BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Have you ever noticed that when you go to your designated polling place to cast your vote, there are these blinders positioned on either side of the booth – be it punch card or electronic. Even the big honkin’ mechanical voting booths – which I am old enough to remember using, although some of you probably aren’t – had a curtain you pulled closed in order to hide what you were doing in there.

Why is that?

Well, it is because we are allowed privacy. The reality of the process is this – it is a “secret ballot.” That means it’s nobody else’s business for whom you cast your vote. Kinda cool, eh? You get to make up your own mind and not be taken to task for it. Democracy… Ain’t it grand?

So, here we are, right smack in the middle of another election year. The candidates are running willy-nilly about, screwing up, telling you what they think you want to hear, making promises they will never be able to keep – no matter how well intentioned – because the President is only one branch of the government and generally cannot make wholesale decisions without the approval of the house and senate.

So what? These candidates are human, they are going to make mistakes just like you and me, and telling you the bunch of well intentioned lies is the best way to influence you in order to get what they want. Besides, they probably even believe some of the dreck they are spouting. That’s all part of politics. We have to cope with it because it’s what we have, and while it certainly isn’t perfect, it’s close to, if not THE best game in town.

I won’t get started on some of the things I think our government is doing to undermine our freedoms – that’s another blog entirely. Probably several, in fact…

No, my running off at the mouth today is about “endorsements.” There is currently a celebrity endorsement bouncing all over Myspace… It even made the national news. Now, I happen to like said celeb. Not that I know him personally, or have even met him, because I don’t and I haven’t. But, I do like his movies, and I’m guessing he’d be a kick to sit down with and have a chat. So, this is NOT aimed at him… Actually, it is aimed more at the media…Why? Because his video endorsement made the national news…

I don’t get it.

Since when did starring in a few movies, thereby being in the public eye, make someone qualified to “endorse” a political candidate? Moreover, why the hell should the average joe on the street care one way of the other if an actor says “Vote for Wilson”?

Is it an, “I’m not a politician, but I play one on TV” sort of thing? I’m just curious… Why? Because I still don’t get it. Maybe I’m a big moron. Maybe I’m the one who should be talking to a volleyball. I dunno…

However, since this is apparently the trend, I certainly cannot pass up this promotional opportunity. Since I am at least somewhat in the public eye due to writing a mess of novels, I figure I need to get on the bandwagon too.

Therefore, it is time that I, as a minor league celeb, tell you for whom you should cast your vote, seeing as how you, the general public apparently have no ability to make up your own minds without the influence of people who have no better grasp of politics than you. Since I am, as I said, only a minor league celeb, I won’t go through the gyrations of making a video. I will simply do it via text.

So, here goes.

I want Geena Davis to be the next President of the United States. She played the part on TV already, so I’m betting she has a pretty good understanding of how the system works. Hell, if her series hadn’t been cancelled, she would probably have already accomplished getting us the hell out of Iraq, and gas would have been replaced by highly efficient and low cost, non-polluting fuel cells.

And, to take things a step further, I really think she should pick Martin Sheen as her running mate. He had a hell of a run in the White House, and given the incredible skills of his staff, I’m sure he can help Geena when it comes to picking her advisors.

There. Now I am going to sit here in my office and wait for a call from the Early Show.

I mean, since I am an official minor league celebrity and I have publicly announced my endorsement, I am certain Harry Smith and the crew will want to talk to me.

No offense to Harry, but I hope I get interviewed by Julie Chen. She seems like she would be a really nice person.

You know, come to think of it, maybe Geena should make her the Chief of Staff.

More to come…

Murv

Yeah… I know. But sometimes that happens…

I have met some wonderful people throughout my touring, etc. I have made some very dear friends. Hell, I’ve even made a few enemies, probably. But, this blog is about one of the friends.

In reality, what this is about is his blog…

While I have some widely varied opinions on controlled substances – for instance, I believe Marijuana should be legalized. It’s not my thing- Scotch, Bourbon, Martini’s and Vodka Tonics are (in moderation) – but I still think it should be legalized. Just my two cents.

However, there are other drugs which are so insidious and addictive that they literally destroy lives. I have seen this happen with former friends who were unable to shake the addiction. Fortunately, in a few instances, they were…and, by their own choice, after succeeding in breaking the cycle have chosen to move away and start new lives, forsaking their pasts – even the good parts. While I miss them, I am supportive of them in doing this…If that is what it takes for them to stay clean, and have a liveable life…

But, the point behind this was my friend’s blog. He has seen far more than I have, and has written something from experience which is more powerful than anything I could ever say on this subject. I would like to suggest that EVERYONE read it. It is important… It brings the reality home… And, it promotes a deep understanding of the real victims of someone’s addiction.

With his gracious permission, I have reposted the blog below…

Thanks…

More to come…

Murv

*     *     *     *     *

A Taste-Johnny Seitz

Sinus pills. Cough syrup. Drain cleaner. Hair spray. Fertilizer. Paint thinner. Freon. Brake fluid. Battery acid. Lye. Epsom salt. An inability to sleep. Loss of tooth enamel. Increased sensitivity to noise and light. Paranoia. Confusion. Razors. Syringes. Baggies. Foilies. Smoke. Snort. Shoot. Amp. Ice. Speed. Glass. Dope. Crank. Meth. An amphetamine derivative in the form of a crystalline hydrochloride. Used as a stimulant to the nervous system. High. Spun. Hopped up. Doped. Tripped out. Tweeked. Zoomed.

It controls you. Changes you. Breaks you down and rebuilds you. Nothing else matters. Not your house. Your bills. Your kids. Your job. The next fix. That’s all there is. That rush. That boost. Feeling alive. Being awake. Clean the house. Make some money.

No.

Generalities. Cold fact. Words…

See all the holes in the wall? Those are where the under cover’s had put the wires to listen in. And those trash bags covered with blankets stapled to the windows, those are to keep people from watching. Why is the carpet gone by the couch? Because that mother fucker hid some dope in here somewhere…I saw him messing around over there and I know he put that shit under the carpet. All these clothes are in a pile because I’m sorting through them. All my jewelry? I have it in a sandwich bag hidden in the fireplace so people don’t try to steal it. I took the TV apart so I can rig up a camera to watch the door so I know if people are sneaking up on the house.

“Did you hear that?”
“No.”
“Shh! The dog’s barking, fucking cops must be outside! Get on the floor!”
“Why get on the floor? The window’s are all covered?”
“FUCKING DO WHAT I SAY!”
“The dog’s probably barking because you haven’t fed her in a week.”

Three a.m. You’re 14. Your bedroom door swings open and screaming and profanities stream in. Before your eyes are even open you hear the sounds of breaking glass. The light comes on and you see your mother, naked and brandishing a hammer, screaming and smashing in the middle of your room. You can’t follow what she’s saying, it’s too sporadic. It’s too loud. You sit, stunned for a moment, taking in what is going on. Trying to make sense of a senseless situation. Then the hammer takes out your TV screen, and your pictures on the wall. You try to stand up but as you move, something flies at your head and shatters next to your ear. It’s a glass bowl. The screaming is getting louder and the hammer is finding more and more targets. The floor to ceiling mirror. The stereo. Knocking holes in the wall. Throwing object after object at you, who is still struggling to free yourself from the sheets. The noise. The chaos. And then the hammer comes at you, grazes your temple, and smashes through your bedroom window. You’re mother is trying to punch you at this point. You don’t know where the hammer is. She’s screaming in your face, you still can’t understand her. You can see the whites of her eyes as you try to squirm away. Her pupils are as big as dinner plates. By the time you’re out of your bed she’s trying to throw you into the wall. You try to restrain her but she’s so slick with sweat and squirming and fighting against you so hard that it’s like trying to hold onto a live fish. Your nose gets bloodied. All you can do at this point is try to get her out of your room, so you push her toward the door. She fights back but you catch her off guard with a hard shove the second time and she falls through the opening. You slam the door and lock it. She kicks and beats and punches the door until you hear the wood splinter on the outside and her let out a wail of pain. Then it stops. You sit back and try to take in everything that went on, but you still can’t comprehend what just happened. So you focus on the destruction. Your things destroyed. Your room, your sanctuary, in shambles. Glass everywhere. Blood on your face. A short while later an armed policewoman kicks in your door. Your mother had called the police and said that you’d attacked her and were out of control. The officer handcuffs you and puts you into the back of the car. And you cry.

Arguing from the next room. I turn up the TV to try to drown it out. It doesn’t work so I decided to go outside. As I stand up I hear a loud noise and feel a burn on my cheek. I hit the floor. Mother and her boyfriend are spun and fighting. And he shot at her. When it came through the wall it was so close to my head that I ended up with a powder burn on my left cheek.

“GET OUT!”
“What are you guys doing in my room?”
“GET THE FUCK OUT! NOW!”
“I need my backpack..”
The door slams and I turn and head up the stairs to catch the school bus without any of my books. As I’m almost up the stairs I’m passed by the people who were in my room.
“FUCKING RUN!”
And I did.
Boom. The lab blew and took many of my things with it. Why was it in my room when there was a whole basement around it?

You can just sit and watch people die when they’re cranking. It really reminds you of watching one of those videos in health class on fast forward. In a months time you can see someone physically change to an extreme. You can watch them loose weight and teeth and hair. If you weren’t there every day, you’d easily not recognize them in a short period of time. Being around this mess makes you numb to everything. There is nothing stable. There is nothing you can count on, it’s just a lot of waiting for the next horrible thing to happen. And it will. The neglect is remarkable. ’I’m not eating or sleeping so why should my kids?’ People in and out at all hours. Your possessions being stolen or traded for drugs. Even your pets. The kids dog, traded for a blast.

One day you’ll get that knock on the door. The police will drag you outside in cuffs and raid your house. Eventually, you’ll convince them that you’re only 15 and they’ll un-cuff you and make you sit in the back of the car. You know what’s coming. You see your mom trying to make a run for it, and being tackled. You see her get sprayed with mace and dragged back inside at gun point. What’s horrible about it is that you don’t feel anything. Nothing. You’re completely numb. Your dad comes to get you and your sister, who’s been inside through all of this. On your way through to get your clothes your mom tries to hug you, crying, and saying how much she loves you and how sorry she was. You don’t hug back. You’re too disgusted. She goes through the system and gets out of trouble, but doesn’t change her act. You see her on and off when she wants something or is trying to steal all your dad’s change off his dresser. Three years later she doesn’t even come to see you, her first born child, when she finds out that you had stomach cancer. And soon enough, she’s in prison.

Meth. It controls you. Changes you. Breaks you down and rebuilds you. Nothing else matters. Not your house. Your bills. Your kids. Your job. The next fix. That’s all there is. That rush. That boost. Feeling alive…