BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Have you ever noticed that food modifies our social interaction in ways you don’t normally imagine?

I’m not talking about parties, or dinners with family and friends. Nothing fancy. No linen tablecloths, penguined up waitstaff, or $200 bottles of champagne that taste like crap. I’m just talking about average, everyday noms. The basic sustenance one tosses down their neck in order to fuel the body.

Am I making sense here? Yeah, I figured not. Let me see if I can explain my thoughts on this. You see, contrary to what you might think, I’m not actually a very social individual. I know, I know – I blog twice each week, have pages on all of the popular social networking sites, and I do a lot of book signings. And, if you follow any of my silliness you also know that I  have friends. Yeah, big shocker, I know, but I really do. Some of them even like me. Others, like say Rhonda and Dave are really worshipers of The Evil Redhead, although they don’t mind if I cook for them while they prostrate themselves before E K. (Note that I said prostrate, not prostate.)

Now, I also want to make something clear so there aren’t any misconceptions – I’m not a total misanthrope. Just a partial. What I mean to say is, I enjoy social interaction with my friends (Yes, Rhonda and Dave too), and I have a blast meeting new folks at book signings. However, I also like my quiet time. If you look at my Meyers-Briggs it will tell you I’m an introvert. So, while I really enjoy myself when I am “on” – which is what we tend to call it when I am being that M. R. Sellars guy as opposed to just plain old Murv – I find it equally enjoyable to switch “off”. I’m one of those folks who can become overwhelmed and needs to hit the reset button – you can ask my friends. Even when we have gatherings with all of the folks I dearly love, you will sometimes find me sneaking out on the back deck, beer in hand, just to get away from it all for 5 minutes. I’m even known to bum a cigarette now and then –  and other than some brief topples off the wagon due to extreme stress in my life, I haven’t smoked for 15 years. (except cigars, but that’s a different story.)

So, I think you can see what I’m talking about here. Or, maybe I’ve just muddied the waters. I’m good for that at times. But, either way, let’s get back to the pizza…

The other night, after a marathon writing session during the day, I was not in a mood to shuffle pots and pans in the kitchen. Nor was I in any frame of mind to socialize. This isn’t unusual when I have an intense writing day. After spending a nail-biting, totally immersed span of time in my imaginary world, I need to decompress. And so, I submitted the necessary paperwork in triplicate, prostrated myself, turned on my obsequious lackey charm, and obtained approval from the Evil Redhead to run out and grab pizza for supper.

Down the street from our home we have a chain pizza joint. It’s named after a Roman emperor. Not sure if it’s Julius or Augustus, but either way I’m sure you know which one I am talking about. The dude with the toga adorns their box. Well, as I am sure you are probably aware, they have a special deal on pizzas ready to go. Just drop in and if you are satisfied with plain old sausage, pepperoni, or cheese you are all good. 5 bucks and you are out the door in under 60 seconds – unless they are really busy. And, on this particular occasion they were…

I jumped into line and a minute or two later I was asking the guy behind the counter, “What do you have ready to walk?”

He looked and replied, “Cheese.”

Well, that would cover the O-spring, but E K likes pepperoni and I am a sausage guy. So, I elected to pay for my trio of pies and wait. So had several other folks.

Now remember, at this point I was in no mood to socialize with anyone.  My fictional characters had used up every ounce of my energy earlier in the day. My brain matter was fried. However, this is where the “food modified social interaction” suddenly comes in. There I stood next to the “Group W Wall” with a whole gaggle of folks I had never met and was never likely to meet again.

Less than a minute into my wait the guy next to me looks over and says, “What’d’ja order?”

Instead of giving him a who the hell are you look, I smiled and said, “All three.”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “I’ve been waitin’ on sausage.”

“We ordered supremes,” a couple two windows down along the wall offered.

“Special order, eh?” I grunted.

“Yeah, we aren’t in a hurry,” the male half of the duo replied.

A lady who was two or three back from me in line plopped herself into a seat next to where I was standing and said, “You know what I hate? When someone who comes in after me gets their food first.”

“Uh huh,” I said. “Kinda makes you rethink your menu choices doesn’t it?”

She nodded and said yes. The couple laughed. The guy next to me chuckled and said, “That’s a fact.”

The guy behind the counter called out one of the orders and the person who had been waiting jumped forward. Heretofore he had been completely silent, not joining into the impromptu “Group W” conversation, but once he had his pies he waved at all of us on the way out the door and said, “You guys have a good night.”

“You too,” we all returned.

Nice guy. Not very talkative, and he probably kicks his dog and steals cable when the rest of us aren’t around, but there at the pizza place he was a hell of a guy.

A minute or so later the lady who had voiced her loathing of people who were behind her in line getting their food first was called up for her order. In case you forgot, she had been behind me by 2 or 3 customers, yet I was still waiting. But, there was no animosity there. I was happy for her that she now had her pie in hand. Still, the guy next to me and I made a joke about it anyway – all in fun, of course. The couple down the wall thought it was funny. So did several other folks in the crowd. We aren’t sure if the lady thought it was funny because she was out of there so quickly that the displaced air from the door didn’t even get anywhere near her ass. I suppose that for her the magic of the social interaction was gone. She wasn’t like us any longer. She was with pizza, and we were without. She was better than the rest of us now… She had her food and it was time to “move on up”.

I really don’t blame her though. A few minutes later the guy next to me had his and was waving on the way out the door. Soon after that I had mine and was making a beeline for the exit. The couple who had ordered the supremes was still waiting. I smiled and said, “Hope yours are ready soon!”

They smiled back and said, “Us too. Have a great night!”

I returned the pleasantry and headed for my truck, secure in the knowledge that my new found friends would soon be with pizza, just as I was.

I don’t think we’ll be exchanging Christmas Cards or anything like that. In fact, if by some odd chance any of us run into one another at the grocery store or gas station in the future, we probably won’t even blink because we’ll be in ignore the world mode.

But, for a few minutes that foggy night in January through the social magic of food we were a tight knit group of friends, standing around waiting for our 5 dollar pies… Unwittingly, we had each become beneficiaries of The Pizza Effect. Of course, since everyone went their separate ways, I can’t say what each of them learned from this flash of intimate social experience. But, I definitely know what I took home.

Three pizzas. 1  cheese, 1 pepperoni, and 1 sausage.

More to come…

Murv

Does anyone happen to have Bill Cosby’s phone number? I wouldn’t normally ask something like this, but it’s kind of important… Really… No kidding.

You see, we need an intervention and we need it right away.

The problem came to light a few months back. At first, I thought it was just an odd anomaly. Something that was coming about due to some strange juxtaposition of the planets, or maybe some urban myth blown way out of proportion. Unfortunately, I think that may have just been wishful thinking on my part, because it seems the problem has only become worse… Well, in my mind as well as E Kay’s too. And, you all know that if E K thinks it’s a problem then it must be a problem.

You see, ignoring the original incident (which we will get to in a minute AND as I was still considering it an aberration at the time) the other night after dinner I happened to have a taste for something dessert oriented. Now, this is not the usual for me. Even being a fat guy, I’m not really a sweets oriented type. So, I usually figure that if my brain suddenly tells me it wants something dessertish, then my body must be deficient in some wholesome nutrient found primarily in dessert. I dunno, maybe something like copious amounts of sugar, or gallons of high fructose corn syrup. At any rate, whatever it is I am missing can apparently be found in dessert, and therefore I do something about it.

Of course, since sweets really aren’t my thing I try to stick to something that isn’t cloyingly sugary, and that is something I enjoy – especially if it brings back fond childhood memories. This is why I try to keep a box or two of pudding in the cabinet. It’s not too sweet, it’s easy to fix – especially if it is instant pudding, and like Mister Cosby says, “Mmmmmmm Ummmmm Mmmmm, Jello Pudding!”

I mean, come on. Pudding is one of those foods that simply fills the bill no matter what (pun NOT intended). Why as a matter of fact, I remember one time back in my early 20’s when pudding pretty much saved my life.

I was single – hadn’t even met E K yet, in fact – and all by my lonesome. I had come home from work early because I was feeling like crap. As it turned out I had contracted some manner of killer, face eating, brain frying flu that makes H1N1 look like an overcooked pork chop… I mean, this stuff was “The Stand” kind of bad. Before long I found myself in the ravages of an extremely high fever that involved some delirium, chills, and sweats.  Just to let me know I was no longer in control, it roller-coastered up and down for better than 24 hours. When it finally broke, I found myself tangled up in the soggy sheets of my bed, where I had been the whole time – several hours of which I didn’t really remember. Fortunately, I had come home early on a Friday, so in my fevered state I had not missed work without calling in, however, I had in fact missed a good friend’s wedding. Fortunately, I wasn’t in the wedding party, but I hated to miss the event all the same – even if I would have been going stag. After all, bridesmaids and all that you know…

But, back to this already tangential tale… I was hungry and weak, but I dragged myself into the bathroom and grabbed a shower before heading to the kitchen.  I hadn’t been shopping so the fridge was on the emptyish side, and the cupboard wasn’t much better. So, I climbed into my beat up Ford Pinto and zipped up the street to the 7-11. But, instead of grabbing a microwave burrito and a Slurpee, as I came through the door I spied that which would make all things better again.

And so, in a matter of 10 minutes after returning home with my prize I had a big ass bowl of Jello Instant Pistaschio Pudding in front of me. And you know what? I ate the whole thing while watching some movie I’d already seen a dozen times before on one of the 38 cable stations we had back in the day. I don’t remember what it was I was watching, but I definitely remember the pudding… It was instant comfort food, and it made me feel better after the ordeal of the fever.

So, back to what I was saying originally… The other night I had a taste for something sweet, therefore I hauled myself off to the kitchen and whomped up a batch of chocolate pudding. Not my favorite flavor, but I figured if I was fixing pudding for myself I should do so for E K and the offspring too.

Several minutes after the whipping and the chilling, I arranged the three bowls on a tray then brought them into the dining room where the two of them were doing horrible things to my notebook computer with a mouse and an internet connection – the adware installed on that thing now is another story in and of itself…

Anyway, intent on surprising them I snuck in and placed bowls of the “puddingy” goodness in front of them.

E K yelped in delight, “Pudding!”

Of course, that was much the same as hearing, “Good Dog!” so I couldn’t help but wag my tail and hope that meant I would NOT be treated to my usual severe beating later in the evening when there were no witnesses.

However, the O-spring just stared at her bowl, then after a moment pushed it away and continued installing malware on my notebook computer.

“What’s wrong?” E K asked.

The O-spring shrugged and said, “I really don’t like pudding.”

You could hear a spoon drop. As a matter of fact, had you been in the room you actually would have heard two spoons clattering on the floor.

A child who doesn’t like pudding… Just unbelievable…

So, now do you see why I’m trying to get hold of Bill? If this doesn’t call for a Jello Pudding Intervention, I don’t know what does…

More to come…

Murv