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  • I Thought 7:11 Was A Convenience Store…

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    Continued from: Murv’s Not So Excellent Adventure…

    Part 2 of 4…

    heatandhumidity I’m sure some of you noticed recently that the header banner for Brainpan Leakage went through a bit of a change. At the time of this writing (which is not necessarily the time at which this entry will be deployed) it is back to normal. However, around the time I was heading for Ohio it had the addition of some little cartoon characters along with captions, as seen above. This was because here in Saint Louis we were in our 11th straight day of temperatures in the 95+ range combined with high humidity, which in turn created heat indexes in the 110+ range and extreme heat advisories throughout the area. Being an old fat guy, I wasn’t overly excited about the weather, but then, that is what air conditioning is for, correct? Airplane_overhead_controls

    Well, I suppose that all depends on who you ask, or in my case, which airplane you board.

    Yes, imagine my dismay upon boarding the decrepit DC-9, only to discover that the auxiliary power unit was malfunctioning, which effectively left us sitting at the gate with no Air Conditioning and unable to start the engines. As we sat there sweltering in the convection oven of an airliner, the captain came on the loudspeaker and announced that we would not be obtaining a new all weather DieHard battery from Sears as one would expect. Seems he had managed to bribe some guys in yellow vests and earmuffs to give us a jump as soon as they managed to find where they stashed the cables.

    Eventually, the “screaming metal death tube,” as my publicist insists on calling airplanes, was coughing and sputtering up the tarmac, and soon afterward we were winging our way toward Detroit Metro Airport (remember, I said we couldn’t get there from here and all that…) The rest of the flight was uneventful, more or less. The guy next to me spent the entire hour and 10 minutes reading page 72 of a Johnathan Kellerman novel while bobbling his head back and forth and making “skrrrzzznnnnxxx” noises. And of course there was Mister Chronic Halitosis, but we won’t go there.

    detroitmetro Upon finally reaching Detroit, the “farthest terminal/gate statute” was invoked and I had to trudge something on the order of a mile plus to get to my connecting flight. Now one of of the things about DTW is that they apparently watched the original 1976 version of Logan’s Run several times and then dropped a couple of hits of LSD before they built it. At least, that’s my best guess. I say this because they have this elevated indoor bullet train looking thing which will take you from terminal to terminal if you don’t want to walk, and it is oddly reminiscent of the “shuttle tubes” from the movie. If that’s not enough, (and this is where the LSD had to have come in) there is also the Acid Trip Tunnel, pictured above. This underground passageway runs beneath the tarmac and between terminals. Just so you know, it actually looks like that photo. It’s dark, lit only by weirdly shifting, low-wattage, multi-colored lights behind patterned Plexiglas panels along the sides. And, just to make sure it is “Carousel-Like” (see Logan’s Run) there are speakers playing whale noises, electronic music, and other bizarre electro-whacky sounds. One would definitely want to avoid this area after spending a bit too much time in one of the lounges if you get my meaning.

    So, anyway, I hoofed it to my connecting gate since I didn’t have much of a layover and arrived with plenty of time to spare. What I didn’t realize at that particular moment was that I had way more time to spare than I originally thought.

    “Why is that?” you ask. Well, I’ll tell you… (You knew I would…)

    I had no more texted Heather of VFG (Violet Flame Gifts) to let her know I was on the ground in Detroit and that my next flight was running on time, than the gate agent flipped a switch and announced that there was a delay due to a crew member calling in sick and the standby replacement not answering the phone. Therefore, rather than leave in 30 minutes at 5:17 as scheduled, we would be departing at 7:11.

    I immediately started looking around for a Slurpee machine, because it was somewhere around this point in time that I had an epiphany – It seemed that Northwest Airlines was now under the control of the Southland Corporation

    More to come…

    Murv

    Next Installment: You Want Blonde Or Brunette On That?

  • No Habla Kitteh…

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    So, I’m pretty sure it’s no secret that I was in Nebraska last month for WillyCon XI, so I won’t bore you with those particular details…

    I will, however, bore you with some other stuff. Hey, it’s my job, correct?

    You see, WillyCon was one of those 3-5 day jaunts. I left on a Thursday morning, and returned Monday afternoon. Normally, I would have returned sometime Sunday, but as I noted in the previous WillyCon specific blogs, you couldn’t get there from here. My choices were pretty much St. Louis to Minneapolis to Sioux City or St. Louis to Dallas-Fort Worth to Chicago to Sioux City. Thursday – Monday. Take it or leave it. So, obviously I took it. But, I digress.

    The thing here is that these days my daughter really is all about the 3-5 day jaunts I take to do book signings. You see, they seem to be just about the right amount of time. Anything past 5 days and she starts missing me too much. The 3 dayers are pretty much her favorite, 4 is pretty good, 5 is pushing it, but not quite over the line just yet.

    I think what she really likes most about me being gone for these events is that when I am only disappearing for a few days I don’t do the whole cooking and freezing dinner thing. I make sure there are nukeable foods in the fridge and freezer, plus plenty of canned goodies, but they are almost always right where I left them when I return. Why? because since E K doesn’t cook, and I haven’t done the prep for her, they tend to eat fast to semi-fast food the entire time. Quizno’s, Pizza, etc…

    So, what’s not to like about this for a kid? The parental unit isn’t gone too long, and they get fast food. It’s kind of like a Pinnochio Nirvana sans strings and donkey ears.

    But, let’s get back around to the whole gist of this blog entry. The kid actually does start to miss me, especially around day 4 or 5. This happened, like clockwork, on my trip to Nebraska.

    Long about the evening of day 4 my cell phone rang. When I answered it, instead of being E K or my publicist as I would have suspected, it turned out to be the offspring. She wanted to hear my voice and tell me about her day. It was obvious that she was starting down that “I miss you, daddy” road when she just kept talking and talking. You see, for the first three days I usually get, “I’m busy playing googly-monster-barbie-fun-petz on the computer. Can I go now?”

    That whole bit used to hurt my feelings, but just like kids grow and evolve, so should parents. I think maybe I’ve managed that, because I understand that it takes some time for my absence to have a direct affect upon her 9 year old world.

    But, back to the story…

    We were at that stage of me being missed enough to warrant a long conversation, which of course, made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, because I have like the coolest kid in the world and stuff. (But, I won’t digress into bragging… for the moment, anyway.)

    After several minutes of chatting, the offspring tells me that she and E K had gone for a hike in one of the local parks. In the process they came across a Calico cat. Well, E K being a cat-fanatic, (probably because in some kind of freak accident her DNA was fused with that of an actual feline – that’s my theory and I’m sticking to it), plus the kid being a kid, they oohed, ahhed, and spoke to said cat. The offspring told me that even though they had informed the Kitteh that they meant it no harm and weren’t going to bother it, that the animal still watched them suspiciously.

    Well, what do you say to something like that? Especially if you are me and you are generally warped and working hard at warping your child… Glad you asked…

    When the offspring told me this, I replied, “Well honey, maybe the cat doesn’t understand English. Maybe it’s a foreign cat and it only speaks French or Spanish, or some other language like that.”

    Without missing a beat the kid said, “Pssshaw! Daddddeeeee! Cats don’t speak French or Spanish.”

    “Okay, so what do they speak?” I asked.

    “I dunno,” she replied with a healthy shrug audible in her voice. “Probably Catnamese or something like that.”

    Yes… I almost dropped my cell phone I was laughing so hard.

    It’s true. My kid is definitely just as warped as I am. I’m so proud I think there might even be tears involved…

    More to come…

    Murv