BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

One might think that I am referring to the May 5 astronomical event, in which the moon was at its closest point to earth in its egg-shaped orbit, AND was full at the same time. Full of what? Cheese, most likely. Although I suspect there is also a case to be made for Helium 3, but it’s too early to get into that right now.

However… No. I am NOT talking about that particular moon. I am talking about this morning’s moon. Odds are you missed it. The fact of the matter is, I caught it purely by chance, and it was a sight to behold.

You see, we have this cat.

Odd way to start this story, I suppose, but trust me, it’ll make sense.

Said cat is named Tiger. I personally call him Nachos el Tigre – or Nachos for short. Why? Because my daughter gets upset when I call him Almost Roadkill. Like any animal we have around the house, Nachos is a rescue. He came from the middle of the highway as a tiny kitten who was apparently washed out of his home during a flash flood (probably a storm drain) when he was on the order of 4-5 weeks old. I won’t go into the sordid details of us adopting him, suffice it to say he came to live with us, but while you can take the cat out of the feral, you can’t take the feral out of the cat. ‘Nuff said.

And so… Nachos has wreaked all manner of havoc throughout our house, up to and including ripping holes in the underside of our mattress foundation and using the resulting hollow as his “Nachos Cave.” His personal fort, so to speak. What does this have to do with the moon? Nothing. And everything. Yeah, it’s sorta like that.

You see, the redhead – yes, her worship Evil Kat – is none too pleased with his penchant for ripping up the mattress foundation. In fact, if he was… oh, I dunno… just some guy, and not a cat, he’d already be wearing one of her stilettos as a hood ornament. Then we’d have to change his name to Jimmy Choo the Unicorn. However, since he’s a cat, and not a dood, he gets a sorta free pass. Meaning, she just yells at him instead of stomping on him while she yells at him. Odd how that works. Maybe I should get myself a tail and some whiskers… But I digress.

And so, today was no different, or so I thought. Her worship was getting dressed for work when I returned from dropping off the o-spring at school. Upon entering the house I heard a ruckus, followed by the redhead screaming all manner of expletives at Nachos el Tigre. It was pretty obvious to me what was happening, or again, so I thought. The ruckus and screaming continued, so I went to investigate.

There… Below the horizon… as in down on the floor, clad in naught but her lacy undergarments, was the redhead, screaming at the dust ruffle while fishing around underneath the bed with one arm.

Let’s just say Downward Facing Dog does little justice as a description for the moon rising in the doorway. And I have to say, it was super…

Suddenly, the yelling stopped. A moment of quiet fell, then the redhead looked up. “Is this going to be a blog?” she asked.

My reply was simple. “It is now.”

Later…

Le Swerv

Gunnahdoo… It sort of sounds like a place, right?

You know, kind of like Xanadu. No, not the disco with Muses on roller skates. The other place. The one the disco was named after… “In Xanadu did Kubla Kahn, a stately pleasure dome decree, where Alph the sacred river ran, through caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless sea…” I could go on, but that should give you the idea.

Of course, in the case of Gunnahdoo we’d probably be talking about an industrialized suburb of Xanadu. Something more on the order of, “In Gunnahdoo did James Caan, a giant Rollerdome decree, where ALF the silly alien ran, eating cats and mocking man, on the old TV…”

However, Gunnahdoo isn’t a place. It isn’t a thing. It isn’t a person. So that pretty much makes it NOT a noun, I suppose. In truth, it’s a verb. It’s a big, nasty, commonly used verb that is devoid of any true meaning whatsoever. Allow me to explain…

EVERYONE uses “gunnahdoo.” Even me. For some of us – much like the words ain’t and y’all (which are accepted parts of speech from whence I hail) – it actually does hold meaning. Gunnahdoo, put simply, means, “[I/you] [am/are] going to do something.” What that something is will usually be appended – or pre-pended – to the sentence or paragraph. For example:

“You know what I’m gunnahdoo? I’m gonna go over there and jump in that lake.”

OR

“I’m fixin’ to jump in that lake. Yep… That’s what I’m gunnahdoo…”

So here’s the thing… IF you go ahead and do what you said you were gunnahdoo, then gunnahdoo actually has meaning. However, if you DON’T follow through with the appended, pre-pended, or otherwise verbally attached “doo,” then gunnahdoo just becomes a meaningless, empty promise. Granted, in some cases it’s not the gunnahdooer’s fault that they don’t do what they were gunnahdoo, because they are blocked from doing it by circumstances, or even other gunnahdooers. Of course, IF a gunnahdooer already knows that it is, for all intents and purposes, impossible to follow through with the “doo,” then uttering “Ah’m gunnahdoo” is actually tantamount to telling a big fat lie. Or, to put it in the proper vernacular, a fib. Yes – Liar, Liar, pants on fyh-er… You get the picture.

And that brings us around to politics.

Yep. I’m gunnahdoo it. I’m gonna go there…

Politicians are perfectly happy to stand up in front of the nation and say, “I’m gunnahdoo __________.” Especially when they are running for office. However, being politicians, and hopefully having passed at least a rudimentary high school civics class, they know better than to believe that they can actually “do” anything… I mean other than spout a whole mess of “doo” at us. Especially when it comes to the office of President.

Now, before you get your shorts in a bunch, lemmeedoo this (for those keeping score at home, lemmeedoo is the “present permissive participle” of gunnahdoo)… What I’m gunnahdoo is ‘splain something, and that something is that I’m not being partisan here. I don’t care whether we are talking about Democrats, Republicans, Independents, Libertarians, Tea-Whatevers, Green, Have A, or whatever party. Fact is, I’m none of them. I do vote, but let me tell you it’s not easy. For me it’s a matter of voting for the person who has spouted the least consciously empty gunnahdoos during the campaign.

Unfortunately, it seems our society has become a big ol’ nation of gunnahdooers, and one of the terrible things that comes along with that is believing the gunnahdoos of other gunnahdooers. What that means is that people are more than happy to rally behind the candidate who stands at a podium, waves his or her finger in the air, and proceeds to announce, “Elect me and I’m gunnahdoo this, and I’m gunnahdoo that. Then I’m gunnahdoo this other thing, and if you want me to do that thing, then I’m gunnahdoo that, too. And then I’m gunnahdoo this…”

And the list goes on… and on… and on… But when it comes right down to it, out of the 1289 things Candidate X is gunnahdoo if elected, maybe – and I do mean maybe – he or she will actually be able to do three, none of which have any actual impact on anything of any relevance whatsoever.

So… what do we do?

Well, I don’t know about you, but I know what I’m gunnahdoo… I’m gonna go have a beer, and you can take that promise to the bank.

More to come…

Murv

DISCLAIMER: For the purpose of not disgusting myself to the point of losing my appetite for three days, no photographs of politicians were used in this blog.