kid’s feet will be warm on the way home,” I offered.

“Well, the other one didn’t burn,” Alison said as she headed out of the room with the smoking shoe with no more urgency than if she were just going to  grab a drink. Over her should she added, “Just this one.”

I shrugged. “I guess we need to move it closer to the fire then.”

I guess that makes me a bad parent.

Moral of the story? There isn’t one really. The kid ended up with a new pair of boots, and I ended up with a story. Of course, I guess I need to remember to ask Alison the next time I see her if the house still smells like someone tossed a steel belted radial into the fireplace.

More to come…

Murv