BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

How y’all are?

As I’m sure you’ve noticed from the lack of bloggage of late, I’ve been wayyyyy too busy. So…what have I been doing? Well, stuff, and things, and stuff. You know…things you have to do when there are things that need doing.

Yeah, real specific there, eh?

Okay, I suppose I should be a bit more forthcoming. Primarily, I’ve been traveling. Over the past few weeks I’ve been in Virginia, Maryland, Nevada, and Arizona just to name a few places.

This Friday morning (yeah, like day after tomorrow) I hop another plane and head for Spokane, WA. Fortunately, even with all this being away from home, my kid still remembers my name and I haven’t found anyone else’s shoes under my bed…so, I’m pretty sure Evil Kat hasn’t replaced me yet, or even started the application process. Which is a good thing, because she’s way too busy to train another husband.

So…on the Spokane deal. I have a layover in Salt Lake City on my way, which is where I meet up with Morrison and we catch a flight into Spokane where we will be appearing at the Conscious Living Expo. Per our itineraries, my flight in from St. Louis lands about 6 minutes before Morrison’s flight from Virginia. So, I have 6 minutes to find her gate and meet up with her so we can shuffle off to our connecting flight. No big deal, right? Guess again…

Now, I don’t know if any of you have ever walked through an airport with Morrison, but I have. Here’s the thing–under normal, everyday circumstances, Morrison walks at the same pace as your average human being. This is NOT the case when you put her in an airport. For some reason– perhaps the fumes from the jet fuel, I dunno–when faced with an airport concourse, Morrison turns into a sprinter. It doesn’t matter if she has 3 hours before her connection, she does the 4 minute mile from one gate to the next. Last time I had to do this we met up in Denver on our way to Reno for the Northern Nevada PPD, and there I was cruising along at a brisk pace, thinking everything was normal…But nooooooo…30 seconds later I look up and realize that Morrison is about 25 yards ahead of me and widening the gap. On top of that, she was completely oblivious to the fact that I had been left in the dust and was just jabbering away to thin air. (Yes, it was thin…We were, after all, in Denver.)

So, you see, I am going to need to wear running shoes just to deal with this layover, because the TSA isn’t about the let me bring a tranquilizer dart with me in order to slow Morrison down.

Okay, enough of that. Morrison is getting wayyyyy too much air time in MY blog.

Speaking of airtime…Thursday (10/11) at 3:15PM (Pacific Time) I will be doing a short phone interview with Tanya Tyler, one of the radio personalities at KZZU 92.9FM. They apparently have a stream on their site so you can listen via the internet if you are so inclined. You can find it here- www.kzzu.com. I’m not sure what we are going to talk about, but I guess we’ll all find out. If you happen to live in the Spokane area, according to the website Tanya is giving away tickets to the Conscious Living Expo all week.

So, let’s see…What else is going on…Oh, yeah, by popular demand, Miranda has her own Myspace page now. You can find her here- Miranda’s Myspace. Go ahead and send her a friend request if you are feeling brave. I have a feeling she’s looking for more victims.

Other than that, well…I’m basically spending a lot of time cleaning up around the house and that sort of domestic type thing. What I REALLY need to be doing is packing for Friday, but as usual I am dragging my feet. I did, at least, get my suitcase out and set it in the living room. I suppose I should get busy and go put some stuff in it…

More to come…

Murv

…And an E…BOOZE RUN!

Okay, so I’m not so good with songs, but that was the best I could do with the word booze since the song BEER RUN was going through my head.

Now, in reality I had intended to blog about Jane (aka The Bitch in the Box), because yes, I really do think Jane is kinda hot. Even if she is simply a box of electronic components with a sexy voice that sits on the dashboard and barks orders. (turn here, turn there, take the motorway, etc…)

But, Morrison beat me to it. Go figure. (But, what with Morrison getting on in years and not really being quick on the draw, I guess I should just let her have that one and call it good ) If you want to read about it, go here: Bitch In The Box.

So…Anyway, back to the Booze thing. What I am about to tell you is a little known secret about Morrison. She’s a bootlegger. Well, actually, I don’t suppose she’s a bootlegger in the strictest sense, but that’s what I like to call her. Why? Because it’s fun to pick on Morrison.

Anyhow, here’s the deal. New Hampshire has no sales tax. They also sell their booze in State owned and operated, discount liquor stores. So, wine and spirits are much cheaper there than in most other places throughout the US. Anywhere from a few bucks to even 20 bucks per bottle, depending on what you are buying.

So…Whenever we are on tour through New England, and have a need to pass through New Hampshire, or near New Hampshire, or within some secretly prescribed spitting distance radius (to which I am not privy) around New Hampshire, we go liquor shopping.

Not for just a couple of bottles, mind you.

Morrison fills a suitcase.

A big suitcase.

Really.

There have even been threats of leaving me and my luggage on the side of the road in order to fit the bounty into the vehicle.

I’m serious.

Now, lest you think wrongly and assume I am telling you Morrison is a drunk, let me dispel that. Morrison rarely drinks. I’ve known her for years and have seen her take maybe three drinks that entire time. She’s just not a drinker. No kidding.

Smoker? Well, that’s another story entirely, but she already lives in a place where cigarettes are cheap…And, of course, there is always the coffee.

(Yes, folks, that is REALLY just coffee in that cup…I know it for a fact. I’ve made enough of it for her when she’s stayed with us…Hell, I even have a 2 burner, 3 minute Bunn™ that I keep going at all times when she is here. Note, that when she is staying with us is the only time that piece of equipment actually sees action. We affectionately call it “The Morrison”. as in, “Hey, did you get The Morrison out of the basement? Morrison is gonna be here any minute,” and “Hold on while I fire up The Morrison. If she wakes up and there’s no coffee we’re all gonna get killed.”)

So, nope, Morrison is definitely not a drunk. But, she still fills a suitcase with assorted bottles of booze. You see, whenever we are going to be within the secret spitting distance of New Hampshire, Morrison’s husband and friends make out a list, check it twice, and then send her on a mission to return with good booze at discount prices. So ritualistic is this practice that I have now been on three separate “booze runs” with Morrison. It’s a good thing the folks in New Hampshire put several of these liquor stores right out on the highway near the state line. You almost have to wonder if they are doing that just to lure folks in.

Anyway, this tour we did a booze run. As usual, while Morrison was in the parking lot tossing things everywhere in order to fill the suitcase, I stood by with my diminutive personal stash– a bottle for me, and a nice bottle of Scotch as a gift for my wife.

Now, here’s the sad part of the story. And, it actually has nothing to do with Morrison, as amazing as that may seem.

I flew home on Saturday (6/2)…I had left behind my open bottle at Morrison’s place because I drink enough of their booze when I am on the road with her that I am sure I owed them at least that. Probably more. Unfortunately, I was so wiped out from the 15 days on the road, (yes, from the time on the road, not from the drinking) that by the time Saturday rolled around, my brain was firing on only one cylinder and it had a bent valve at that.

Yes…Without thinking, I put my wife’s gift– a rather expensive (even by New Hampshire discount standards) bottle of 16 year old, French Oak Cask Aged, Reserve, Glenlivet Single Malt Scotch– into my carry-on. I know better than this. I have logged more hours in the air than some flight attendants, so I know what I can and cannot take in a carry-on.

But, I did it anyway…Like I said, without thinking. Most likely because my brain simply wasn’t up to thinking.

So…At Dulles International airport, there is now a TSA official with a very nice bottle of Scotch. They told me they were going to throw it away, but I argued with them about that, insisting that at least ONE of them HAD to be a Scotch drinker, and that if they were going to confiscate it anyway, they needed to do me the kindness of keeping it as a gift, with my compliments, and raising a glass to me as they enjoyed it.

I’ll admit, it was my mistake stuffing it into the wrong suitcase…This certainly qualifies me for the idiot of the year award…

…But, if those TSA folks threw that bottle of Scotch in the trash, then I think I am in no danger of winning, because that would make them bigger idiots that me.

More to come…

Murv