BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I was going to call this “It’s Just An Egg Sandwich…”, but then I had one of those moments of inspiration. Either that, or gas, I’m not sure which. In any event, I’m hoping Kurt Vonnegut will forgive me for throwing down some massa-cree on his title. After all, I did use the short version*. That should count for something.

So it goes**… Why was I going to call this entry “It’s Just An Egg Sandwich…”? Well, that’s fairly simple, actually. Mostly because I happened upon the idea of writing it while I was in the middle of fixing myself an egg sammich… On whole wheat… With cheese… And ‘mater. Kinda makes you hungry, eh?

So it goes…  The whole egg sammich thing was one of those, “Oh yeah, that again… maybe I should write about it,” moments. You know, sort of like Deja Vu, but not. Mostly because I don’t allow my deja to be vued.  It’s way too personal.

So it goes… I was standing there fixing myself an egg sammich when it suddenly dawned on me that at some unknown point in the future I would be doing something equally mundane, but that I would just as suddenly flash on the fact that I had once been standing there fixing myself an egg sammich and thinking about the fact that at some unknown point in the future I would be thinking about this moment in time and wondering where all the time that was in between had gotten off to; whereupon I would then think about the fact that I was standing there fixing myself an egg sammich and… Well… I think you get the idea.

And why did I suddenly flash on all that? Well, because in the instant prior to that flash there had been another flash. Not the expose yourself kind, mind you… Although, in a way I suppose it was. Nope… This was another of those flashes in the brainpan.

So it goes… I was standing there fixing myself an egg sammich and thinking about the fact that at some unknown point in the future I would be doing something equally mundane, but that I would just as suddenly flash on the fact that I had once been standing there fixing myself an egg sammich and thinking about the fact that at some unknown point in the future I would be thinking about this moment in time and wondering where all the time that was in between had gotten off to, because I had just flashed on something I had done in the past that was equally mundane while having the very same sort of thought…

And… So it goes… My world falls in upon itself like a shattered mirror, reflecting back what was, what is, and what will be.

Maybe I should change my name to Billy Pilgrim… But then I’d have to get killed by a gullible moron – of course, that’s Kurt’s story, not mine…

I think maybe I should just keep writing. It seems Kurt and I have a lot in common where style and satire are concerned. Hell, we both even have critics that hate us because we don’t follow their rules, and you know what? That suits me just fine… I bet it did Kurt, too. I’ll ask him when I get to the other side. I suspect that is a ways off yet, however, I’m willing to bet I’ll by lying there in my bed thinking about the time I was fixing myself an egg sammich and flashing on the thought that I would one day be doing…

So it goes…

More to come…

Murv

* The actual full title of Slaughterhouse Five is: Slaughterhouse-Five, or The Children’s Crusade: A Duty Dance with Death.

** “So it goes” is a commonly repeated expression employed by Vonnegut in the book, Slaughterhouse Five.

As promised, I am throwing together a few blogs about our adventures on vacation. Please make note that they won’t necessarily be in chronological order as far as the vacation itself went. They are actually in “transcribed jotted down note order,” which makes sense to me, but not really everyone else. At any rate, this is number four in the series…

In the movie Die Hard, John McClane (Bruce Willis) takes one look at the utter lunacy in the baggage claim area of LAX and with a resigned confusion, exclaims, “California…” (see the scene HERE)

This pretty much sets the tone for McClane’s view of the 31st state, that being that folks on the left coast aren’t right in the head. Obviously, having seen Die Hard more times than I can count, I’ve noticed this “bit” before. I’ve just never really taken it to heart. Then I went on vacation…

No, not to California. I’m not exactly sure they will let me into the state, to be honest, and after this blog post I think my chances will be even more slim.

You see, as you will recall, in Part Two of the Vacation Chronicles, Neither Does Murv… I mentioned the Horn Honkers. As it happens, the Horn Honkers were from California – Or, that’s what it said on their license plates, anyway, and their car definitely did NOT look like a rental.

Our first encounter with the Horn Honkers – the first one that sticks out in our minds, at least – occurred while we were waiting around on the side of the road for a glimpse of “das cinnamon bayer.” We had been waiting there for all of five minutes, maybe even less. With cameras and binoculars poised, we scanned the treeline below, searching for something big, furry, and wearing no pants – just a t-shirt and carrying a jar of honey.

However, before we had a chance to locate said creature, the roar of a car engine came from above. We turned to see the fancymobile, tagged with California plates, speeding around the curve – way too fast, I might add – then accelerating and racing toward us even way too faster. Dangerous kind of fast. At about 100 yards out, the horn began to blare.

A scant moment later the California Fancymobile slid to a halt on the turnout between our vehicle and someone who was parked up ahead of us. We all abandoned our quest for “cinnamon Pooh bayer.” Why? Well, initially we thought it was because someone was in distress and needed help immediately. We perceived that there must be some sort of emergency. After all, they had come down a narrow, “switchbacking” mountain road at a dangerous speed, blaring their horn. What else were we to think?

Seems, however, that we had misinterpreted their situation. Apparently we not only didn’t speak German (See Neither Does Murv…) we also didn’t speak California. The reason they were speeding down the mountain at a dangerous rate is that… Well… we still aren’t sure about that. The horn, though, we did figure out. Fact is, they did want to get our attention, but it was just so that we would “get the f*ck out of their way” because they were from California. We figured that out because before the car had even stopped skidding to a halt, their doors were open and they were jumping out, cameras in hand. Like cockroaches startled by a light, they proceeded to scurry back and forth, running between us, pointing their cameras – sometimes without even looking at what they were pointing them at – then snapping pictures. Thirty-seven point four seconds later, they were back in the California Fancymobile and slinging gravel as they literally peeled out of the turnout and sped off.

We all stood there dumbfounded for a moment, then wandered back to the Jeep and climbed in. We knew better than to believe Pooh would be hanging around after that little display…

And that would be the end of the story if it weren’t for the fact that for the rest of the day we played leapfrog with the F*ckin’ Californians. Well, it wasn’t so much leapfrog as just us meandering into their way, I guess.

Seriously.

We would be standing there admiring the view, waiting for wildlife, eating a sammich, taking a leak, whatever… Suddenly, out of nowhere the California Fancymobile would roar into view and come screeching into whatever parking area we were inhabiting. They didn’t always use their horn, but every single time, without fail, the two bald surfer dudes would jump out of the car, scurry around like they were running late for an appointment with an expensive hooker, and snap random pictures in a half-assed fashion.

But who am I to complain? Odds are they “saw” wayyyyyy more of Wyoming than we did. Still, all of our pictures were in focus. Not so sure about theirs…

More to come…

Murv