BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Continued from $750.00 Later…

Now, at this particular juncture, I am certain that some of you – mostly the male readers, though not all I’m sure – are just dying to know about the hottie in the hooker shoes…

Well, you see, it’s like this… She was a Goth nurse for the RAF back in WWII. Yes… She was way ahead of her time as far as fashion trends go… But anyway, I had been dropped behind enemy lines. Problem is, they forgot to give me a parachute. Fortunately, I bounce.

I was on a mission to steal Hitler’s mustache. Unfortunately, there was an ambush and I was horribly wounded… The bouncing hadn’t helped, trust me. After crawling for 40 days and 40 nights through muddy trenches and seedy Schnitzel Dens, surviving on what little beer and potato salad I could manage to steal undetected, I finally gave in to exhaustion. When I eventually awoke, I was in a hospital bed and the first thing I saw was…

Okay, enough of that crap.

At any rate, we finished dinner while Joyce handled the crisis on the phone. The crisis being the $750.00. What about it? I’m not going to tell you yet.

So… Where was I? Oh yeah… So anyway, the next day, following more doctoring from Joyce, I was treated to a driving tour of Fort Hood by Butch (remember Butch, Joyce’s husband? Good…) who also happened to be my official “handler” for the weekend, and a guy who can fix up one hell of a breakfast. Let me tell ya’, Butch saw to it that I started the day out right, with everything from Santa Fe Omelets, to French Toast, Biscuits, Bacon, Sausage, and all the trimmings. In short, the rest of the country of Texas could take a few lessons from Butch where food is concerned.

Following the tour I did a meet and greet at the store proper. This is where I came face to face with “Bouncy Brandi” the perkiest non-blonde I’ve ever met. I had heard plenty about her already, especially her price tag – remember that phone call about the $750? But we’ll get to that eventually…

Later that evening we gathered at Lolly Central, out on the range, so to speak. Srsly. I kid you not, the directions to get to Lolly and her husband Doug’s house are, Take the highway, go over the river, through the woods, turn off onto the gravel road, then turn off onto the dirt road.

Not kidding.

So, anyhow, we had a BBQ that couldn’t be beat – Chicken, brisket, salmon, and all sorts of trimmings, along with beer. I met and had a chance to chat for a moment or two with Dr. Steven Farmer, the other author guest speaker for the event. Very nice guy with all kinds of interesting things to talk about. During all of this Joyce was still doctoring me with the “Skunk Jooce” and “Healer Tea.”

My buddy Althie, the crazy German woman of Texas, who has been promising me sauerbraten was there too. Guess what? She didn’t bring me any sauerbraten. But that’s okay. She’s been really busy, and she did the next best thing – she brought me the necessary pre-packaged fixin’s, straight from Germany, to prepare my own sauerbraten and Knödel. Just add beef. So, I’ll be whomping that up in the very near future…

But back to the hooker shoes…

During all of this, “Bouncy Brandi” leans over to me and says, “Just so you know, I was really nervous about meeting you. So… for you, $750.00…”

“What?” I asked.

“$750.00,” she replied, all matter-of-fact and businesslike.

Since her husband was sitting just across from me I said to him, “Dude… I think your wife just propositioned me.”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “She’s like that. No worries though, we need to finance a room addition so we could use the extra cash.”

“But… $750?” I asked.

Bouncy Brandi leaned over again and said, “Hey, I’m giving you a discount because you’re my second favorite author. Best $750.00 in Texas right here…”

That’s me, ya’know. Always second fiddle to someone.

I told her to let me think about it, because I really wasn’t sure what E K would think of me spending that much money on a perky Goth nurse from WWII.

“Okay,” she said. “But don’t wait too long, or the price goes up.”

…And not a lick of that has anything to do with why this particular entry is called, “Food. It’s Really Not That Hard…” To understand that, we have to jump into the wayback machine and set the dials to OstaraFest 2008…

To Be Continued in Lolly, Lolly, Lolly… coming March 30, 2011…

More to come…

Murv

Have you ever noticed that food modifies our social interaction in ways you don’t normally imagine?

I’m not talking about parties, or dinners with family and friends. Nothing fancy. No linen tablecloths, penguined up waitstaff, or $200 bottles of champagne that taste like crap. I’m just talking about average, everyday noms. The basic sustenance one tosses down their neck in order to fuel the body.

Am I making sense here? Yeah, I figured not. Let me see if I can explain my thoughts on this. You see, contrary to what you might think, I’m not actually a very social individual. I know, I know – I blog twice each week, have pages on all of the popular social networking sites, and I do a lot of book signings. And, if you follow any of my silliness you also know that I  have friends. Yeah, big shocker, I know, but I really do. Some of them even like me. Others, like say Rhonda and Dave are really worshipers of The Evil Redhead, although they don’t mind if I cook for them while they prostrate themselves before E K. (Note that I said prostrate, not prostate.)

Now, I also want to make something clear so there aren’t any misconceptions – I’m not a total misanthrope. Just a partial. What I mean to say is, I enjoy social interaction with my friends (Yes, Rhonda and Dave too), and I have a blast meeting new folks at book signings. However, I also like my quiet time. If you look at my Meyers-Briggs it will tell you I’m an introvert. So, while I really enjoy myself when I am “on” – which is what we tend to call it when I am being that M. R. Sellars guy as opposed to just plain old Murv – I find it equally enjoyable to switch “off”. I’m one of those folks who can become overwhelmed and needs to hit the reset button – you can ask my friends. Even when we have gatherings with all of the folks I dearly love, you will sometimes find me sneaking out on the back deck, beer in hand, just to get away from it all for 5 minutes. I’m even known to bum a cigarette now and then –  and other than some brief topples off the wagon due to extreme stress in my life, I haven’t smoked for 15 years. (except cigars, but that’s a different story.)

So, I think you can see what I’m talking about here. Or, maybe I’ve just muddied the waters. I’m good for that at times. But, either way, let’s get back to the pizza…

The other night, after a marathon writing session during the day, I was not in a mood to shuffle pots and pans in the kitchen. Nor was I in any frame of mind to socialize. This isn’t unusual when I have an intense writing day. After spending a nail-biting, totally immersed span of time in my imaginary world, I need to decompress. And so, I submitted the necessary paperwork in triplicate, prostrated myself, turned on my obsequious lackey charm, and obtained approval from the Evil Redhead to run out and grab pizza for supper.

Down the street from our home we have a chain pizza joint. It’s named after a Roman emperor. Not sure if it’s Julius or Augustus, but either way I’m sure you know which one I am talking about. The dude with the toga adorns their box. Well, as I am sure you are probably aware, they have a special deal on pizzas ready to go. Just drop in and if you are satisfied with plain old sausage, pepperoni, or cheese you are all good. 5 bucks and you are out the door in under 60 seconds – unless they are really busy. And, on this particular occasion they were…

I jumped into line and a minute or two later I was asking the guy behind the counter, “What do you have ready to walk?”

He looked and replied, “Cheese.”

Well, that would cover the O-spring, but E K likes pepperoni and I am a sausage guy. So, I elected to pay for my trio of pies and wait. So had several other folks.

Now remember, at this point I was in no mood to socialize with anyone.  My fictional characters had used up every ounce of my energy earlier in the day. My brain matter was fried. However, this is where the “food modified social interaction” suddenly comes in. There I stood next to the “Group W Wall” with a whole gaggle of folks I had never met and was never likely to meet again.

Less than a minute into my wait the guy next to me looks over and says, “What’d’ja order?”

Instead of giving him a who the hell are you look, I smiled and said, “All three.”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “I’ve been waitin’ on sausage.”

“We ordered supremes,” a couple two windows down along the wall offered.

“Special order, eh?” I grunted.

“Yeah, we aren’t in a hurry,” the male half of the duo replied.

A lady who was two or three back from me in line plopped herself into a seat next to where I was standing and said, “You know what I hate? When someone who comes in after me gets their food first.”

“Uh huh,” I said. “Kinda makes you rethink your menu choices doesn’t it?”

She nodded and said yes. The couple laughed. The guy next to me chuckled and said, “That’s a fact.”

The guy behind the counter called out one of the orders and the person who had been waiting jumped forward. Heretofore he had been completely silent, not joining into the impromptu “Group W” conversation, but once he had his pies he waved at all of us on the way out the door and said, “You guys have a good night.”

“You too,” we all returned.

Nice guy. Not very talkative, and he probably kicks his dog and steals cable when the rest of us aren’t around, but there at the pizza place he was a hell of a guy.

A minute or so later the lady who had voiced her loathing of people who were behind her in line getting their food first was called up for her order. In case you forgot, she had been behind me by 2 or 3 customers, yet I was still waiting. But, there was no animosity there. I was happy for her that she now had her pie in hand. Still, the guy next to me and I made a joke about it anyway – all in fun, of course. The couple down the wall thought it was funny. So did several other folks in the crowd. We aren’t sure if the lady thought it was funny because she was out of there so quickly that the displaced air from the door didn’t even get anywhere near her ass. I suppose that for her the magic of the social interaction was gone. She wasn’t like us any longer. She was with pizza, and we were without. She was better than the rest of us now… She had her food and it was time to “move on up”.

I really don’t blame her though. A few minutes later the guy next to me had his and was waving on the way out the door. Soon after that I had mine and was making a beeline for the exit. The couple who had ordered the supremes was still waiting. I smiled and said, “Hope yours are ready soon!”

They smiled back and said, “Us too. Have a great night!”

I returned the pleasantry and headed for my truck, secure in the knowledge that my new found friends would soon be with pizza, just as I was.

I don’t think we’ll be exchanging Christmas Cards or anything like that. In fact, if by some odd chance any of us run into one another at the grocery store or gas station in the future, we probably won’t even blink because we’ll be in ignore the world mode.

But, for a few minutes that foggy night in January through the social magic of food we were a tight knit group of friends, standing around waiting for our 5 dollar pies… Unwittingly, we had each become beneficiaries of The Pizza Effect. Of course, since everyone went their separate ways, I can’t say what each of them learned from this flash of intimate social experience. But, I definitely know what I took home.

Three pizzas. 1  cheese, 1 pepperoni, and 1 sausage.

More to come…

Murv