BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I’m old enough to remember Young.

Robert Young, that is…

Father Knows Best…

Marcus Welby, MD…

Ring a bell?

Well, I’m sure it does with most of you. If it doesn’t, then just pretend. It doesn’t matter all that much  since I’m going to explain the connection anyway.

You see, in addition to Doc Welby and the like, Robert Young also did the Sanka™ commercials. Decaffeinated Coffee – Oh boy…

Now, as an aside here, I have to say that Decaffeinated coffee is an extremely vile thing. It’s also an oxymoron of mammoth proportions. It’s akin to de-opiated heroin, or non-toxic rat poison. It just doesn’t make sense… But, you know, digressing and all…

So, the commercials would always start with someone going off the deep end.  Something on the order of the following: Mary would be slicing veggies for the cucumber & watercress finger sandwiches she was going to serve to her bridge club with afternoon coffee – because back then all women stayed home, vacuumed the floor and washed the windows while wearing cotton dresses and high heels, and then had plenty of time for a visit to the beauty salon and do the grocery shopping. Then they would have afternoon bridge club with the other similarly attired moms from the neighborhood. It was a different sort of time…  A time when dress wearing moms sold Tupperware in their living rooms and men wore polyester leisure suits. Anywho… Mary would break a nail, or spill some milk, or slice the cucumber too thick, or something equally as minor, whereupon she would start screaming, run through the house, and stab all of the other Afternoon Bridge Party MILFs to death with the butcher knife she had been using for the sandwiches.

Okay, so maybe not THAT drastic… But, there would generally be some sort of overreaction to a minor issue. And, that reaction was always Robert “Doc Welby” Young’s cue to step forward from the background. In a concerned, trusted, fatherly tone he would say, “Mary… Why so tense?”

I know. Perfect opening for a soft porn flick, eh? Well, except that porn usually has less plot than a Sanka™ commercial…

Moving right along… At this point, Mary would unload on the guy who played a doctor on TV. He would listen, nod, then diagnose “Mary” with caffeine overload and immediately prescribe Sanka™ instead of regular coffee. Of course, as usually happens in the perfect world of commercials, Mary was instantly cured, turning once again into a happy, airheaded, suburban MILF in pink pumps, with perfect hair, a clean house, and a serving tray specially designed to display Sanka™ – cans AND jars – for everyone to see.

It was all very Stepford Wives-ish if you ask me.

Of course, there were other versions… “Joe… Why so tense?”… “Enrico… Why so tense?” …. “Aunt Bee… Why so tense?”… You get the idea. My version was a lot more fun though.

And so, why am I even bringing up Sanka™?

Easy. Because even though E K can’t stand coffee, I told her the other day she needed some.

Sanka™ that is, not regular coffee. E K on two Coca-Colas a day is bad enough. Sure don’t want any more caffeine in the mix.

At any rate, the reason I did so is that we were talking about dinner arrangements we were making with some friends. She mentioned that it had to be on a weekend because one of said friends didn’t like going out on weeknights. The conversation that ensued went something like this –

Me: Good, I don’t either.

EK: Why? It’s not like you have to be anywhere the next day. You work from home. It’s not like you have to go to the Bad Place.

Me: Because weekdays are my quiet time.

EK: How so?

Me: You and the o-spring are gone and I have my house to myself.

EK: So?

Me: Why would I want to go out and deal with people on my quiet days?

EK: So you’re really saying you just don’t like going out.

Me: Have a Sanka™. I’m just kidding.

EK: (SiGh) You’re ALWAYS kidding these days.

Me: Because I’m happy. I don’t have to go to the Bad Place anymore.

The first thing that really struck me is that she didn’t immediately beat me to death for calling it “my house.” I’m sure punishment will ensue at some point.

The second thing that struck me was the truth behind what I’d said. I’ve been relatively happy for a handful of years now, and a good portion of why is the fact that I don’t have to go to the Bad Place anymore.

Allow me to explain…

More to come…

Murv

To Be Continued in:  The Bad Place…

Of course, that’s where mine usually resides, correct?

To hear some people tell it, it is. But, that’s not actually what we are here to talk about, of course…

The other day I wrote a blog about the USDA being out to get me. I still think they are. I’ve noticed way too many John Deere green trucks in the neighborhood as of late. On top of that, just the other day I found wheat chaff under one of our windows and the distinct odor of fertilizer was still hanging in the air. Of course, the fact that the FFA (Future Farmers of America) keeps calling and hanging up doesn’t help either.

But, again, not exactly what we are here to discuss… Actually, it was a comment on that particular blog that sparked this particular blog. Still with me? Good.

You see, a friend of mine – we’ll call her DeathStar, because that’s pretty much what we call her all the time anyway – pointed out that if one were to be pragmatic about it, the fact that someone from the USDA is searching me out just might be something as innocuous as an old family friend or acquaintance now working for said covert governmental organization.

Well, that’s not how my mind works. I mean, I can be pragmatic when necessary, but if it’s not, then why?

Let me give you an example. Several years ago there was a commercial for some cell phone service running on the toob. I know, I know, there are plenty of those. Unfortunately, I can’t actually remember which company this was, suffice it to say, it was in a black and white noir sort of fashion. At one point during the commercial there is this guy running across a street in slow motion as the announcer extolls the virtues of this particular service and the features it will be introducing very soon. The camera pans down and to the left, showing us a spot of color in the otherwise black and white frame – that color being a solitary, red, high-heeled pump lying in the gutter.

Upon seeing this I turned to the evil redhead, what with her being just as pragmatic as DeathStar. Besides, DeathStar wasn’t here… But, I didn’t just turn to her. I actually proceeded to ask, “What does that mean to you?”

“What?” she asked.

“That shoe in the gutter,” I explained.

Without missing a beat she replied, “Oh, that. Well, I take it to mean some woman was having a great time partying and lost one of her shoes.”

“Really?” I asked.

E K, being E K, instantly took on a stern tone. “You’re doubting me?”

“No, your worship.”

“Okay,” she pressed. “What does it mean to you?”

I shrugged. “Well, actually it raises a lot of questions for me.”

“Such as?”

“Is she still alive? Approximately when was she abducted? Were there any witnesses? Is it possible that there is any DNA evidence besides her own? Has she been reported missing yet? Are there any traffic cameras nearby? Didn’t anyone hear her scream? Was she alone? If she was with someone were they abducted too, or were they complicit? When will…”

“Okay, okay, lackey,” E K said, cutting me off.

“Well…” I grumbled. “You asked.”

“And believe me, I’m already regretting it.”

So, there you go… I guess maybe my mind really is in the gutter. Why? Because that commercial was on TV something like five years ago, and I still want to know what’s up with that shoe and why there hasn’t been an investigation launched to find out what happened to that poor woman.

More to come…

Murv