BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Well, to some extent they go hand in hand. Love, lust, and all points in between. You start out in lust and as you get to know one another the lust becomes love, and if you are lucky, they blend together to become this Love/Lust amalgam that carries on throughout your relationship and/or marriage.

But, before you get all excited or start calling me Doctor Phil, I should point out that I’m actually here to talk to you about dominos again. And, no, still not the pizza.

You see, I’ve been married to EK now for Twen-koff-koff yea-koff…Okay…for real, 21+ years, and we “co-habitated” for a year prior to that. So, we’ve been ’round the block in the ol’ Radio Flyer a couple of times – always with me pulling as she beats me with a buggy whip and screams “faster, faster…watch out for that crack in the sidewalk…slow down…careful around that turn…faster, faster!” But, as usual, that’s one of those “other” blogs (actually, they probably wouldn’t even let me post it here…but I digress…)

My point being, I’m no stranger to the relationship game, marriage game, whatever… Now, let’s be clear. I am in no way claiming to have all the answers. Hell, I don’t have ANY of the answers. I just pull the wagon and do what I’m told. I’m merely pointing out that I do have at least a passing familiarity with interpersonal relationships between two folks who make up a couple.

Since the EK and I have been together for better than two decades, just like any other couple we have settled into some behavioral patterns. This is not to say that love and lust are gone. The love is there stronger than it was in the beginning, and growing daily. Lust…well…can’t really get into that here (LOL)… But, like I said, as with any couple, patterns will emerge. Ways of interacting. It’s just all part of life. Therefore, a half hour or so ago when I nonchalantly and jokingly said to my wife, “what are you making for dinner tonight?” her response came as no surprise, and the dominos began to teeter…

I suppose you might need a bit of background first…You see, my wife almost never makes dinner. In fact, whenever I go on tour for a week or two at a time, I spend the week prior to my departure working in the kitchen – cooking, packaging, and freezing meals in reusable “freezer to microwave” containers so that I know she and my daughter will eat something other than crackers and yogurt. It’s not that she’s lazy. She’s about as far from lazy as you can get… Hell, I wish I had her energy… It is just that she really dislikes cooking. With a passion it seems. Me, on the other hand, having grown up in a family with diners and restaurants, I absolutely love to cook. So, this makes at least part of the division of labor in our home a no brainer. Put simply, the kitchen is my domain.

But, like I said at the outset, there are dominos involved here, and again, I’m not talking about pizza…even though we are on the subject of food.

To inspect this particular dot-covered game piece we have to turn back the clock to a time EARLY in our marriage. Back when, even though we had dated for some time, then cohabitated for an entire year, and then even been legally married in the eyes of the law for a couple more years, we were still in that state of semi-honeymoon. Not the face-sucking-sex-in-every-room-with-reckless-abandon phase, mind you. Just the hyperactive love-lust combination where you want to impress your partner because you love them so much – and again, I want to be clear on this impressing thing – I’m not talking about dressing up in a negligee and posing next to the bedroom door while batting eyelashes (come to think of it, that’s a pretty good domino too, but I probably wouldn’t fit in that negligee anymore…just kidding… I mean just kidding about the negilgee, not the fitting into it part… you know what I mean…dammit, I’ve never owned a negligee, so just stop it!)

Back to the story… sheesh…ya’ bunch of weirdos…

So, in this particular instance we are talking about dinner. You see, way back when, during the days of hyperlovelustwhatever, the evil redhead decided to make dinner. (They “make” dinner here in the north, as opposed to fixing dinner, like it’s supposed to be done) Now, not being a big fan of the kitchen she wasn’t about to get herself into a major project (I’d like to take a moment to point out that it isn’t that she can’t cook, because she can. It’s simply that she hates cooking.) But still, she intended to “make” dinner. And, so she did. Cheesy tuna and noodles Tuna Helper^TM. Now, before you think I am about to complain, guess again. I happen to like tuna casserole, and mac n’ cheese, and yes, cheesy tuna and noodles. It was all good.

So, my lovely bride served up a big, steaming dish of Tuna Helper^TM, happy with herself and confident in the fact that she had done something nice for me that I would appreciate. And, I did. Harboring the same hyperlovelustwhatever as she, I sat at the table and shoveled in the Tuna Helper^TM while smiling and telling her how wonderful it was, as well as how much I appreciated her fixing dinner. In fact, I was so overwhelmed with hyperlovelustwhatever that I didn’t even hint at the fact that there was something terribly, and fundamentally wrong with the meal. Not something that would make you ill, mind you, but something fundamentally wrong, nonetheless, given what it was supposed to be. The meal went on, the dishes were washed, and well, I can’t really remember what else happened that night, but I suspect that since we were working on remodeling the house at the time we were probably both exhaused and just went to bed then straight to sleep – none of the “not so blog safe” material to worry about this time.

So, everything was good. I had done my duty and nothing need ever be said about the problem with the meal. The EK was happy, I was happy, and even the cats were as happy as cats can be.

The next day, however, it became apparent that my plan to protect the evil redhead from personal embarrassment had gone terribly awry. At this point I cannot remember exactly what I was doing at the moment of realization. I do, however, have vivid recollection of EK walking into the room with an unopened can of tuna in her hand, which she had found sitting on the kitchen counter right where she had left it the night before. With a look of realization flooding her face, she stared at me and stated, as much as asked, complete with a matter-of-fact incredulity, “I forgot to put the tuna in the Tuna Helper last night, didn’t I?”

I could not tell a lie, but I also didn’t want to add insult to injury. I simply replied, “No worries. It was really good macaroni and cheese.”

The domino in this case? Well, it didn’t have to knock much over. You see, this afternoon when I jokingly asked my wife what she would be “making” for dinner, without missing a beat she replied, “Hamburger Helper without the hamburger.”

We’re older now, and while we still have that hyperlovelustwhatever thing going on, I’ve learned I don’t really have to suffer (unless I want to, that is, but again, different blog…)

I think I’ll just go ahead and “make” dinner tonight.

More to come…

Murv

Well, I suppose that as far as the Chinese food goes it is really about as Chinese as La Choy beef Chow Mein in a can. You know, the Chow Mein you serve with the deep fried noodle things that everyone ends up dipping in chocolate and calling them cookies around the holidays. Yeah, that La Choy. As a matter of fact, I seem to recall their old commercial jingle saying, “La Choy makes Chinese food, swing American!” That was back in the 60’s and 70’s… Yeah, I’m kinda middle aged, don’t remind me. At any rate, with a catch phrase like that, it doesn’t sound all that Chinese I don’t guess. Kinda more Ameri-Asian fusion cuisine. “If you can call Chow Mein from a can cuisine,” I can hear EK saying even as I type. You see, she doesn’t really care for La Choy Chow Mein or any of their other canned meals for that matter. I think it has something to do with having it too often as a child or something. She’s never been very specific about that. She just sort of glazes over and makes her “bleh” face, so I kinda just don’t press the subject.

Me, on the other hand, I happen to like the stuff. Not as a regular diet sort of thing, but every now and then I like to grab a can just for the sake of nostalgia. Kinda like the peanut butter ‘n jelly sammich thing, or egg nog, or even my own personal version of the Saint Paul Sandwich…

But, then, I’m not here to talk to you about La Choy, or any of their products. Funny how I can sometimes digress before I even get started. I should probably see someone about that. Or not.

Anyway, let’s get down to brass tacks. Or “Forever Stamps”, or Postal Workers, or whatever…

You see, I received some snail mail yesterday. I know, seems somewhat antiquated doesn’t it? (Don’t tell my neighbor I said that. He’s a Postal Carrier)… But, even I have to admit, there are still things snail mail is good for. Christmas Cards for one. Checks for another. Well… Checks are pretty much the most important one when you get right down to it, but either way, let’s not get off track yet again. The long and short of it was that I went to the mailbox and there was a number 10 envelope, addressed quite simply to “Sellars”.

Not Murv Sellars. Not Mr. Sellars. Not M. R. Sellars. Not even to Rusty Sellars (long story – since my middle name is Russell and I am a Jr., when I was a kid my dad was Russell and I was Rusty. My name “changed” to Murv when I came into my “own” identity when I hit my early teens, just like every other adolescent child does at that age.)

No, this bit of snail mail was addressed to no one other than simply, “Sellars”.

Some of you may think this odd. Then again, maybe you don’t. I’m not there with you to look inside your ear and see what the gears and cogs are doing. But, suffice it to say, I didn’t find it all that peculiar myself. You see, there are a pretty healthy number of people on the planet who refer to me simply as “Sellars”… In fact, I believe some of you blog readers are among them. I blame Morrison for that, but as I tend to say often, that’s another blog…

However, as far as snail mail goes, there is but one individual (thus far) who sends anything to my house addressed simply to “Sellars”. Even Morrison herself addresses things to M. R. Sellars. Therefore, I didn’t even have to look at the return address to know that I had just received something from Dorothy Morrison’s husband, Mark.

Now, Mark and I are friends. He’s a hell of a guy. Funny, intelligent, not to mention that he’s married to my best friend. I’ve downed several drinks with him, watched Presidential debates with him, and generally just hung out. I love the guy dearly. But, we aren’t exactly what you would call pen pals. If he has something to tell me, he drops me an email. So, if I receive something in the SNAIL mail from him, even though it is addressed to “Sellars”, I know that it isn’t actually for me. It’s for my daughter.

Having a bit of trouble following that one? Well, let me see if I can explain.

You see, like many grammar school children across the United States, my daughter collects “Boxtops For Education” and takes them to school. Now, I’ll admit that I don’t always cook from scratch. I actually do buy a few boxes of burger helper now and again, and the munchkin also likes “Lucky Charms”, which is a General Mills product (creators and purveyors of the Boxtops for Edu program)… So, we do manage to collect our share of these School Funding Gems. But, not a ton of them. (I know, I know, get to the point…) Well, you see, I happened to mention this in passing when Morrison and I were on tour a couple of years back, because we do try to nab boxtops from folks we know who might be unaware and simply throwing them away. And, as it happens, Mark took this to heart. He began collecting boxtops for our munchkin’. In fact, not only does he collect them, he doesn’t even wait for the package of whatever foodstuff to be used first. He goes through with a razor blade and pre-emptively removes the Boxtops for Education seal so that it won’t accidentally end up in the trash. Then, once his “boxtops dish” on the counter is full he pours them into an envelope and mails them to, “Sellars”.

Now, there was once this faux pas where when he poured the boxtops into the envelope the razor blade – still ensconced in its little cardboard sheath – unknowingly made it into the envelope as well. We’ve had plenty of fun with that one. In fact, I still have it sitting here on my desk. Maybe I’ll have it bronzed for him and put it on a plaque… anyone know what it would cost to have a single edge razor blade bronzed and mounted? (Yeah, there I go digressing again…)

So, back to the story. What it comes down to is that once again, Mark came through with a load of Boxtops for Education. Not only is this good for the school because they turn them in to General Mills for money, which in turn helps them do things like build a new Gymnasium, or get more books, and what have you, but it is also good for the kids. Why? Because they benefit from the books, new Gym, etc, obviously. But, it is also great for my kid on yet another front. Not only does she reap the educational benefit, but since they run a bit of a Boxtops for Education contest at her school, it helps her numbers. In fact, last year she turned in so many boxtops that she won this Gi-Hugic blue dolphin stuffed animal (the school mascot)…

BTW, if you don’t have kids, or don’t happen to know any kids who need Boxtops for Education, and you are merely tossing them in the trash, I’ll gladly give you my PO Box address and you can send them to “Sellars” just like Mark does. (Please DO NOT send razor blades…) Just think, the munchkin might win another blue dolphin. If she keeps it up, she might end up with a whole pod…

So…That pretty much covers snail mail and boxtops. I’m sure you are now thinking, “Yeah, okay, so what about the Chinese food, because you said you weren’t here to talk about La Choy…”

Well… You’re right about that. La Choy isn’t the Chinese food you’re looking for… Move along… (sorry, Obi-wan… Just couldn’t help myself…)

Anyway, I suppose I should explain the Chinese food reference in the blog title. You see, it has to do with Spam™…

Okay, so did anyone hurt his or her neck with the whole snapping back of the head in a major WTF moment? I hope not, because I don’t have insurance on this blog…

Yeah. Spam™… You see, I’ve never made a secret of my love for Spam™…and it’s equally tasty and much less expensive twin, Treet™. In fact, ever since my Spam™/Treet™ blog some time ago, I have been treated (pun most certainly intended) to fried Spam™ for breakfasts at various events and bookstores where I have been booked for a signing. I’ve had Spam™ sandwiches for lunch. Spam™ in salads. I mean, it’s been downright wonderful, because yes, I really do like Spam™. But, as you can imagine, (as you might be one of these folks of whom I speak) many people find this little culinary quirk of mine endlessly amusing. In fact, some of the times I have been served Spam™ at events it has been as a joke. Well, I have to tell you, that’s my kind of joke so keep on joking and laughing folks. I’m all about it… (Grin)

Anyway, among the folks who find this amusing are Morrison and her husband Mark.

“But, Sellars, just what in the holy hell does this have to do with Chinese food,” you ask, with a befuddled and somewhat annoyed expression creasing your features.

So glad you asked…

You see, this time, instead of just Boxtops arriving in the mail for my daughter, there actually WAS something in the envelope for me. No, it wasn’t another razor blade… Actually it was a recipe, clipped from the newspaper.

A recipe for Spam™ Fried Rice.

Really. I kid you not.

And, just in case you think I am making this up, here is a picture of the actual and very real newspaper clipping…

Thanks, Mark. I can’t wait to try it out… In fact, I have a can of Treet™ sitting in the cupboard right now, and I’m sure the author of the recipe won’t mind the substitution since those tasty, rectangular can shaped blocks of chicken and pork leavin’s are completely interchangeable.

And, you know…just for nostalgia’s sake, I think I’ll use La Choy soy sauce…

More to come…

Murv