BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I need one of these BBC’s…

Well, not really. They’d probably just censor me left and right, and we can’t have that.  It would make for some blog posts that look like a government document released under the Freedom of Information Act. 27 conjunctions, 12 verbs, and 1 pronoun spread out across 53 pages and situated in between long, black marks blocking out everything else in the whole document.

Oh yeah… downright riveting…

No, I think what I need is a bureau full of content to put in my blogs. Yeah… That would be helpful. Provided it has some good stuff in there, not just underwear and socks…And, by bureaus in this case, obviously I am talking about a chest of drawers.

Speaking of bureaus filled with good stuff, sometimes the good stuff is sitting on top of them instead of in them… Or, so it seems.

I suppose it is all a matter of perspective. To adults, the top of a bureau can be a catch all. A place for combs, brushes, your wallet, your watch. Maybe a plant that you forget to water. 58 cents in change. A stick of chewing gum you’ve been carrying around for 2 years. A monkey… wait… not a monkey… Well, you get the idea.

To a married couple it’s a bit different. It becomes a no-man’s land…in my case anyway… And, by no-man’s land I mean there’s no room at all for me to put anything there because it is covered with my wife’s stuff…And, y’all know how EK is. You don’t mess with her stuff or she goes all redhead on you, and well… it ain’t pretty. She is… Pretty, I mean. In fact, she’s downright hot, even when she’s pissed off… but, she can be just plain evil, which is why we call her Satan in high heels… Hence why you don’t mess with her stuff. You following me on that one? Good.

But see, now you’ve gone and gotten me off track again. Shame on you…

Back to that matter of perspective thing. To children, the top of a bureau isn’t as much a no-man’s land, as it is a treasure trove of all things sparkly and out of reach. Probably because they are so short. (that last part is just a guess on my part.) The first part of the statement, however, I know to be fact… How? That’s easy, from experience.

You see, when I was but a wee author type person – 3 1/2 years old in fact – I stood before a four drawer bureau, staring up at the trinket covered summit, and in that moment it became my Mount Everest. My K2. My mountain to conquer.

Literally…

Yeah, I climbed the damn thing. And, to prove how tough I was, I scaled the face of this mountain by free-climbing. No pitons, carabiners, or ropes, and definitely without the benefit of Sherpas or even base camps. I’m telling you, I was a regular action hero…

…right up until the damn thing toppled over on top of me.

The edge of the top put a crease in my forehead, and who knows, I may have actually lost consciousness. Like most folks nearing the half century mark, for me most of those memories are a blur, and the blurs are surrounded by huge gaps of absolutely nothing. The remaining vivid recollections I have from that incident are few…in fact, really only two. One is the fact that my father was working the night shift at McDonnell Aircraft Corporation and we only had one car, so my mother and I waited for a cab to take us to the hospital. I remember that because we sat by the open door of our ground floor apartment, watching out the window for it to arrive. The other was the X-Ray technician wheeling me in to “take a picture of my head”…

Hmmm… A chest of drawers fell on my head, then they beamed radiation at it… Maybe that’s why I turned out all “whimsical in the brainpan.”

Anyhow, I was okay. No fracture, no major problems. Just a very minor concussion. Good thing little kids have elastic skulls. I heard stories for most of my life about how my father rushed home from work and fussed over me. I always heard that from my mother, because my father was a man of few words and it wasn’t like him to be overly forthcoming with his emotions. I suspect his reaction might have embarrassed him a bit, or maybe he was simply trying to be an example of a “man” so that I would know how to act when I grew up. (He was a bit old-school… I suppose I am too in many ways, as since his death in 2003, I find myself virtually channeling him on a regular basis…)

Anyhow, back to bureaus – doesn’t matter what kind really. You see, it seems my most popular blogs are the one’s where I tell stories about the ridiculous  – and sometimes humorous – things that happen in my life. So, my guess is this recent clacking of dominos in my head is just my subconscious telling me what should be leaking out of my brainpan, so to speak.

All good… I’m listening.

Now, this is not to say there won’t be other types of things popping up here. I’m sure there will. In fact, there are a few of us author types right in the middle of planning a “blog tour” whereby we guest post on one another’s blogs. They’ll probably kick me out of the tour after a couple of my posts… won’t THEIR readers be surprised, eh?

But, the long and short of it is this: The stories of silliness in my life will continue. Just like Dave Barry, the late Erma Bombeck, and a whole host of other writers… Who knows? Maybe someday I will get a column somewhere too… It’ll probably on the back of an envelope, written in pencil,  and discarded in the recycle bin, but hey… A column is a column.

Won’t my journalism teachers be so proud.

More to come…

Murv

Whoever has it, stick the damn thing in and let’s get this holiday stuff over with…

Yeah, I’m obviously a bit of a curmudgeon about this whole festive holiday season thing. Those of you who know me, or have been following my blogs for several years know that I haven’t always been this way. But, without going into a  long explanation, losing your parents near the holidays – too early in life and at separate times – doesn’t really endear you to Christmas, et. al.

It actually has a bit of a damping effect. But, like I said, I’m not going to go into that realm of loss, S.A.D., and all that other stuff. I’ve had my joyous and warm fun with friends and family for this season.

It’s time to move on, so I’m still looking for the gorram fork.

Of course, I am sure you are wondering what prompted me to look for the sharp tined instrument at this particular moment… Well, you see, it’s like this – I have been wracking my brain to figure out why it is we, as a society, find “comfort” in watching back to back sappy, horribly written and acted, Hallmark™  movies during the holidays…

You see, they all pretty much start out the same way. Someone is DEAD. Usually, it is a parent – mom or dad, flip a coin – but on rare occasion it is an offspring who went off to fight in Desert Storm or whatever conflict is happening at the time of the writing  – Speaking of writing, given the poor dialogue offered up in these flicks, I am thinking that writing might be too kind a word for it. But, describing it as writing sounds better than the more accurate “vomiting”.

At any rate, we always start with someone being dead. They either died last week, or 5 years ago. Span of time isn’t really important, because no matter when it was they croaked the holidays have arrived and the pain of loss has resurfaced. (I will make a concession here – This is probably the only accurate part of the movies because I can certainly relate to it)… However, from this point the rest of the overused formula kicks in, and it ain’t E=mc²…

It susses out more like this (please excuse the lack of proper notation… this blog interface is severely lacking in symbols):

Person(dead) / grief (x * y)² {[runaway] – (ghost) – {hospital} – (prison/jail)} / (love at first sight + implied sex / argument) * make up kiss / k(k²) + [food] = z

Solve for z, where x and y equal assorted male and female characters in unrequited love, self-imposed celibacy of mourning scenarios and k equals children, usually on one side of the impending relationship, but sometimes on both (hence k²)…

Well, I won’t make you get out a pencil and paper. Z always equals a happy ending. The male and female characters end up in an instant relationship – one which it is implied will stand the test of time because obviously they were meant to be together even though they had sworn an oath that they would dry up and blow away since their respective significant others met their demise via A) a car wreck B) cancer C) plane crash D) war E) all of the above.

On top of that we always have the fact that someone miraculously survives something (disease, accident, mishap), is miraculously cleared of charges for something they didn’t do, a runaway is found, or in some events the dead person comes back as a ghost for a short period of time to provide closure. Along with this the children involved are all about the new significant others, and in most cases were working behind the scenes to bring them together in the first place.

And, in the end, there is money to pay the mortgage that could never be paid, a turkey/ham on the table, gifts under the tree, implied sex, candy canes, lingerie, trips to Cancun, toys, more kids on the way, a new lease for the orphanage, a job offer, marriage, general happiness, the “bad guy” grows a heart ala “A Christmas Carol” and all manner of  sickly sweet, sugar infused woodja, woodja, woodja ad nauseum…

But, the best part is…wait for it… wait for it…It all comes together on Christmas Eve/Day…

I won’t even begin to go into the lack of research which creates glaring continuity errors, procedural errors, suspension of disbelief errors ( I mean, if you are going to ask me to suspend disbelief – which ALL of these flicks do – then make me believe enough of it that when you jump the shark I can say, “Okay, self, I’m willing to buy that in the context of this movie…)

But, you know, even though I have rambled on about the sheer stupidity of these formulaic wastes of celluloid/airwaves/cable bandwidth, we have to return to the original question – Why do we take comfort in watching these things back to back during the holidays? Yes, they show non-holiday versions at other times of the year, but when the Christmas season arrives they become constant… And, we sit in front of the tube, sipping Bailey’s ™, and watching this drivel like some kind of emotionally bankrupt zombies looking for a charge of said emotions…

Well… I have a theory.

These are the equivalent of a 50 cent roller coaster ride. We start out on a downer, climb to a high point, fear for the cardboard characters, then end in a crescendo of euphoria. Why? Because the cardboard cutouts started out in worse shape than us, then dealt with even more crap, but in the end, it all came together. Magically. Without the aid of epoxy, duct tape, or staples. It just all worked out, and after all, isn’t that what we each want? It’s not the greatest roller coaster around, but it fits in our living room and we can ride it over and over again for effect…

So, what do you think? Decent enough theory?

Of course, my other working hypothesis is that they are all just a big conspiracy by the facial/nose tissue conglomerates to make us buy more Kleenex.

More to come…

Murv