BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Well, when it comes to “age” the proverbial Big Three Oh is languishing somewhere in a valley well behind a mountain range that is rapidly shrinking in my rear view mirror. That is to say, 30 was a long, long time ago… An entire voting and drafting age adult ago, in fact. However, if you do the math it works out that I took my final bow at Ritenour Senior High thirty years ago this past June. And, like most high school alumni association type folks, mine tossed a shindig to celebrate this milestone.

The party – or parties, I should say – in question occurred this past weekend (July 16 & 17), at two different locations, beginning with a “Multi Year Happy Hour” at the Lemp Mansion on Friday evening, which saw graduates spanning ’73 – ’84.  (Yours truly was a member of the “hosting class” for the shindig, 1980). Much fun was had, many old faces seen. Some old faces with new construction. Some old faces that hadn’t changed. But mostly, we were all just old. I visited with friends I hadn’t seen in 30 years, and some I hadn’t seen in 5. I even visited with people I didn’t know that I knew and am still not entirely certain that I know, if that makes any sense. As a rule, it seemed a healthy chunk of the folks knew me – or of me – whereas I had a passing familiarity with a much smaller percentage, and am friends with an even smaller number than that.

This can be a little disconcerting, but beer helps. Several beers helps even more…

Night two was the “Class of 80 Reunion Proper” and it was held at the Missouri Athletic Club – a posh private club in downtown Saint Louis with fancy ballrooms and high end food. Suffice it to say, when the elaborate appetizer table features plenty of Stilton and Brie among the countless selections, you definitely aren’t talking “supermarket cheese tray” here. This is some upscale digs.

At any rate, the evening was filled with more chatting, old faces, new old faces, old new faces, and as always seems to be the case with me, a bit of the bizarre. What follows here is a Facebook note I put out there to recap the evening. Since many of my blog readers aren’t on FB, I thought I’d re-run it here:

RHS Class of ’80 30 Year Reunion Recap…

...from the perspective of a satire slinging suspense-thriller author, of course.

Drive… Drive… Drive.
Park
Walk… Walk… Walk…

Check in table…

Kathy (Not EK): MURV!
Me: KATHY!
Teri: Here’s your nametag.
Me: I have a nametag? YAY! I’m SOMEBODY!!!
Teri: Have fun.
Me: We’ll try. But if we don’t it’s your fault and I’m going to come looking for you.
Teri: SECURITY!

Mingle… Mingle…

Me: Yeah, the redhead will have a tonic with a twist. What kind of beer do you have?
Bartender: AB this… AB that… AB the other… AB… AB…
Me: What, no C?
Bartender: AB this… AB that… AB the other… AB… AB…

Random Classmate: Hi.
Me: Hi, ummm, do I know you?
Random Classmate: I don’t know, but I know you.
Me: Sorry… I just can’t place you.
Random Classmate: You’re that guy.
Me: I am?
Random Classmate: Yeah.
Me: Oh, uh, okay.

Mingle… Mingle…

Random Classmate: Hi. We went to school together.
Me: Ummm, yeah. I think that could be said for most everyone in the room. Here’s your sign.

Random Classmate: Picture, picture. I need a picture.
(smile) {flash}
Random Classmate: Me too! Me too!
(smile) {flash}
Random Classmate: Over here, Murv!
(smile) {flash}
(smile) {flash}
(smile) {flash}
{little floaty spots in front of my face}
Music in my head: BLINDED BY THE LIGHT, REVVED UP LIKE A…

[hug]
[hug}
[handshake]
[hug]
[handshake]

E K: Who was that?
Me: I have no effing idea.

[hug]
[hug]
[handshake]

Random Classmate: Murv! How are you? Remember that time when we blah blah whatchmacallit blah?
Me: Ummm. No?
Random Classmate: Oh come on. We blah blah, then bla… Oh… Wait… That wasn’t you. Sorry.
Me: No problem. I get that a lot.
Random Classmate: Ummmm… I hear you write books now.
Me: That’s the rumor.
Random Classmate: You’re going to put this in a book aren’t you?
Me: (nodding) Yeah. Probably. At the very least I’ll make fun of you in a blog or something.

Random Classmate: Hi.
Me: Hi.
Random Classmate: Do you know me?
Me: Hell no, I don’t even know myself.
Random Classmate: You’re that guy, right?
Me: That’s what I’ve been hearing.
Random Classmate: No. Really. You’re that guy.
Me: Okay, you got me. I’m that guy. But, sometimes when I’m feeling pretty, I’m that girl.
Random Classmate: O_o.
Me: Yeah, kinda scary, huh? (Especially since I look nothing at all like Marlo Thomas.)

BUFFET LINE…

E K: Woohoo! VEGGIES!
Random Classmate: (pointing) Ummm… What’s that?
Me: (pointing) Grilled eggplant, grilled zucchini, grilled asparagus, grilled portabello mushroom, grilled peppers…
Random Classmate: Oh… those are vegetables, right? I’ll pass…
Me: You’d have a much easier time with that if you actually ate some of the veggies. Fiber, ya’know.
Random Classmate: O_o

Eat… Eat…Eat…

DJ Jazzy J And The Funky Bunch – YO! {{{feedback… buzzzzz… squeal… feedback}}}
[MYOO-ZIK – Thumpita Thumpita TWANG THUMPA]

Random Classmate: HI!
Me: WHAT?
Random Classmate: HI!
Me: WHAT?
Random Classmate: YOU’RE MURV, RIGHT?
Me: OH, I THINK IT’S JUST DOWN THE HALL.
Random Classmate: WHAT?

Me: (relating an anecdote to friends) …And then at my last book launch I had someone who actually believed she’s a “REAL vampire slayer” and wanted to “slay” my fans when they showed up.
Steve, Cathy, and Nathan: You actually get crazy people showing up?
Me: At least one at every event. Sometimes more…
(frantic high heels coming closer – clickity, clackity, clickety, clackety…)
Random Classmate: You don’t know me, but I know about you!
Me: What will it take for you to not call the police? I really can’t afford another strike on my record right now.
Random Classmate: O_o… Ummm… I know who you are.
Me: I’m glad someone does, because I lost my wallet.
Random Classmate: No… You don’t understand… I know what you do.
Me: Like I said, how much for you to not call the police?
Random Classmate: No… You write books.
Me: I’ve heard that about me.
Random Classmate: Well, have I got a story for you!
Me: Really? What is it?
Random Classmate: I can’t tell you because you’ll steal it.
Me: Yeah, I don’t blame you. Just can’t trust us author types.
Random Classmate: But I’ll sell it to you.
Me: Sugar, no offense, but I have more ideas running around in my head than I’ll be able to write in my lifetime, so I’m not going to steal it or buy it.
Random Classmate: But this has never been done before and it will make a great movie.
Me: So, what is it?
Random Classmate: I can’t tell you. You’ll steal it.
E K: [giggle]
Steve, Cathy, Nathan: Crap… You weren’t kidding, were you?

{flash} {flash}
[hug hug]

Random Classmate: Hmmnimmm… Wharz baffoom?
Me: Hall to the left.
Random Classmate: Hmmmnim.
clickety, clackety, clickety, clackety, CRASH!
Steve, Nathan, Cathy, EK, Me: (checking on the noise) Are you okay?
Random Classmate: Hmminnmm rmmm hhmminnimmmmm…

(frantic high heels coming closer – clickity, clackity, clickety, clackety…)
Previous Random Classmate: I’ve got a story… I’ve got a story… I’ve got a story…
Steve, Cathy, and Nathan: This is going in a book, isn’t it?
Me: Probably.

Various Classmates: Bye… See you in five years.
Me: Bye. See you on Facebook.

Many of my friends keep telling me that my experience has something to do with celebrity. I think they’re wrong, because we didn’t have any celebrities at the reunion, other than the folks who worked so hard to put the shindig together.

Rumor has it the 35th is going to be a 4 day cruise. I have to wonder if I’ll be hearing clickity, clackity, clickety, clackety… stumble… gaaahhhhhhh! SPLASH!

I hope not, but if I do I’ll have no choice but to put it in a book. After laughing so hard that my drink shoots out my nose... Why? Because I’m that guy.

More to come…

Murv

(Pictured: Photo 1 – Dave Perkins, M. R. Sellars, E K… Photo 2 – Kathy Patterson Inkley, M. R. Sellars…)

Right out of the gates allow me to point out that Kurt Cobain and I share the same birth date. Now, I’ll grant you, there were quite a number of years separating us – he was the youngster and me the oldster – and I’m also still having those birthdays, quite unlike him. However, the point is we share a birth date so I think that allows me to bastardize the names of a couple of songs. So there…

Of course, as usual this blog is not about Kurt Cobain. Nor is it about Nirvana, The Foo Fighters, or any such thing.

It is, however, about Lithium… Or Thorazine… Or Haldol… Or any other antipsychotic you might be able to imagine. Why? Because I know some folks who need some. Scratch that… “Some” isn’t even close. Dump truck loads… Tanker truck loads… Just keep it coming.

But, let’s jump back to the beginning… Sorta.

You see, as an author of Paranormal Thrillers / Dark Urban Fantasy, I get to meet some very interesting folks. Some of them are, as I said, interesting. Others are more along the lines of interesting… Get my meaning?

Allow me to illustrate. I recently launched a book. Some of you may have heard of it – Miranda: A Rowan Gant Investigation. Now, as with previous books and as many authors do, I had a launch party. Nothing big. Not really a soiree or anything. Just a big cookie and a book signing. In the past I’ve done bigger sorts of parties for book launches, but I went for a minimalist approach this time, mainly because the economy sucks. But, I’m getting off track…

This go around I arrived at the store that was hosting the launch and they were also having a psychic fair. All good. More traffic, more folks to chat with. No problem there. Well, a psychic fair means “psychic readers”… Folks tossing out tarot cards, runes, whatever. Again, all good.

Or, so I thought…

I hadn’t been in the store 10 minutes that I was approached by one of said readers. The first thing she said to me was, “You’re the vampire guy, right?”

“Ummm, no,” I replied. “I’m the author guy.”

“But you write about vampires,” she said.

“No,” I replied with a smile. “Actually, I write paranormal suspense thrillers about a witch who helps the Saint Louis police solve serial murders and the like.”

“But there are vampires in them.”

“Well… I wrote one book that had a serial killer who pretended to be a vampire,” I said, picking the particular volume from the table and holding it up. “It was titled Blood Moon.”

“Well, I’m a real vampire slayer,” she replied, not even bothering to look at the novel in my hand.

I blinked. I blinked again. Then with my outside voice I said, “I see.”

My inside voice, however, was saying, “Sugar, I’m pretty sure you aren’t that Buffy chick… She’s quite a bit younger than you…”

“That’s what I do,” she continued. “I travel around the world slaying vampires.”

My outside voice said, “Oh. That’s nice.”

My inside voice spoke up again and said, “Really… And you hide the bodies where?”

“I just cut the twelve cords,” she announced.

My outside voice said, “Oh. That’s nice.”

My inside voice said, “You might have cut the cheese, but that’s about it. I think it’s more like you just escaped from a mental ward somewhere and people in white coats are looking for you.”

“I gathered up the twelve cords of the blah blah-blah de blabbity blah blah blah…” she continued.

My inside voice said, “I wonder how much Haldol it takes to put you down? You aren’t all that big, but with this level of psychosis I’m thinking, oh, I dunno, a quart. Quart and a half?”

My outside voice said nothing.

However, my outside face smiled and my outside head nodded. When you run into interesting people at a book signing, that’s pretty much all you can do unless you want to look like an ass to all of the actual interesting people who are standing around waiting to chat with you.

Eventually “Buffy” started winding down, “Blah blah, de blabbity and so a crack in the earth is a good thing. Oil spilling into the gulf from the earth just goes to show you that I managed to slay blabbity blah blah vampires.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” my outside voice said.

“Yeah, you’re definitely a fucking frootloop,” my inside voice mumbled. “Oil spilling into the gulf is a good thing? Sheesh…”

“So, you don’t read?” she asked.

“Sure I read,” I replied. “I mean, I write books so it kinda comes with the territory.”

She shook her head and gave me an exasperated sigh. “I mean you don’t read for people.”

“Come again?”

“You aren’t a reader. You don’t see things like the person in your book.”

“Oh,” I said with my outside voice.

“Here we go…” I said with my inside voice.

My outside voice continued talking. “No, I don’t talk to dead people or have visions like my character, but I have helped the police in the past by answering questions about paganism and some of the symbology.”

“Then that’s what you should do,” she announced.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You should quit writing about it and just help the police.”

I shook my head. “Why?”

“Because then you’d be helping.”

“I think I’ll stick to writing,” I said with my outside voice. “After ten books it’s kinda become a habit.”

My inside voice said, “Wrong guess on the Haldol. Gonna take three quarts for this one…”

“Well,” she grumbled as she wandered off to do a psychic reading for a client. “I was really hoping for your fans to show up so I could slay them.”

“I wonder if they have sharp, pointy objects in this store?” my inside voice wondered.

“Oh. That’s nice,” my outside voice said.

But, you know what made the day even better? A few hours later one of the other “readers” came up to me and said, “You’re the vampire guy, right?”

I sighed as my outside voice automatically spewed, “No, I’m the author guy.”

“Jeezus H. Chhhhhrrrriiiiissssst! Not another one,” my inside voice groaned.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, I just read Abraham Lincoln:  Vampire Hunter, and it’s a true story taken from his private journals, you know. So, I thought you would find it interesting that one of our presidents was a famous vampire slayer and we’re just now finding out about it.”

“Oh. That’s nice…”

She’s all yours, Seth*. I don’t do vampires. That’s your schtick… I already have a whole box of frootloops who think they can actually ride brooms. I don’t need your mixed nuts too…

More to come…

Murv

* Seth Grahame-Smith – author of Abraham Lincoln:  Vampire Hunter