BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Yep, I know… Y’all weren’t expecting another blog entry until Wednesday morning when the next installment of Mahwage deploys from the queue.  However, I did warn you back when I extolled the virtues of the “post this in the future” function of WordPress, that I might occasionally drop a little something on you completely unannounced if the mood or circumstances struck.

Well, this is one of those times… I will admit, however,  that I considered just adding this missive to the queue for future posting as well, but since it somewhat involves that annual February event known as the “Salad Bowl”… Wait… “Cereal Bowl”… No… That ain’t it either… Well, all I know is that it has bowl in the title and people have parties while looking at Football on TV, so there…

Now, those of you who know me fairly well are certainly aware that “Football” isn’t my thing. Neither is Baseball, Basketball, or Soccer. Hockey, well that’s a different story, but since the “Rice Bowl” or whatever they call it has something or another to do with Football and not Hockey… Well, I guess we need to talk about Football.

Obviously, my personal perception of this activity isn’t quite the same as that of the overwhelming majority of the masses. In fact, when I set out to describe my view of this particular sport I have found it to be a waste of time to bother reinventing the wheel. What I mean by that is this: Andy Griffith explained it best in his old monologue, “What it was, was football…“

Yeah… The sheriff of Mayberry. Harry Broderick from Salvage One… Matlock… Uh-huh, that guy. For those of you who may be way too young to remember, before Mister Griffith became Barney Fife’s keeper, or appeared in movies, he was quite an accomplished stand up comedian of sorts. Yeah… No kidding. He didn’t have any cool puppets, nor did he insult the crowd for effect. He was a bardic sort of comedian. He simply told funny stories, and one of them happened to be all about an experience with seeing a “football” game, ostensibly for the first time. It became one of his most popular and beloved monologues, and is a classic.

Now, I’m certainly not about to plagiarize Mister Griffith’s routine, (I do, however, highly recommend it if you have a chance to hear it – much of his material is available on CD by the way), suffice it to say, my perception of football is much the same as his: A bunch of guys running around in a cow pasture fighting over a petrified pumpkin for no apparent reason.

But, of course, I didn’t come here to talk to you about “Football,” but you already knew that… I came here to talk to you about the “Soup Bowl” party… (You know, that actually sounds kinda close to what I remember hearing it called… Hmm…)

You see, every year some friends of ours host one of these massive shindigs. A bunch of folks show up, each toting a dish of food and a cooler. So, as always is the case with our gatherings, there is food for days and much malted beverage to be imbibed. I suppose, in most respects, that is what brings everyone together… But then, there is that whole pumpkin in the cow pasture thing on TV…

Of course, not everyone attending the party is that much of a “Football” fan… Granted, we do get caught up in the excitement near the end and we will all be plastered to the TV hooting and hollering, but that usually happens sometime around the last 5 minutes or so. Maybe even the entire last quarter if things are close and much violence is ensuing, if you know what I mean. But, I think that’s all just a matter of contagious excitement or something.

Still, for the most part, there are the “Football” fans and there are the Commercial fans. Generally the commercial fans consist of the wives. That isn’t intended as a sexist remark by any stretch of the imagination, it just happens to be how things are with our particular group. Still, some of the wives are Football fans too. Well, to some extent. In fact, I can actually remember coming down the stairs one Sunday to find E K lounged out on the sofa with a beer in her hand, watching a football game and explaining it to our daughter who was all of about 3 at the time. But, even taking that little event into account, E K isn’t what you’d call a rabid fan by any means…

Yes, just in case you are wondering, there really is a point to all this rambling…

So here’s the thing. Generally, what happens is that the wives will gather in one room and play cards or some manner of dice games or some such. I tend to mosey back and forth between the camps being a bit of a social butterfly, so to speak. But, that’s not really my point either…

Back to the “thing”…

Last night, the game being played by the ladies was some kind of semi – yahtzeeish – bone – throwing – what have you that involved rolling dice and passing tokens left, right, center, or even not passing them at all depending on your roll, until the last person with a token rolled a “dot” or some such, and won all the tokens in the center. Whereupon the game started all over again. Fairly simple, and it even looked like a bit of fun when things got rolling, (pun not intended, but I’ll definitely take it…)

Now, the folks hosting the party have a 21 year old son who was there along with a friend of his. Both of them are good kids.  I just thought I’d throw that out there… Well, actually, it does also play an integral part to my monologue here…

You see, the friend, we’ll call him what’s is name to protect the innocent, while interested in the “Football” game, was also familiar with, and interested in, playing the game with the dice. So, since the first half of the football game was kind of boring, he joined the ladies in the dining room.

In case you haven’t done the math just yet, that made him the sole male at a table full of mature, but nonetheless incredibly gorgeous women. And, you know, that whole mature thing has its perks as well, but we won’t go there…

Well, actually we will, but not just yet…

Anyway, damn smart kid, IMHO…

At any rate, long about halftime we husband types were standing around in the kitchen gnawing on some hot wings and popping open fresh beers. One of the husbands poked his head through the doorway to see what was up with the dice game, then started laughing and jokingly announced so that everyone could hear, “Hey, what’s is name is in there being a girl with all the rest of the women.”

It was a good-natured jibe and definitely drew a round of chuckles.  Still,  you know me… I simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity to explore the half-full, half-empty principle where it applied to this situation.

When the chuckling died down I replied, “Yeah, but look at it this way. He’s the only guy in a room full of good looking women. Seems like a smart move to me.”

One of the other husbands snorted and said, “Yeah, but they’re all old and married.”

I had pretty much expected a response in that vein, after all, I’ve known these guys for a long time. I’m not saying they are completely predictable, but I do know how they think, so I definitely wasn’t surprised by what he said. Of course, as we all know, when you expect something it is much easier to be prepared… And, I was.

I nodded in response to his rebuttal and said, “Well,  I guess it’s all in how you look at it, you know… I mean, if they’re old then so are we, right?”

“Well, yeah,” came a chorus of responses from the men, punctuated here and there by a “no sh*t” or two.

“Well then,” I continued. “So you have a whole room of mature, hot women who are married to the likes of us old bastards, which pretty much means they are probably all getting pretty desperate, know what I’m saying? And right now they’re sitting in there with a guy who is still young enough to get it up repeatedly without  the aid of pharmaceuticals.”

A chuckle ran through the room, but I wasn’t finished yet. I let things settle for a moment before pulling the pin on the punchline.

I looked around at the guys and shrugged, then gave them a nod. “But, you’re probably right,” I finally offered. “I mean, it’s not like guys ever have that whole older woman fantasy when they’re his age…”

Yeah, I know… Pretty evil, eh?  But I just couldn’t help myself.

More to come…

Murv

I have no doubt that some of you are far too young to have any clue what the hell the title of this blog references. Or, more importantly, my hidden meaning behind it. But, since you, my readers, tend to surprise me at every turn, I could well be wrong and every single one one of you might know exactly what I am trying to say, in which case you can probably just stop reading now and save yourself some time. Or not. I mean, what fun would that be?

At any rate, I suppose you will let me know. You always do…

So, let’s make our traditional left turn at the Jersey turnpike and start somewhere left and slightly above the middle, like usual…

There I sat last night watching the premiere of “168”. Now, don’t go running to the TV guide looking to see if there is a new show you haven’t heard about, because I’m sure you’ve heard of this one, just not by that particular title. It’s actually pretty easy if you do the math – 168 / 24 = 7. So, yeah, what I’m talking about is “24” season 7 (or as they say, “day 7″…) If you happen to be one of the folks who gave up on this series after the mind numbingly repetetive, lackluster, shamelessly predictable, unbelievable (even with suspension of disbelief), and horribly cardboard cutout seasons three through six, I don’t blame you. I almost did so myself. As a matter of fact, I had quite vocally resolved not to waste my time with it ever again. Why I bothered to watch seasons three through six is beyond me. It probably had something to do with brain drain. (At this point I do feel compelled to note that while seasons 3-6 were at best, unimpressive, the first 12 episodes of season 4 DID contain a very shiny bright spot – that being a friend of mine, Alberta Watson, who portrayed Erin Driscoll, head of CTU. She could have kicked Bauer’s ass, and they should have let her… But, that’s just my opinion.)

At any rate, like I said, I wouldn’t blame you at all if you have given up on “24”, 48, 72, ad nauseum. However, after seeing a couple of clips and hearing a fairly well balanced review and interview on NPR, I bought into enough of the hype to give it a go. To my genuine surprise, “the following that took place between the hours of 8AM and 10AM,” last night didn’t suck at all. In fact, they were pretty good. Therefore, I will be parked in front of the “toob” tonight in order to catch, “the following that took place between the hours of 10AM and 12PM.” If those are also blatantly suckless in value, then I am likely to follow it right on round the clock to 8AM once again. Of course, it doesn’t hurt at all that there’s a smokin’ hot, redheaded FBI babe paired up with Bauer this season. Or that she is portrayed by actress Annie Wersching, who grew up right here in Saint Louis (local pride and all, ya’know…). And, we all know my penchant for redheads with strong personalities… (yeah, I know, ‘nother blog…)

On a side note – if some intern at FOX is scouring the internet for references to “24“, 168, what have you, in order to do market research and happens to run across this blog, I have two messages for the powers that be: First, cancelling Firefly was epic fail, kids. You shot that series in the foot, then blamed it for your incompetence and used that as a reason to cancel it. Admit your mistake and fix it. Secondly, where “24” is concerned, tell your writers that it will suck even less if at some point Bauer gets tired and has nappy time. They included this in season one, and that is one of the things that made it believable. Yeah, he can stay up for 24 hours straight, but he can’t be fresh as a daisy the whole time. Give us a break…We’ve all stayed up past midnight at some point in our lives, so we know what kind of effect it has on a person. We are nowhere near as stupid as you think we are…

Now, back to the regularly scheduled rambling…

But, ya’know, I didn’t come here to give you a review of 168 / 7 today…I didn’t even come here to yak about dominos…well, actually I’m lying about that last part. Dominos seem to be a big part of my life at the moment. Everything triggers a memory and there ya’ go…

So, anyway, Network 23…wait, I’m getting a bit ahead of myself.

So, anyway, DTV…The wonderful, federally mandated, “Digital Television”… Yeah, okay… So, they are forcing broadcasters to switch to a digital signal, thereby forcing consumers to switch/upgrade/otherwise retrofit their receivers to be able to handle said digital signal. This is all being done in the name of freeing up the analog airwaves for other uses. Not sure why that is, honestly. I mean, why couldn’t the other uses just go ahead and use the digital band and leave well enough alone?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m am not some kind of stick in the mud…well, yeah, maybe I am…but, that’s not the point. Stop getting me sidetracked…What I’m trying to say is that I am certainly not against digital technology. I’m sitting here using a computer, correct? I spent 25 years as a computer technician, and recently discovered that my skills haven’t completely rusted shut – not just yet, anyway. I was even a partner in a recording studio some years back, and for the day, we had the latest and greatest digital equipment available. Yet, we still had clients who insisted on using “tube mics” (analog microphones) and analog tape, because of the ambiance it would lend to the sound…

But, here’s why I am having a bit of a problem with this whole DTV thing – Federal mandate and added cost aside. (I mean, I already have satellite TV, so I’m not actually affected where the whole buying a converter box thing is concerned…) My issue is quality. Yeah. Imagine that.

“But Murv, digital is so much clearer, blah blah blah…”

Is it? One would think, yes. I mean, even I thought it would be. But, last night as I sat watching “168” I was proven wrong. You see, throughout both hours of the program it was plagued with digital dropout, signal loss, bizarre digital artifacts, and yes, the good ole “Max Headroom” syndrome, whereby Jack Bauer spent a good part of the time stuttering across my screen as he jerked about like someone holding on to a bare extension cord.

Some of you old timers are now understanding the reference in the title. Those of you who aren’t are probably following the Max Headroom link and will get it very shortly.

So, here’s my thing… I have no idea what the government plans to do with all of these analog frequencies they are freeing up. I think I saw an article about it once, but quite honestly it wasn’t important enough at the time for me to care and remember what it said. However, if DTV is going to effectively thrust us back into the age of Black and White Cathode Ray Tubes and Rabbit Ears with tin foil (yeah, it was tin before it was aluminum) wrapped around them (something I am, unfortunately, plenty old enough to remember quite vividly), I can see a revolution coming…

Just like in Max Headroom. Beat up Winnebagos and Buses traveling the highways pursued by the FCC in their dark government sedans. Constantly hiding out in alleyways, cranking up retractable mast antennas, and all  manned by cyberpunkish folks like Blank Reg and Dominique (see Max Headroom link). A ragtag group of dissenters, defiantly broadcasting whatever they can on pirated analog frequencies, if for no other reason than to provide a picture that doesn’t jerk around the screen like a frog in a hot frying pan before randomly turning into colorful little squares and jibbering like a CD with a scratch in it.

Hmmmm… I already know what EK looks like in leather. (uh-huh, another blog… and probably not Myspace friendly…) I wonder what I would look like in a purple mohawk and a handful of tattoos? Maybe I should buy myself a used schoolbus and go visit an auction or two. I’m betting analog transmitters are gonna be going cheap…

More to come…

Murv