BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Well, when it comes to “age” the proverbial Big Three Oh is languishing somewhere in a valley well behind a mountain range that is rapidly shrinking in my rear view mirror. That is to say, 30 was a long, long time ago… An entire voting and drafting age adult ago, in fact. However, if you do the math it works out that I took my final bow at Ritenour Senior High thirty years ago this past June. And, like most high school alumni association type folks, mine tossed a shindig to celebrate this milestone.

The party – or parties, I should say – in question occurred this past weekend (July 16 & 17), at two different locations, beginning with a “Multi Year Happy Hour” at the Lemp Mansion on Friday evening, which saw graduates spanning ’73 – ’84.  (Yours truly was a member of the “hosting class” for the shindig, 1980). Much fun was had, many old faces seen. Some old faces with new construction. Some old faces that hadn’t changed. But mostly, we were all just old. I visited with friends I hadn’t seen in 30 years, and some I hadn’t seen in 5. I even visited with people I didn’t know that I knew and am still not entirely certain that I know, if that makes any sense. As a rule, it seemed a healthy chunk of the folks knew me – or of me – whereas I had a passing familiarity with a much smaller percentage, and am friends with an even smaller number than that.

This can be a little disconcerting, but beer helps. Several beers helps even more…

Night two was the “Class of 80 Reunion Proper” and it was held at the Missouri Athletic Club – a posh private club in downtown Saint Louis with fancy ballrooms and high end food. Suffice it to say, when the elaborate appetizer table features plenty of Stilton and Brie among the countless selections, you definitely aren’t talking “supermarket cheese tray” here. This is some upscale digs.

At any rate, the evening was filled with more chatting, old faces, new old faces, old new faces, and as always seems to be the case with me, a bit of the bizarre. What follows here is a Facebook note I put out there to recap the evening. Since many of my blog readers aren’t on FB, I thought I’d re-run it here:

RHS Class of ’80 30 Year Reunion Recap…

...from the perspective of a satire slinging suspense-thriller author, of course.

Drive… Drive… Drive.
Park
Walk… Walk… Walk…

Check in table…

Kathy (Not EK): MURV!
Me: KATHY!
Teri: Here’s your nametag.
Me: I have a nametag? YAY! I’m SOMEBODY!!!
Teri: Have fun.
Me: We’ll try. But if we don’t it’s your fault and I’m going to come looking for you.
Teri: SECURITY!

Mingle… Mingle…

Me: Yeah, the redhead will have a tonic with a twist. What kind of beer do you have?
Bartender: AB this… AB that… AB the other… AB… AB…
Me: What, no C?
Bartender: AB this… AB that… AB the other… AB… AB…

Random Classmate: Hi.
Me: Hi, ummm, do I know you?
Random Classmate: I don’t know, but I know you.
Me: Sorry… I just can’t place you.
Random Classmate: You’re that guy.
Me: I am?
Random Classmate: Yeah.
Me: Oh, uh, okay.

Mingle… Mingle…

Random Classmate: Hi. We went to school together.
Me: Ummm, yeah. I think that could be said for most everyone in the room. Here’s your sign.

Random Classmate: Picture, picture. I need a picture.
(smile) {flash}
Random Classmate: Me too! Me too!
(smile) {flash}
Random Classmate: Over here, Murv!
(smile) {flash}
(smile) {flash}
(smile) {flash}
{little floaty spots in front of my face}
Music in my head: BLINDED BY THE LIGHT, REVVED UP LIKE A…

[hug]
[hug}
[handshake]
[hug]
[handshake]

E K: Who was that?
Me: I have no effing idea.

[hug]
[hug]
[handshake]

Random Classmate: Murv! How are you? Remember that time when we blah blah whatchmacallit blah?
Me: Ummm. No?
Random Classmate: Oh come on. We blah blah, then bla… Oh… Wait… That wasn’t you. Sorry.
Me: No problem. I get that a lot.
Random Classmate: Ummmm… I hear you write books now.
Me: That’s the rumor.
Random Classmate: You’re going to put this in a book aren’t you?
Me: (nodding) Yeah. Probably. At the very least I’ll make fun of you in a blog or something.

Random Classmate: Hi.
Me: Hi.
Random Classmate: Do you know me?
Me: Hell no, I don’t even know myself.
Random Classmate: You’re that guy, right?
Me: That’s what I’ve been hearing.
Random Classmate: No. Really. You’re that guy.
Me: Okay, you got me. I’m that guy. But, sometimes when I’m feeling pretty, I’m that girl.
Random Classmate: O_o.
Me: Yeah, kinda scary, huh? (Especially since I look nothing at all like Marlo Thomas.)

BUFFET LINE…

E K: Woohoo! VEGGIES!
Random Classmate: (pointing) Ummm… What’s that?
Me: (pointing) Grilled eggplant, grilled zucchini, grilled asparagus, grilled portabello mushroom, grilled peppers…
Random Classmate: Oh… those are vegetables, right? I’ll pass…
Me: You’d have a much easier time with that if you actually ate some of the veggies. Fiber, ya’know.
Random Classmate: O_o

Eat… Eat…Eat…

DJ Jazzy J And The Funky Bunch – YO! {{{feedback… buzzzzz… squeal… feedback}}}
[MYOO-ZIK – Thumpita Thumpita TWANG THUMPA]

Random Classmate: HI!
Me: WHAT?
Random Classmate: HI!
Me: WHAT?
Random Classmate: YOU’RE MURV, RIGHT?
Me: OH, I THINK IT’S JUST DOWN THE HALL.
Random Classmate: WHAT?

Me: (relating an anecdote to friends) …And then at my last book launch I had someone who actually believed she’s a “REAL vampire slayer” and wanted to “slay” my fans when they showed up.
Steve, Cathy, and Nathan: You actually get crazy people showing up?
Me: At least one at every event. Sometimes more…
(frantic high heels coming closer – clickity, clackity, clickety, clackety…)
Random Classmate: You don’t know me, but I know about you!
Me: What will it take for you to not call the police? I really can’t afford another strike on my record right now.
Random Classmate: O_o… Ummm… I know who you are.
Me: I’m glad someone does, because I lost my wallet.
Random Classmate: No… You don’t understand… I know what you do.
Me: Like I said, how much for you to not call the police?
Random Classmate: No… You write books.
Me: I’ve heard that about me.
Random Classmate: Well, have I got a story for you!
Me: Really? What is it?
Random Classmate: I can’t tell you because you’ll steal it.
Me: Yeah, I don’t blame you. Just can’t trust us author types.
Random Classmate: But I’ll sell it to you.
Me: Sugar, no offense, but I have more ideas running around in my head than I’ll be able to write in my lifetime, so I’m not going to steal it or buy it.
Random Classmate: But this has never been done before and it will make a great movie.
Me: So, what is it?
Random Classmate: I can’t tell you. You’ll steal it.
E K: [giggle]
Steve, Cathy, Nathan: Crap… You weren’t kidding, were you?

{flash} {flash}
[hug hug]

Random Classmate: Hmmnimmm… Wharz baffoom?
Me: Hall to the left.
Random Classmate: Hmmmnim.
clickety, clackety, clickety, clackety, CRASH!
Steve, Nathan, Cathy, EK, Me: (checking on the noise) Are you okay?
Random Classmate: Hmminnmm rmmm hhmminnimmmmm…

(frantic high heels coming closer – clickity, clackity, clickety, clackety…)
Previous Random Classmate: I’ve got a story… I’ve got a story… I’ve got a story…
Steve, Cathy, and Nathan: This is going in a book, isn’t it?
Me: Probably.

Various Classmates: Bye… See you in five years.
Me: Bye. See you on Facebook.

Many of my friends keep telling me that my experience has something to do with celebrity. I think they’re wrong, because we didn’t have any celebrities at the reunion, other than the folks who worked so hard to put the shindig together.

Rumor has it the 35th is going to be a 4 day cruise. I have to wonder if I’ll be hearing clickity, clackity, clickety, clackety… stumble… gaaahhhhhhh! SPLASH!

I hope not, but if I do I’ll have no choice but to put it in a book. After laughing so hard that my drink shoots out my nose... Why? Because I’m that guy.

More to come…

Murv

(Pictured: Photo 1 – Dave Perkins, M. R. Sellars, E K… Photo 2 – Kathy Patterson Inkley, M. R. Sellars…)

They gave her looks. Brains. Nuclear capabilities. Everything but an “off” switch.

Since Gregory Hines died back in 2003, they called me to fill in.

“You know I can’t dance, right?” I asked.

By way of reply, they advanced their own question, “Do you know how to use a gun?”

“Well, yeah.”

One of them handed me a stack of paper. It was folded and dog-eared to a specific page. It looked like it had seen better days.

“I hate to tell you this,” I said. “But, this isn’t a gun.”

“This is a script. You get the gun when the properties master gets here,” the script girl replied. I knew she was the script girl because it said so on her t-shirt. She then followed up with yet another question as she tapped her index finger on the page. “Can you memorize this line right here?”

I looked down at the paper and read the text. I looked back up at them, then lowered my eyes and read the text again. Not only had the paper itself seen better days, so had the writing. Finally, I said, “You’re kidding, right?”

“No” was the answer.

“I can memorize it,” I told them. “In fact, now that I’ve read it once I’m pretty sure I’m never going to be able to forget it, unfortunately. “

“Good,” she quipped.

I shook my head. “You aren’t  going to expect me to actually say it or something ridiculous like that, are you?”

“Ssshhhhh!” the one with the wild-eyes shushed. “Here she comes.”

“Here who comes?” I asked.

“Eeek.”

“Eeek?”

“Ssshhh!”

I turned to see E K coming down the stairs. She was all decked out in a retro leather jacket, short skirt, and stiletto heels. I have to admit, she was looking pretty hot in a retro-80’s-disco-pop sorta way. Over her shoulder was a huge, black  duffle bag that looked more than a little suspicious.  What’s more, she was wearing an unhappy grimace. I wasn’t entirely sure whether it was because the duffle was too heavy or if she was seriously pissed off about the eighties pop wardrobe. Of course, it’s always possible she was just pissed about everything in general. I mean, we’re talking about E K here.

“Ummmm… Hi… Your worship,” I said.

The Evil One didn’t say a word. Instead she simply reached into the duffle, then quickly withdrew her hand and pointed a rather nasty looking machine pistol at me.

I cringed.

She stood there.

Finally I said, “What’s going on here?”

“She’s activated,” the script girl said.

“What do you mean she’s activated?” I asked.

“Ssshhh!” the wild-eyed one shushed me again, then whispered urgently, “You’ll set her off.”

“I’ve got some bad news for you,” I told him. “You don’t have to talk to set her off. Just leave the toilet seat up and see what happens. It’s pretty ugly.”

“Do you have a death wish?” the script girl hissed.

“No, but whoever gave my wife an Uzi obviously does,” I replied. “And, by the way. It’s EKay, not Eeek.”

“Not anymore,” said a new voice.

E K turned and fired.

I ducked.

So did everyone else.

Once the explosive burp and clatter of brass subsided, and the ringing in my ears started to fade, I looked over at the holes in the wall. The guy belonging to the new voice dragged himself up from the floor and gave me a nod.

“I knew she was going to do that,” he said.

I looked over and noticed that E K was just standing there staring with her breach hanging wide open. I would have mentioned it to her but I was afraid she’d just reload.

“Good on ya’,” I replied to the new guy. “So, who’s gonna fix my wall?”

“I’ll get a gaffer to take care of that. They have some pretty amazing tape.”

“So I hear.”

“You must be Colonel McQuade.”

“No, I’m Murv.”

He nodded and winked. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”

“Seriously.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he grunted

“So, what did you mean by not anymore?” I asked.

“Simple. She used to be EKay. Now she’s Eeek VIII.”

“Eeek Eight…”

“No, Eeek VIII.”

“That’s what I said.”

“This is a B movie. You have to say it with a Roman accent in order to make it sound important.”

“I see…” I grumbled. “So, what happened to Eeek One through… Excuse me, Eeek I through Eeek VII?”

“They were all blonds. The director wanted a redhead.”

“And they wanted to know if I had a death wish…” I mumbled while shaking my head, and then asked, “He’s not very bright, is he?”

“Hey! I’m right here…” the director shouted.

“Not very bright, are you?” I turned and asked.

He didn’t answer. Instead he just climbed back into his fancy folding chair and grumbled a lot.

“So…” I began. “What exactly does Eeek Eigh… I mean VIII do? I mean, besides destroy our house with an Uzi.”

“She terminates Japanese Beetles.”

“With a machine gun?”

“That’s one method. She’s capable of destroying Japanese Beetles in a variety of ways. And, if she is overcome by them at any point, she is also equipped with a tactical nuclear device.”

“Yeah,” I grunted. “I know. I live with her. I’ve seen her melt down.”

“Here,” he said, then handed me a Sig Sauer. “This is your gun.”

“Great,” I said, taking the firearm from him. “What am I supposed to do with it? I thought Eeek over here was the Japanese Beetle Exterminator.”

“She is.” He replied, then directed himself to retro E K. “Eeek VIII. Kill.”

With that, my wife reloaded the Uzi and stalked through the house. A moment later the back door exploded off its hinges and that was followed by the burp of the machine pistol, occasionally punctuated by silence. I assumed  that just meant she was reloading, because the gunfire would commence again within a few seconds.

I jogged through the house to the smoking hole where my back door used to be, and looked out at the carnage. Japanese Beetles were screaming for mercy as E K… I mean Eeek VIII… was peppering the back yard with 9mm rounds while stomping the carcasses of the wounded insects and gleefully grinding them into the ground.  The crunching noise was absolutely horrific, and she showed no sign of stopping. In fact, she really seemed to be enjoying herself.

“Now do you know what to do?” the properties guy asked.

“Run and hide?” I replied.

“Pssstttt!” a noise came from behind.

I turned to see the script girl motioning wildly.

“What?” I asked.

“Your line…” she hissed urgently. “Say your line…”

“You mean you seriously want me to say that?”

“Yes!” the director demanded.

I moaned.

“We can have wardrobe put you into a Japanese Beetle costume,” the director threatened.

“Yeah, okay, fine…” I grumbled, then cleared my throat and said, “Well this is quite some toy you have yourselves here gentlemen. I suppose you want me to put it back in its box.”

“CUT!” the director yelled.

The crunching and gunfire continued, along with a bit of giggling coming from the retro-clad redhead.

“CUT!” the director yelled again.

Eeek VIII kept stomping beetles and blowing holes into the sides of our neighbor’s houses with the Uzi.

“You idiots really did forget to give her an off switch, didn’t you?”

“Ummm… Animatronics wasn’t my department,” the properties master said. “Just props.”

“Yeah, great… Pass the buck,” I replied, then asked, “Okay, so what now?”

“Well… Ummm… She’s your wife. We were hoping you could tell us…”

“Yeah, actually, I think I can… Don’t call me if you decide to remake The Fly. She hates those too…”

More to come…

Murv

(NOTE: It is entirely possible that the movie reference above is a bit too obscure. My apologies for that. However, I watched it many years ago and figured I should subject the rest of you to it as well. The movie is “Eve of Destruction” – Also known in other countries as Eve Eight, Android Assassin, as well as Terminator Woman. It was a B Minus / C Plus Terminatoresque ripoff S/F flick starring Gregory Hines and Dutch actress Renée Soutendijk in a dual role as Doctor Eve Simmons and Eve VIII. You can read more about the actual movie here: Eve Of Destruction. I recommend pizza, booze, and nothing much else to do before actually watching this. But if you like mindless B schlock movies, it’s worth a gander. In the interest of full disclosure, while E K does in fact have leather and stilettos, she does not own an Uzi nor a tactical nuclear device. Production stills and frame grabs  of the actual movie were used to create Eeek Eig… I mean, Eeek VIII.)