BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

…Or am I just happy to see you?

Remember your childhood? No… Not back that far. No need for poopy diapers around here. I fling enough poo for all of us.

I mean like back when you were about 8 to 10… Maybe slightly younger, but not too much. You know, kind of like around the age of kids in those sub sandwich commercials where they have all the adults running around but they have little kid kinda voices…

You haven’t seen those? Well damn… They’re actually kinda funny…

Hmmm… Well just stick with me here and maybe we can work this out.

Back when you were a kid, around 8 to 10, did your parents ever say, “Come on, Rusty (or whatever they called you). We’re going for a ride.” Then, drive for about two hours and eventually boot you out of the car on some lonely country road and then speed off?

Okay, okay so mine didn’t do that to me either.

So, how about this instead: Did they ever hustle you into the car, not telling you where you were going, then listen to you gripe for 20 minutes because you wanted to watch Lassie or The Lone Ranger instead of go somewhere that you didn’t even know where or what it was? And then, after you were really good and bored, and extra grumpy, and were just plain being a kid, they broke the news to you that you were on your way to get a new bike… Or a puppy… Or to see a movie you’d just been dying to see… Or Holiday Hill… Or White Castle… Or swimming… Or any one of a million things that would make a kid go ape-shit excited to the point where they wiggle right out of their Superman Underoos?

Well, unless you had a truly horrible childhood then you probably know what I’m talking about, at least on some level, be it big or small.  If you did have a truly horrible childhood, you have my sympathies…

So anyway, why the hell am I rambling about such inane silliness? Well, you see, sometimes it’s exactly like that for writers. We get started on a manuscript (hustled into the car). We write, and write, and write (gripe and get grouchy because we’d rather be looking at porn… Hey, the other shows have lost their appeal at this point)… and besides, even though the story is good, and the prose we have penned is gripping, the final destination is in the hands of the characters and they haven’t yet given up the secret info…

But then, just like our parents who had tortured us with clandestine car rides only to surprise us with serendipitous banana splits from Velvet Freeze,  our characters choose some arbitrary moment to reveal to us where we are going.

You know, like when we are folding the laundry and ruminating about where to take that next chapter.

And, just like the little kids we were then, we wiggle right out of our  Superman Underoos, giggle, pee ourselves, and get all kinds of cotton candy overload excited.

Yeah… Pretty cool, eh?

So… I guess now that I’ve peed my Superman Underoos I should change. Whaddaya think, Batman or Aquaman?

Of course, there’s always Wonder Woman… But those are really designated for when I’m looking at porn instead of writing…

More to come…

Murv

I’m old enough to remember Young.

Robert Young, that is…

Father Knows Best…

Marcus Welby, MD…

Ring a bell?

Well, I’m sure it does with most of you. If it doesn’t, then just pretend. It doesn’t matter all that much  since I’m going to explain the connection anyway.

You see, in addition to Doc Welby and the like, Robert Young also did the Sanka™ commercials. Decaffeinated Coffee – Oh boy…

Now, as an aside here, I have to say that Decaffeinated coffee is an extremely vile thing. It’s also an oxymoron of mammoth proportions. It’s akin to de-opiated heroin, or non-toxic rat poison. It just doesn’t make sense… But, you know, digressing and all…

So, the commercials would always start with someone going off the deep end.  Something on the order of the following: Mary would be slicing veggies for the cucumber & watercress finger sandwiches she was going to serve to her bridge club with afternoon coffee – because back then all women stayed home, vacuumed the floor and washed the windows while wearing cotton dresses and high heels, and then had plenty of time for a visit to the beauty salon and do the grocery shopping. Then they would have afternoon bridge club with the other similarly attired moms from the neighborhood. It was a different sort of time…  A time when dress wearing moms sold Tupperware in their living rooms and men wore polyester leisure suits. Anywho… Mary would break a nail, or spill some milk, or slice the cucumber too thick, or something equally as minor, whereupon she would start screaming, run through the house, and stab all of the other Afternoon Bridge Party MILFs to death with the butcher knife she had been using for the sandwiches.

Okay, so maybe not THAT drastic… But, there would generally be some sort of overreaction to a minor issue. And, that reaction was always Robert “Doc Welby” Young’s cue to step forward from the background. In a concerned, trusted, fatherly tone he would say, “Mary… Why so tense?”

I know. Perfect opening for a soft porn flick, eh? Well, except that porn usually has less plot than a Sanka™ commercial…

Moving right along… At this point, Mary would unload on the guy who played a doctor on TV. He would listen, nod, then diagnose “Mary” with caffeine overload and immediately prescribe Sanka™ instead of regular coffee. Of course, as usually happens in the perfect world of commercials, Mary was instantly cured, turning once again into a happy, airheaded, suburban MILF in pink pumps, with perfect hair, a clean house, and a serving tray specially designed to display Sanka™ – cans AND jars – for everyone to see.

It was all very Stepford Wives-ish if you ask me.

Of course, there were other versions… “Joe… Why so tense?”… “Enrico… Why so tense?” …. “Aunt Bee… Why so tense?”… You get the idea. My version was a lot more fun though.

And so, why am I even bringing up Sanka™?

Easy. Because even though E K can’t stand coffee, I told her the other day she needed some.

Sanka™ that is, not regular coffee. E K on two Coca-Colas a day is bad enough. Sure don’t want any more caffeine in the mix.

At any rate, the reason I did so is that we were talking about dinner arrangements we were making with some friends. She mentioned that it had to be on a weekend because one of said friends didn’t like going out on weeknights. The conversation that ensued went something like this –

Me: Good, I don’t either.

EK: Why? It’s not like you have to be anywhere the next day. You work from home. It’s not like you have to go to the Bad Place.

Me: Because weekdays are my quiet time.

EK: How so?

Me: You and the o-spring are gone and I have my house to myself.

EK: So?

Me: Why would I want to go out and deal with people on my quiet days?

EK: So you’re really saying you just don’t like going out.

Me: Have a Sanka™. I’m just kidding.

EK: (SiGh) You’re ALWAYS kidding these days.

Me: Because I’m happy. I don’t have to go to the Bad Place anymore.

The first thing that really struck me is that she didn’t immediately beat me to death for calling it “my house.” I’m sure punishment will ensue at some point.

The second thing that struck me was the truth behind what I’d said. I’ve been relatively happy for a handful of years now, and a good portion of why is the fact that I don’t have to go to the Bad Place anymore.

Allow me to explain…

More to come…

Murv

To Be Continued in:  The Bad Place…