BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Back in 1993 there was this movie starring Michael Douglas. Some of you may remember it. The title was, Falling Down. Now, when you read the plot synosis it repeatedly refers to Douglas’ character as ‘disturbed.’ I will agree with that, wholeheartedly. The problem is, while the synopsis outlines key events in the movie that trigger the character, they paint him as disturbed (i.e. mentally unstable at the outset) and triggered as opposed to being a normal guy who is beaten into disturbia by society and events and then triggered.

When you watch the movie itself they make this latter point clear, but the synopsis really doesn’t. The main reason I even bother to go into that fact is that some of you may not have actually seen the movie and would base your view on that synopsis. Just want to make sure that is cleared up… So, now that it is, on with the rest of this ranting blog thing…

‘I just want to go home,’ is something Douglas’ character said quite a bit throughout the movie. It is also something I say very often… You see, D-FENS (the character – no, don’t get the wrong idea, it’s not some stupid name… You see, for most of the movie you are only able to apply an identity to him based on his vanity license plate D-FENS – he was a defense industry worker if that helps explain it… You don’t find out his real name until later)…

Anyway, my point here is that I can readily identify with D-FENS. I have sympathy for him. Sometimes I feel like I AM him…

In case you haven’t seen the movie and don’t intend to follow the above link to the synopsis, basically you have a guy who is laid off, divorced, beaten down, and just plain sick and tired of the BS out there in the world. By BS I mean getting mugged by a gang, a store owner who won’t make change for a buck so you can use his pay phone then gouges you on a candy bar so that you still don’t end up with any change (yeah, I know, a bit outdated what with cell phones and all, but you get the idea), traffic jams caused for no reason other than the fact the people with entitlement issues are being assholes… Well, finally this guy cracks and fights back. Granted, it gets pretty bad in the end, (what he does, not the movie itself – I think the movie was great) but, in any case, I’ll let you watch the movie to find out those details…

So… Here I am, on the raggedy edge… No, wait, that was from Serenity… Wrong movie… good movie.. no, actually it was a GREAT movie… but not the one I am referencing right now…

So, here I am… Pretty much feeling like D-FENS… No, I haven’t been laid off (actually, I have a contract to fulfill with my publisher, so that means I still have a job – even though book sales are way down in the current economy, but that’s a different blog)… And, I’m not divorced nor am I in any danger of being so (unless, of course, EK has plans I don’t know about…) But, I have been dealing with the whole entitled asshole thing…

You see, I just got back from grocery shopping for the Yule bash this weekend. I wasn’t even able to finish the shopping because I simply couldn’t take any more… In fact, I was on the verge of re-enacting a few scenes from Falling Down right there in the Shop ‘n Save. Fortunately, since I DO still have a wife and a kid and a job, I have too much to lose, therefore I had the good sense to just head for the checkout stand, pay for my cartload and leave…

But, to give you an idea… As I was politely making my way down the aisles, moving to the side and allowing people to pass whenever I needed to stop, or waiting for folks to finish before trying to get past them myself, I was faced with assholes. People who would ram my cart as I politely waited for the old lady in front of me to finish putting something into her own cart…

They would ram MY cart, push past me, then ram the old lady’s cart in order to rush past her. Then guess what? They’d stop 15 feet up the aisle – in the MIDDLE of the friggin’ aisle – and would they get something off the shelf and move on? No… They’d stand there blocking the aisle while carrying on a LOUD conversation with someone via cell phone. ‘Giiiiirrlrllllllll, I be tellin’ you he be yadda yadda…etc… etc…yadda…’

However, I DID figure something out during all of this – These assholes don’t use the words ‘excuse me’ because they don’t know what they mean. I tested the theory several times by politely saying excuse me while trying to get around them, and was merely stared at like I had grown an extra head. Obviously, ‘excuse me’ is spoken in a foreign language where they are concerned.

If that was all that occurred it wouldn’t be so bad – even though said incident happened MULTIPLE times within the span of 1 hour with different assholes involved each time – but, it doesn’t stop there. I had an idiot bean me with an eight pound ham because he tossed it into the bin without bothering to look first. When I looked up  he stared at me like it was my fault for being there.

There were several other incidents, but I don’t want to bore you with a neverending rant… Suffice it to say, I was pushed to the point where I was imagining myself in D-FENS’s position, and thinking I would do pretty much the same thing he did (see movie – or at the very least the synopsis – for details)

Of course, to add insult to injury, even though I decided to check out and ‘go home’ rather than lay waste to everyone in my path, someone still found it necessary to push in front of me while I was standing in the checkout line.

While I refrained from picking up the nearest blunt object and beating her to death with it, I let her know in no uncertain terms what she’d done… Then, just to be an asshole myself, I told her with as much sarcasm as I could muster (and them some), “But you just go ahead…don’t mind me.”

I guess I had a pretty wild D-FENS kind of look in my eye, because she said, ‘ummm, oh, ummm, no…’ then pulled out of the line and went to the checkout stand at the far end of the store which happened to be much closer to the front door.

It could have been the look in my eyes… It could have been the tone of my voice… It might even have been my posture… But, somewhere in the back of my head I have to wonder if it was all because she had once seen the movie in question combined with the fact that I simply stood there muttering, ‘I just want to go home…’

Yeah, something tells me that might have been it… And, I think she wanted to put some distance between us and be within reach of an exit in the event that I might Fall Down…

More to come…

Murv

No, not your head. And, noooooo, not that satellite/cable TV network for kids either…

Nog… Milk, Egg Yolks, Sugar, Vanilla, and some Nutmeg. Egg Nog. The elixir of the holidays. The “dairy that marries” so well with good Kentucky/Tennessee Bourbon. The very reason for making it to and through the bah-humbug season of the year.

Know what I’m talking about now? Yeah, thought so.

I’ve spoken highly of nog before. In fact, I suspect I’ve even posted a Nog Blog in the past, I’m sure. But, I’m old and I have CRS* so I don’t always remember. Anyway, as you may recall, the appearance of nog in the refrigerated section of the supermarket is how I know it is time to “be of good cheer”. And, as stated above, it is the reason I am of good cheer during the “holler days”. (Well, it and the bourbon…A whole lotta bourbon…)

There I go digressing again… It’s the bourbon talking, I’m sure of that. Maybe i should have some more… Anywho, obviously I am now in possession of sour mash-laced, sweetened and thickened dairy products of the supermarket ilk (because I simply don’t have enough hours in the day to make boiled custard – as we call it back where I come from. I’m sure I have regaled you with stories of watching my mom, my grandmother, and/or my grandfather Elvis standing at the stove, carefully and constantly stirring a pot of the concoction. If I haven’t, then perhaps I need to get nostalgic and post a Double Nog Blog this year. So, anyway, I am also in possession of the supermarket style nog because my gut  doesn’t require any more than I obtain from the store…you see, if I made it myself I’d make a lot… I mean A LOT! My gut is big enough as it is.)

So, as I sit here working in my office – well, at my dining room table actually since I felt like a change of venue today – I am having a bourboned up nog and watching my squirrels beat on the picture window because they are out of animal crackers (seriously… I just put corn out today and no animal crackers, so the little tree rats are pitching a fit… I should really take pictures.) But, back to the nog… As I sit here having my nog I am reminded of a story. If I’ve told it before, just throw me a bone – read it again and pretend like you’ve never heard it before…

Many, many, maaaaannnnnnyyy years ago, when I was but a wee author (I used crayons for my stories)… seriously, I was like 7 or 8… we (my sister and I) had this babysitter. Hannah. I wonder whatever happened to Hannah. I had a major “8 year old” crush on her… and, what with her being an older woman… ya’know, like 15 and all… Well, either way, I digress yet again… Bourbon, nostalgia, and hormones… weird combination 🙂

So, back to the “story”… You see, we had some nog in the fridge because it was around the holidays. Mom had told Hannah that she was welcome to have nog, and that so could my sister and I. And, we did… In fact, we drank better than a half gallon between the three of us as I recall.

When my parents came home that afternoon, instead of finding two kids bouncing off the walls and a frazzled babysitter, they found two sleeping kids and a snoozing babysitter.

You see, my mom had mixed up the labeling on the containers. It seems that we had, without our knowledge or any malice aforethought, consumed the bourbon laced nog instead of the “family friendly nog”.

All we knew is that it tasted a bit different, but it still tasted really good… And, of course, it made us feel all warm and tingly. Back then, we attributed it to holiday cheer.

Now that I am older, I understand that holiday cheer comes in a bottle. Now, excuse me while I head back to the kitchen for a refill.

More to come…

Murv

* Can’t Remember Shit syndrome

(Oh, and yeah, I stole your footnote idea there, Anastasia ;p )