BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Here’s the deal… I don’t lie so good.*

Well, let me qualify that… You see I don’t lie so good in person. I lie great on paper. Do it all the time. Hell, I’ve got 9 complete volumes of almost 100% pure fabrication available in bookstores with a 10^th on the way later this year. So, like I said, it’s the whole in person lying thing that doesn’t work out well for me.

And, I guess that’s why I simply could not believe I was getting away with it.

“Getting away with what?” you ask.

We’ll get to that in a bit… First I should warn you that we need to chase a random chicken or two in order set the table… Of course, you already knew that would happen, didn’t you?

Here’s the deal – I’ve given this whole lying thing a lot of thought. Now, don’t get me wrong, I was brought up to be truthful, and that’s exactly the kind of value system I am trying to instill in my offspring. But, after ruminating long and hard on the subject, I’ve concluded that there are two sub-classes of lie that are ethically permissible under particularly defined circumstances.

The first is kind of obvious – we all know that there is that occasional, proverbial “white lie” that gets told, even by the most honest person. Sometimes it’s a minor twist of words, and other times it could merely be a lie of omission – for example, kind of like when I didn’t tell E K she had forgotten to put the tuna in the tuna helper – (Young And In Lust… I mean, Love… 01/11/2009). Know what I mean? I “kinda lied” for the express purpose of saving her embarrassment. It was one of those untruths you have to use every now and then to simply avoid hurting someone’s feelings, and by default they come under the heading of tact. Therefore, if used properly they can be forgiven. Yeah… Basically “tact lies” are like “free lies”. No dogma or anything such as that attached, because it usually affects more good than harm. That’s what makes it a “white lie”. Of course, they are only sans dogma if you follow the rules.

Granted, even “tact lies” sometimes backfire, or even glance harmlessly off the target and fall by the wayside. If you let them spin out of control, however, they could detonate in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you never know who might get hurt, so you have to be careful. For instance, there are times when you might well be better off to just bite the bullet and tell Aunt Bernice that her “Famous Candied Turnip Upside Down Pickle Relish Tart” really isn’t a family favorite and you wish she’d stop serving it to you, especially since it sent everyone to the hospital emergency ward the last go around. But, you should always keep in mind that these are judgment calls. If you aren’t going to suffer any ill effects from said foodstuff, and you don’t want to make Aunt Bernice cry or anything such as that, it might be prudent to invoke the “tact lie”. There are times when you just need to say, “This is delicious,” choke it down and smile, then feed the remainder to the family pet while Auntie is out of the room.

But, this first classification really isn’t the issue here… Read on…

The second class of permissible deception is, of course, lies told in the commission of a practical joke. Now, I’m not talking about practical jokes like the kind the underwear model from “That 70’s Show” does on TV. I personally find those to be completely ridiculous. Therefore, it is important to remember that these lies are bound by even stricter regulations than “tact lies.” You see, with the “practical joke deception lie” the fun needs to be harmless. Yes, by its very nature said fun is going to be at the expense of someone else, however you need to be absolutely positive that they will be willing to pay that price. What I mean is, you simply have to be cognizant of whether or not the dupe / mark / “victim” is going to find the joke funny, or be hurt physically or emotionally. If either of the latter is going to be the case, then the fun isn’t really harmless, is it?

Now, the exception to this is a state of agitation we will call “momentarily miffed”. Generally, this is okay, in my book at least, primarily because my definition of the phrase is, “a split second of prime annoyance that immediately turns into laughter because the situation is just so damned funny.”

So, unless I have missed my guess, I think you’ve probably figured out by now that what I was amazed to be “getting away with” was a “practical joke deception lie”. If you haven’t picked up on that, start back at the beginning and read very slowly. If it still doesn’t dawn on you, simply drop me a line and I’ll send E K over to explain it. Note that if you choose the latter option you should be absolutely certain that your health insurance premiums are up to date, as E K can be somewhat intense with her explanations, especially if she thinks you are merely being stubborn or not paying attention.

So, now that we’ve fricasseed that chicken, let’s run over to the other side of the yard and chase that Rhode Island Red over there. Trust me, I’ll eventually get back around to the bucket of extra crispy I sat out on the table at the beginning. I always do…

I need to take this opportunity to point out that I’m not an actor.

First off, I don’t have the looks. But mostly, I simply don’t have the talent. It’s just one of those things. You either have it or you don’t. Once upon a time I actually did have it, but then I lost it at a very early age, somewhere along Purchase Parkway in Kentucky, but that’s not even a chicken, that’s an opossum, so we’ll follow it a different time.

Back to that acting thing – when I was in high school I was actually a member of the Drama Club. Mrs. Osthoff, our faculty advisor, was terrific. She made the whole process fun for everyone involved, no matter what the level of talent, and strived to make each student feel important. But, whenever time rolled around for us to do a school play, I was always the groomsman and never the groom. What I mean is, I was customarily tagged to be the “student director” instead of onstage talent. As far as any type of onstage part, if I was especially lucky I would be cast as the “only, and I mean only if everyone else is sick or dead, last resort understudy” for the least significant and smallest role in the play. Yeah… The likelihood of me seeing costume and makeup was actually less than me being able to get a date with a cheerleader. (Although, I did eventually marry one – okay E K likes to point out that she wasn’t a cheerleader, she was on the drill team – close enough in my book, so maybe the above wasn’t the best analogy…)

But, I digress…

Like I said, Mrs. Osthoff was good for making everyone feel important, so she painted a vivid picture of the necessity for a student director, and in doing so shored up my self-esteem. Still, I wasn’t exactly stupid. I also took it as a fine piece of anecdotal evidence that served to tell me I was never going to be hitchhiking to Hollywood and making a name for myself – at least, not on the silver screen.

However, as with many other rules, this one had an exception. In my case, it was radio. You see, as I’ve mentioned before our school had a student run radio station. Of course, the transmitter was low power so on a clear day if you had a high end stereo system, a kite attached to it by 1000 feet of 16 gauge braided copper wire, an entire 75 yard role of aluminum foil that was crumpled into a Buckminster Fullerine type of configuration and tied to the kite’s tail, then held your head cocked to the left with your tongue sticking out “just so,” you could actually tune in KRSH-FM to catch a program or two. But, this would only work while standing on top of the Chuck-A-Burger, which was positioned diagonally across the street from the school.

Okay, so maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Truth is we had relatively solid broadcast range of about 1 mile, give or take. After that it started getting a bit dicey and a good FM antenna was definitely a must. But, I suppose I should move on. What I’m driving at is the fact that one of the things the drama club did in addition to the annual stage play was the re-creation of old “Shadow” radio plays. Yeah, “who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men, yadda yadda…” That “shadow”. The funny thing is, whenever we would record a radio play, I seemed to suddenly come into my own.

What I mean by that is, I would be cast in a major role. In fact, I was always cast as the villain of the particular episode we were taping. I can still remember the first role I had – I was an aspiring mystery writer turned burgeoning, sociopathic, paranoid-schizophrenic almost serial killer.

Hm… That kind of explains some stuff, doesn’t it?

Still, what this illustrated was that I did in fact have some minor sort of acting props. Just not if you could actually see me. Of course, as years wore on and I learned more and more about body language and the like, so I suspect I’d be a bit better at it now than I was back then. Not that I have any intention of trying, mind you. I’m definitely still not an actor, especially in close quarters.

You see, I have been told that no matter what the timbre of my voice, the posture with which I stand, or the gestures I make – or even, don’t make – my eyes give me away. I’m not entirely sure what it is about my eyes that betray the fact that I am spinning a yarn or hiding a truth. I suppose it could be that they are brown, and the old adage says that having brown eyes means you are full of sh*t.  Who knows?

All I can say is that I was told this by a girlfriend way back when, so I took it to heart. Back before E K and I got together, I had a tendency to wear sunglasses – or at the very least, tinted lenses – constantly. This annoyed her because it made it hard for her to “read me”… But, back then, since I was worshiping her from afar, I didn’t want to risk her catching on to the fact that I had fallen for her.

Okay… Now that the table is set, is everyone ready for that bucket of extra crispy?

Good… So, I’m sure you are wondering just exactly what it is I was lying about.

Why, Tupperware, of course…

More to come…

Murv

… To be continued in – But, It Was Right Here…

* Yes, I know “so good” should be “very well.” Don’t make me repeat my disclaimer, because if you do I’m gonna send E K after you.

I’ll apologize up front – this isn’t one of my funny ha-ha blogs. But, by the same token it is a missive some of y’all have been screaming for me to post ever since this morning, so here goes…

Not long ago I wrote a blog about an impending change in my style. My hairstyle, to be more specific. I told everyone that I was going to be losing the ponytail. Getting myself a respectable haircut.

Some of you posted comments. Some of you didn’t. Some of you obviously read the blog, some of you obviously didn’t – we’ll be getting to how I know that in just a bit. All I can say though is, tsk tsk tsk to those of you who blew it off and didn’t read that entry. (Grin)

One of you – yes, you “John Of The Corona And Chocolate Milk Fame” – even commented about waiting to see if I was really going to go through with it. Dude…I mean, that right there was practically a “double dog dare” in its own right. But then, I highly suspect you already knew that. (LOL!)

Anyway, I had set the date for today, so this morning I posted a tweet and status update on all my social networking pages to let everyone know the time had arrived. Imagine my surprise when the next thing I knew people were crawling out of the woodwork screaming, “What? No! You can’t! Why haven’t I heard about this? Say it ain’t so! What brought this on? Etc…”

I have to say, it was interesting to watch. Some of you, very dear friends in fact, seemed to go immediately into a state of mourning. Wailing, black veils, and the whole nine yards. I could actually smell the matches and hear the Bic’s as candles were lit all across the country. It was, to say the least, very profound.

In fact, it was just plain touching. It gave me pause. I sat back and ruminated about whether or not I should actually go through with this.

Then I got into the car and went down to SuperCuts. Yeah… I still had myself a full blown LOPITOFFAME…

We arrived at the SuperCuts on St. Charles Rock Road, late morning. We selected this particular hair-cuttery due to the fact that it wasn’t terribly busy, and it was also on the way to Target – for the French readers that would be, Tarr-jaey.

Fortunately, I was able to get into a chair right away, and when my stylist asked what I was after by way of a cut, I told her that after 20 years it was time for the ponytail to go.

Her jaw dropped. After a moment she said, “And I get to do it?”

I replied, “Yeah.”

Her face spread into a grin and she said something akin to “Oh Goodie!”

Apparently ponytails are kind of out of style or some such. That’s what  the Evil Redhead told me, anyway. Judging from the stylist’s reaction, I have to assume maybe that is true, because she was all about getting rid of it. At any rate I figured that since I had dropped the first shoe, I should just keep making noise and drop the other.

“Do you mind if my wife takes pictures,” I asked. “Some of my fans are wanting to see this.”

Of course, the use of the word fans lead us right into the whole, “What kind of fans, what do you do?” Q&A session. When she found out I was an author, and what I wrote, she started getting excited all over again. It seems she figured she just might have a famous person in her chair. Well, I didn’t correct her on that point. I figured my ears might be safer if she really and truly believed I was actually important or something.

As it turned out, all of the ladies in the salon were having a ball with this. In fact, the gal working the chair next to mine was picking back and forth with my stylist in a manner that pretty much reminded me of when Morrison and I joke around on tour.

Once the official “ponytailectomy” itself was done, she started in trying to do something with the fine mop that is my hair. After parting it, spraying it with water, then combing it out, she leaned down and told me, “I promise you won’t look like Moe when I’m finished.”

E K was already standing off to the side, snapping pictures and giggling uncontrollably. Obviously she was having fun, because as you well know, the Evil Redhead never giggles. She might cackle with evil glee, but giggle? Nope, just not her thing.

At one point during the styling, when we found out my lopped off tail wasn’t suitable for use by Locks of Love, my stylist asked the Evil Redhead if she wanted it.

Of course, E Kay turned to me and said, “I wonder if we can get anything for it?” then burst into more uncontrollable giggling.

I’ll be honest. For a half-second I actually considered auctioning it off for charity, but then I came to my senses. I really didn’t want my hair falling into the wrong hands if you know what I mean. (wink wink, nudge nudge, Witch’s secret handshake and all that…)

At this stage of the game, my stylist joked that maybe she should put some of the trimmings from the floor on Ebay. At least, I’m pretty sure she was joking… I guess I should go looking for M. R. Sellars hair on the web because I might need to bid on it or something.

After 15 or so minutes, the job was done. I paid the bill, gave my stylist a nice tip, then hung around for a few minutes talking with the ladies in the salon about my books. When we eventually left, I had the distinct impression that one or two of them might be visiting a bookstore in search of the RGI novels.

So, there you have it. The hair is gone and I’m sporting a new style. Now I just have to get rid of some of this extra tonnage I’m carrying around.

At this point it feels kinda weird. My neck isn’t warm anymore, my head seems lighter, and I get a bit of a shock each time I reach back to straighten the tail that is no longer there – a mannerism I’ve had for 20 years now. I have a feeling that one will be hard to break.

Other than that, the kid doesn’t seem too traumatized, and E K actually likes it. Of course, she was in charge of the style selection and had a confab with the stylist before the Lopitoffame Procedure began.

She did make one admission however – apparently she misses having a “handle”… I’ll let y’all take there where you will, suffice it to say, it’s material for a blog of a different color…

More to come…

Murv

NOTE: Click photos to enlarge…