BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Over the past few days folks have probably taken note that I’ve been somewhat busy with cleaning, shopping, cleaning, cooking, cleaning, sho… Well, you get the idea.

I’ve been, to say the least, busy. And, as I have noted on my various social networks, this “bizzy” came about not only from the writing I’ve been doing, but also from my preparations for the Festival of Luetsencurbenpuken.

As you may have guessed – because you may be one of the folks I am about to mention – folks (that’d be the folks I’m mentioning) have been leaving comments and dropping me emails, most often with the question: “

“Hay! Merv. Cellers. Whot thee f*ck is Loosencrippenfahrvegnugget?”

Okay… Well maybe the spelling and grammar weren’t quite THAT bad. But anyway, suffice it to say I’ve received many a, “What the hell is that?” email. So, with today being the final day of Luetsencurbenpuken, I thought perhaps I’d give everyone an explanation.

Luetsencurbenpuken (Loots – en – curb – en – puke- en) n. – A three day holiday celebrated by a small group of  Saint Louis residents, taking place in relative proximity to the Winter Solstice (December 21-22) each year. Marked by colorful signage, abundant alcohol, food, raucous singing and the obsequious worship of a petite redhead wearing black patent leather. A traditional bonfire is required for proper celebration, and the first day of the festival is started with “The Chopping Of The Wood” followed by “The Drinking Of The Dry Dirty Martini.” Margaritas – frozen, of course – can be substituted for the Martini, however the two tasks must be done outdoors in sub-freezing temperatures, while wearing shorts and a hoodie. Overt and constant adulation of the redhead is a must. On the second night of the festival, the real fun begins.

Now, I could certainly leave it at that. After all, now you know what Luetsencurbenpuken is. However, I’m sure you wonder just exactly how this particular holiday came to be in the first place. Well… Let me tell you a story.

A BRIEF HISTORY OF LUETSENCURBENPUKEN

Believe it or not, Luetsencurbenpuken is not a new holiday. It has been around almost since the dawn of time. But, it wasn’t always called Luetsencurbenpuken. To understand its roots we have to go back a bit in history. We won’t go all the way back to the dawn of time though. We’ll just flip the calendar pages a few hundred years into the past.

Ritual Mock Beheading Of The "Pie Man" - Traditional Luetsencurbenpuken Party Game

During the time of the Roman Empire when a bunch of toga wearing, $5 pizza making, nutjobs were fornicating, stabbing each other, and farting in public bathtubs, they also celebrated a holiday around the Winter Solstice that they called Saturnalia. Historians have speculated that this was due to a script that was found for a popular serial play of the age called, “Lost in Carpathia,” in which a family, along with a guide and a demented former Senator went forth in a huge chariot dubbed Saturn II, ostensibly to visit with the Carpathians. However, due to a scroll malfunction – caused by the former Senator – they became hopelessly lost and wandered about in a futile attempt to return to the aqueducts. The plot of this serial play may seem familiar to those of you who recall the hit 60’s television show, Lost in Space. In order to get around the Aristotle Plagiarism act of 723, they renamed the spaceship Jupiter II but pretty much used the same scripts, although slightly updated. But… This really isn’t  about the Romans and a date that I pulled out of my arse.  In reality, this is about the Mumbling Drelts.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Mumbling Drelts, they are an ancient people who came into existences after some wayward Mummers interbred with some wayward Druids. These “Mummids,” as they were known, traveled a short distance to sack a village of Celts, whereupon they had their way with the women. The women, being smarter, poisoned them, beheaded their carcasses, and put their heads on poles, whereupon they danced around them into the night, attempting to yodel. This is where the legend of the Banned She, (later to become Banshee) is thought to have originated.

Afterward, with not much of a village left and no visible means of support, they lived their lives out as a band of wandering burlesque performers, picking up jobs as paid assassins on the side. However, as there was no reliable birth control back then, several of them had become pregnant via the unfortunate “way having.” These women gave birth to a whole new raft of folks. They, in turn, interbred and became the Mumbling Drelts.

The reason you don’t hear much about them is that they died out over a period of 200 or so years due to the fact that they would repeatedly beat themselves over the head with rocks for no apparent reason. (Of NOTE – as you will discover later – renowned sexual anthropologist Dokter Brunhilda has published a paper which may support the theory that the self-flagellation with rocks was a misguided form of masturbation, as there is already solid evidence that such activities did, in fact, occur as a foreplay-esque prelude to copulation. See article – International Journal of Anthropological Kinkiness, Issue 69, May, 2007.)

But on with the story.

You see, while the Romans were fornicating at Saturnalia, the Mumbling Drelts were celebrating the Solstice holiday in their own fashion. Throughout the year they would gather berries and grains, which they would then turn into a mash, ferment, and then bottle. They would also distill a portion. The resultant highly alcoholic concoctions were then imbibed at the Winter Solstice  Office Party, which usually happened on the weekend nearest the Solstice proper, since everyone needed to be off work for a couple of days in order to enjoy the festivities.

And this is how the holiday of Luetsencurbenpuken was first known by the name, DRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLL!

You see, DRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLL! was the drunken cry they would make at the moment the first of them became so inebriated that he, or she as the case may be, began to, well, drool. Why? Because they were drunk and drooling. And, since the Mumbling Drelts had no written language, this tradition was handed down orally. But, this is a family blog so we won’t get into that.

At any rate, once they died out, it seemed that the holiday of DRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLL! was gone forever…

Except (saw that coming, right?)…

A Rare Snapshot Of The Luetsencurbenpuken Queen - AKA She Of Red Hair And Patent Leather

Except that a nomadic camel dealer by the name of Mortimer “Mort” Farhquar had come upon one of these celebrations in his travels and been invited to join the Mumbling Drelts for some boozin’ and droolin’. Mort liked the tradition so much that he passed it along to his kin, except that because of the verbal language barrier and a slight hearing problem he had picked up during a freak camel spitting incident, he interpreted DROOOOOLLLLL! as “Yoooollllll!”

Hence, the holiday of Yoooollllll was created. As years wore on and language evolved, this was shortened to Yule, and became the preferred winter holiday of folks around the world.

Now, you’d think the story would end there, but if it did it wouldn’t make much sense, would it?

Fast forward back to the here and now. Well, the here and then, actually. I met the redhead (see blog entries about courtship, marriage, etc for background) and one of the things we would do each year is have ourselves a “Christmas Open House” sort of party. Well, as things would go, we ended up competing with other friends who were having the same, and didn’t want to end up REALLY competing, if you get my drift. Therefore, we moved our Christmas Open House back a bit, and turned it into a Yule celebration for close friends who were able to embrace the idea of dredging up the holiday of the Ancient Mumbling Drelts.

Of course, being modern folk and all, we live in a suburban area. Therefore we endeavored to keep things on an even keel so that no police would be called on us for yelling DRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLL! at all hours of the night and early morning.

That is, until we met Missus Loota-Chack… AKA Anastasia Luettes.

As it turns out, a DNA test revealed that Anastasia is actually descended from the Ancient Mumbling Drelts themselves. It seems that they did not all die out. In fact, one couple, Frodis and ShaNayNay Bushplucker, experienced an epiphany during intercourse and ceased to beat one another over the head with large rocks as a form of foreplay. And, it is from this “Adam and Eve” pair, if you will, of Mumbling Drelts that the lineage continued.

However, Missus Loota-Chack married up to a wonderful German guy, who likes food, and worships the Patent Leather Redhead with reckless abandon, doing any and all chores she demands, even before she demands them. So much so, in fact, that he tends to make me look bad at times. Fortunately, I am busy with other tasks prescribed by her evilness, and therefore I don’t get kicked to the curb.

And speaking of the curb…

Traditional Luetsencurbenpuken Signage

Several years back, Missus Anastasia and Mike “Yes Mistress Kat, May I Please Have Another” Loota-Chack were at our annual Yule celebration, just as they had been in the past. However, this particular year, Anastasia had been spending an enormous amount of time researching her rediscovered roots. That, and having odd, lurid fantasies about redheads, jumper cables, and low amperage battery chargers, but that’s another part of the story we won’t get into here. She claims that because of this research – although our theory is that it had more to do with the fantasies – she neglected to eat during the morning of the first day of the holiday. Fact is, she neglected to eat at all that day. Not just the morning.

However, in order to continue fueling the redhead and jumper cable thing going on in her head, she began drinking at around 3AM. The day before. Heavily. Therefore, by the time she arrived at Casa de la pelirroja, she was schnockered. I mean gone. She didn’t have three sheets to the wind, she had one sheet and she was tangled in it.

Then she ate.

Then she drank some more.

Then she stripped naked and danced on the dining room table while singing in a blend of French, Irish Gaelic, Swahili, and some dead Slavic dialect nobody else knows. All we were really able to understand was the chorus which went something on the order of, “Spank me, Oh Spank Me, You Fool, You Fool…”

Of course, none of us spanked her. Dollar bills were tossed on the table, however, while our friend Johnny “The Bologna Man” Seitz continued to eat his dinner while occasionally shouting, “GoDdAmM Luettes!”

Several minutes into the naked can-can, Anastasia suddenly stopped. Looked at all of us with her eyes bugging out of her head, then screamed at the top of her lungs, DRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLL! Achtung! Cac capaill! FEK FEK FEK!

Which, of course, is the holiday cheer of the ancient Mumbling Drelts, followed by something in German, Irish Gaelic, and Colloquial Irish Slang that loosely translates to: Attention! Horse Sh*t! F#CK, F#CK, F#CK!

Upon bellowing she ran naked out the front door and into the streets – icy, snowy, cold streets, mind you – and screamed DRROOOOOOOOLLLLLLL! repeatedly as she zipped around the neighborhood, with an embarrassed Mike following after her. The rest of us were highly amused by the sight once we got over our initial shock.

On her eleventyish pass down our street, she came to a sudden halt, much like the roadrunner in those cartoons. She was across the street, next to our neighbor’s house, and she suddenly pitched over and ralphed the contents of the pre-dinner appetizers and 36 hours of drinking onto the curb – as well as a portion of his yard. Of note, grass will still not grow there to this day.

After that it was all over but the crying.

Much like grandma being “runned over” by a reindeer (or molested at the airport by the TSA, as the case may be) we’ve never been able to forget the events of that night. Therefore in honor of it, we renamed the annual Yule celebration to Luetsencurbenpuken (kinda makes a little sense now, doesn’t it?) and decorate accordingly.

And there you have it. From my fingers to your brainpan. Thing is, I was here and had to witness it firsthand, so don’t complain. I had it way worse than you.

Hopefully, I’ll have some pics from Luetsencurbenpuken 2010 to post in the next blog. Provided Anastasia leaves her clothes on this year…

Also of note, Luetsencurbenpuken is immediately followed by, and sometimes will literally encompass on one of the three days, the high holiday of Luetsengottenolderen.

But that’s another story…

More to come…

Murv

Yep, it appears that it is once again time for a FAQ answer session filled with FAQ’s and “not so FAQ’s” that are asked a bit more rarely. A few of these are pretty normal questions – exactly the kind you would expect. However, some of these queries are a bit on the odd side. Still, the one thing they all have in common is that they have actually been asked at least once, and in many cases more than once.

True story…

And, you know, I have a strange feeling I’ve answered some of these before… So, since some of them are “Not So F A FAQ’s” with a bit of a weird bent,  I think maybe I’ll answer them with “Not So Answer Answers” and my tongue planted firmly in cheek.

1. What is your safe word?

I’m not entirely sure what makes you think I have one. I mean, what good would it do? E K doesn’t respond to such things.

2. How many more Rowan Gant novels will there be? (This one really is frequently asked, but it bears repeating at this juncture.)

I’ve always said that when people stop buying them I’ll stop writing them. Well, with that statement in mind I’ll give you the only answer I can – Let’s hope the economy and book sales pick up soon or the end of the RGI series will be wayyyyy sooner than I’d like.

3. What is E Kay’s shoe size?

So, what’s your story here? Retifism, Podophilia, or since they go hand in hand a combination thereof? Or should I say foot in foot? Foot in hand? Foot in mouth? Hell, I give up…

In any case, I’ll let you ask her that yourself, and you’d best be prepared to tell her why you want to know. If it’s an innocuous reason – though I’m not entirely sure what that would be, unless maybe you are wanting to give her free shoes or something – then all good. If not, then I want to be present so I can see her go ballistic on someone besides me for a change, whereupon you  just might get the answer to your question when you are finally able to dislodge her shoe from darker regions of your person. Of course, maybe that’s what you are trying to accomplish and well… good luck with that.

4. Do you really cut your own grass?

Nope. Not really. The magical garden gnomes from the land of Zoysia do it with the golden scissors of Fescue…

Of course I mow my own lawn. (ROFL!) Who else is going to do it?

However, if that question was some kind of metaphor, then it doesn’t even apply. Not my thing.

5. I’m an amateur filmmaker. Can I have permission to make the Rowan Gant novels into movies?

Are you going to sell the movies? Are you going to publicly display the movies? There are tons of questions that go along with such things. Better you ask my publisher. They handle the legal stuff.

6. How long have you and Dorothy Morrison been married?

Well, let’s see… As of 10/31/09 E K and I have been officially married 22 years.

Morrison has been married to her husband, Mark, for something on the order of 10 or 11 years I think, but you’d have to ask her to be sure.

Oh, you mean you thought we were married to each other? Nope.

7. Will you tell your publisher to publish my book?

Are you kidding? They don’t listen to me. Next question.

8. Are you Wiccan? (Another frequent query)

No. I studied Wicca for many, many years and at one time self-identified as Pagan, though I no longer do that either. I actually self-identify as a Secular Humanist with Pagan roots who does NOT deny that magic can work. Try fitting that one in the “religion declared” box on a hospital admission form. You have to write really small.

9. How long did it take you to learn Gaelic so you could write Felicity’s dialogue?

Forever. Studying day in, day out. Long nights. Weekends. It was grueling…

Truth is, I don’t know Gaelic. What little I do actually “know” I cannot pronounce to save my life. However,  I do have English to Gaelic dictionaries, phrase books, and more importantly, Anastasia – who does know Gaelic – to help me translate Felicity’s “excited / agitated” dialogue.

10. I heard M. R. Sellars is actually dead and that his books are being released posthumously by his children, and that you are just a shill for the family. Is that true?

You caught me. I’m not actually M. R. Sellars. I’m a paid actor and my real name is Buck Nekkid, wanna see my SAG card?

Sheesh… Are you kidding me?

It amazes me that this rumor is still circulating. Okay, for the umpteen-hundredth time:

My father, M. R. Sellars SENIOR – who never, ever wrote a book – passed away in 2003.

I, M. R. Sellars JUNIOR – the guy who writes the books – am still alive.

Also, I have a child, not children, and she’s only 10. So, in short, no. It’s not true. It’s false.

11. Why a female serial killer? That’s not right. Women shouldn’t kill men. It goes against the natural order of things.

Dude… People shouldn’t kill, period. But, it happens. And,  in my experience, women probably have way more valid reasons to kill men than the other way around. Do yourself a favor though. Don’t ask that question around E K or you might end up being a statistic. Oh, and from the implications behind the question (and the missive surrounding the question, which I am not reprinting here) you appear to have a bit of a misogynistic streak.  You might want to consult a therapist about that…

12. What ever happened with Fuddrucker’s and that blog you wrote about the bad burger in Detroit?

They were actually very nice and tried to make good on it. Unfortunately, I thought the gift card they were going to send me was for their restaurant and that I’d be able to use it while traveling. Instead, for some odd reason, they sent me a gift card to Wal-Mart. As many of you well know – or perhaps not and maybe I should blog about it sometime – E K will NOT allow me to shop at Wal-Mart. She is militantly ANTI-Wal-Mart… Bumper sticker and all…

So, I gave it to a friend who lives far enough away so as to be out of the E K Zone, and therefore he cannot be subjected to the Eebil Stare, etc…

13. I/we would like to invite you to XYZ event in ABC-Town.

Thank you. I appreciate the invitation. While I do some of my own booking, most of it is handled by my publicists. You can contact them via email at – S_Mccoy@sbcclobal.net or Wendy@willowtreepress.com. Either one of them can set things up as well as send you a copy of my event contract outlining my requirements for travel, lodging, and compensation. Just a quick note – my schedule can tend to fill up fast so book early. You may also wish to check my schedule on my website first, but please note – just because a date has not yet been scheduled on that page does not mean it is guaranteed to be free.

14. I am having trouble with this/that/who/what/when and I need you to give me a spell.

I am sincerely sorry that you are having issues with someone or something. You have my deepest sympathies, as I deal with my own issues in my own life as well. That said, and this is probably going to sound harsh, but there’s no way around that – No, I am not going to “give you a spell.”

Here’s the deal: I write fiction novels about a Witch. I do NOT write “how-to” books about magic and Witchcraft. However, even if I did write non-fiction that would not mean I had hung out a shingle purporting myself to be the spell merchant of the Internet.

Yes, I have a rich and diverse background in Earth Based and Magical/Magickal Spirituality, however, just because I write a series of fiction novels featuring such and present a workshop or two on the subject at events, this does not make me your local “Magical Pharmacist” who dispenses spells and charms as if they were generic pain pills and antidepressants.

If you wish to play around with or  better yet, seriously practice Witchcraft, Hoodoo, or any other magical system out there, I would highly suggest you purchase a non-fiction book on the subject and read it beginning to end. There are a enormous number of absolutely fantastic authors out there who write just such tomes, and I even have several of their works on the shelves here in the office for reference myself.

15. You blogged (Hypersonic Man Squee!) that you were going to be on a podcast with, and get to speak to, your all time favorite actress, Megan Gallagher. How did that go?

Ms. Gallagher was absolutely lovely, and I do mean lovely. Down to earth, personable, funny, and an absolute joy to speak with and listen to.

Me, however… I did just what I feared I would do and had even stated on my Myspace page that I would likely do – I went completely fan boy on the poor woman, and blithered like a total idiot. Fortunately, thanks to some absolutely superb editing by the techie co-host of the Millennium Group Sessions, Troy Foreman, I sounded halfway reasonable on the final version of the show that is actually available for download- but only halfway. A good 20 minutes (best guess) of me gushing, rambling, and making a fool of myself ended up in the trash bin (or, more likely made into a “blooper reel” so that Troy and James can play it back and laugh at me. Trust me, I don’t blame them. I would laugh at me too if I wasn’t completely mortified.)

And, if I had to guess I’d say Ms. Gallagher probably hung up the phone  at the end of the interview then immediately contacted the authorities to have an ex parte restraining order sworn out against me. I don’t blame her either. While I am perfectly harmless – and, moreover, painfully embarrassed by my descent into unbridled fannishness – she has no way of knowing that.

If there is a benevolent deity out there somewhere (besides E K, what with her not being all that benevolent, as we well know) it is my sincere hope that I am smiled upon and never have occasion to run into Ms. Gallagher at an S/F Con where I might be appearing, or anywhere else for that matter. If I do, I can guarantee you I won’t have an opportunity to go fan boy again, because I will die right there on the spot, a victim of a massive coronary brought on by my own abject embarrassment over what a complete and utter moron I was during the recording of the interview.

Sounds like it went pretty well, eh?

Okay… That’s about all I can take for this episode. Keep the questions coming and I’ll keep making up crap to answer them.

Seriously. If you have a question email it to me. You just might end up in a blog…

More to come…

Murv