BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

So, the other day I posted a Facebook status update that seemed to spark a small firestorm. Well, maybe not a firestorm. Maybe just a box of strike anywhere matches. A lot of flame, really fast, but then sorta gone unless it gets fuel.

Anywho, here’s the stat update:

The overall gist of the flaming box-o-matches came in the form of several “What?”, “Huh?”, and “Say it ain’t so!” sorts of comments. There were also a few direct email type communications taking me to task for being a big doody-head, all because I apparently OWE everyone. However, I pretty much ignored those. The real reason I am writing this blog is to address the “What?” and “Huh?” comments that came from people who either didn’t understand what I was saying, or in some cases, who completely misinterpreted what I was saying.

So here’s the deal: I’m not deleting my Facebook account. That would just be all kinds of stupid, now wouldn’t it? I’m also NOT going to stop writing. Not yet anyway. I suspect I will eventually, but by then I expect to be dead.

All I was trying to say is that I am NOT going to be putting a huge amount of effort into being the online entertainment for everyone on my “friends” list.

Why?

Well, there are various reasons, but let’s start with this: I didn’t join Facebook to play Farmville, Mafia Wars, Befuddled Blatz, or any of that other crap. I joined it as a marketing tool. (GASP!) Yes. I am on Facebook to advertise myself and my books. Not to play games. Not to add as many people to my “friends list” as possible. Not to “be virtually social.”

Now, I will grant you that I DO use Facebook to stay in touch with out-of-town friends, and even some in-town friends. I’ve even used it to reconnect with some family, but let’s face it – 2300+ friends? I don’t think so. Hell, I don’t even know 2300 people. Therefore, we obviously have a situation there, and that situation is that the vast majority of the people on my friends list are actually fans. Nothing wrong with that. Not complaining. Simply illustrating the fact that I am on Facebook to MARKET and ADVERTISE.

And that is what I have been doing. That is exactly what the “Punny Floor Show” has been. Me entertaining people in order to raise “brand awareness.” However, as we know with any commercial on television, or billboard on the highway, eventually an ad campaign wanes in effectiveness. If it didn’t then Black and White Speedy Alka-Seltzer commercials would still be gracing our screens.

So there you have it. Me putting on the pun hat and getting myself a nasty case of swamp ass daily, all in order to raise brand awareness worked for a while. Now it doesn’t anymore. Sure, there are folks who are entertained by the interaction, but it isn’t selling books. In fact, what eventually happened is that I began getting more and more friend requests from people who just wanted to watch the show, but didn’t want to pay the cover charge (i.e. visit a bookstore and buy a book or two. Moreover, a good number of them even claimed that they didn’t like to read and gave me grief over updates that mentioned my books. All they wanted was for me to be funny and entertaining. For free. I’m still trying to figure out how that translates into Ramen Noodles for Murv. My guess is that these folks are related to the people who download music, books, and movies from Torrent sites because they are entitled to them.)

So, maybe this makes me a big asshole. Maybe it doesn’t. The point is, I’m not leaving Facebook. I’m just not going to waste my time behind the keyboard playing the online clown when it is no longer an effective marketing tool.

Yeah, I know, me being pragmatic. Weird. Didn’t even know I had it in me, did you?

More to come…

Murv

As promised, I am throwing together a few blogs about our adventures on vacation. Please make note that they won’t necessarily be in chronological order as far as the vacation itself went. They are actually in “transcribed jotted down note order,” which makes sense to me, but not really everyone else. At any rate, this is number one in the series…

Wednesday. Fourth day of vacation. Evil Kat has now tortured us all mercilessly with “pre-hikes” leading up to her plan for today – The Death March. Seriously. She actually had it on the itinerary. She didn’t call it a death march because she didn’t want us to know that’s what it was, but hey, we figured it out right quick…

After a quick breakfast at the restaurant for Colter Bay Village in the Grand Tetons, where we had been staying in a cabin, we were packed and ready to set off to West Yellowstone, Montana, which would become our base camp for the rest of the vacation. That way we would have a place to crash and be able to make excursions into Yellowstone National Park. Good plan, but as I mentioned, there was this death march with which we needed to contend.

Before heading north to West Yellowstone, E K wanted to hike the “Hidden Falls Trail” at Jenny Lake. Some of you may remember my status update:

At Jenny Lake. Forest is here too… JEH-NAYYY! 10:59 AM 6/15

On Death March at Jenny Lake. Help ME!

That was more or less my “Blair Witch Project” swan song. By that I mean, less than twenty minutes later, Her Supreme Redheaded Evilness had us on the trail. Thing about it is this – we were already at high altitude, so next thing you know we were going up the side of a mountain, then down the side of a mountain, then around a lake, back up, back down, along the lake, switched back, up, down, around, down, up, up, up, around, down, up, up, UP, and then we came to the washed out bridge. Yeah. So then we had to go up some more – through two feet of snow. Melting snow. The kind where you take a step and then one leg crashes through and you end up doing the splits and having deadly pine needle infused snow crystals all up in your BVD’s. No, I’m not kidding. Yes, I ended up with deadly pine needle infused snow crystals all up in my BVD’s. Well, actually it was my Fruit of the Looms, but you get the idea. (BTW – Make note of the “do rag” I’m wearing in the picture above… It comes into play later.)

Hidden Falls. Not so hidden once you get there...

Anywho, on with the story… After seeing The Hidden Falls, and playing photographer for other folks who wanted their family photo taken in front of it (I really should have set up a concession stand, I’m tellin’ ya’…) we hiked up, up, down, down, down, around, through, up, down, up, down, through, around, down, down, DOWN until we came to the dock. What dock? The dock on the other side of the lake where the boat met us and took us back to where we started. Then it was back into the rental vehicle and off to West Yellowstone.

Now… To get to West Yellowstone coming from where we were, one had to pass through Yellowstone proper. Well… not just one… all of us, actually. But that’s not my point. My point is that we had to go through Yellowstone, so why not take some time to stop, look at Old Somewhat Faithful, and walk at least a portion of the loop before heading on into Montana. I mean, after all, it’s not like we had done any walking yet for the day, right? <– [Gratuitous Sarcasm]

However… There had to be some shopping too. After all, when you have a tween o-spring, she will be all about the souvenir thing.

Something you might not know about me – unless E K and I are out doing the “Pretty Woman” thing, I don’t shop. I hate to shop. When I go to the store I know what I want, I get it, and then I get out. ‘Nuff said.

But on with the show… We arrived at the “Mercantile” or whatever they call it there in the Old Somewhat Faithful area of the upper geyser basin. They want to go shopping. I want to sit. Fortunately, someone at the “Mercantile” already knew I was coming, because there were 409,345 rocking chairs lined up along the boardwalk in front of the place. I found one and I sat in it.

Here’s where the importance of the “do rag” comes in…

The motor-sickles showed up. Apparently all these dudes and dudettes on said motor-sickles took my “do rag” to mean I might possibly be of the two-wheel ilk myself, so instead of sitting in any of the other rocking chairs, they joined me in my row. They introduced themselves. The chatted with me like I was a long lost pal. They showed me their tattoos. Of course, when they asked me what sort of bike I rode I couldn’t lie, so I told them, “Well, I used to have a Schwinn, but now I’ve just got a K-Mart Special 10-speed.”

I figured they’d probably decide I wasn’t all that cool at that point, but apparently they thought it was funny. Not sure how much comedy they get to see out on the open road, so I was glad to at least give them a laugh. At any rate, instead of running off, they hung around and we commiserated about the fact that I was stuck there waiting for my “old lady” while she shopped, and all that good stuff. I mean, we had ourselves a grand ol’ time there on the Group Motor-Sickle Boardwalk.

Schwinn, K-Mart Special, or not… And it was all good.

Fear This!

But that, of course, has absolutely nothing to do with “Yes, Dear…”

You see, that part finally happened after all of my newly found friends with the motor-sickles headed up and moved out, offering to take me with them since my “old lady” was still on a spending spree.

It was tempting. I mean, touring Yellowstone on a Motor-Sickle and all… But since they were my new friends I didn’t want them to get hurt. So, I explained to them that they really had no idea what they would be getting into if I came along, then mentioned the name “Evil Kat.” They all suddenly became very nervous, and then said that, as much as they liked me, I was on my own. Seems they were familiar with The Supreme Evil Redhead’s reputation.

But back to the “Yes, Dear…”

A nice young couple came out of the ice cream shop and settled themselves into chairs next to me. As friendly tourists will do, we struck up a conversation, talking about the scenery, geo-thermal events, and ice cream. Eventually, when things reached a lull I simply stared off into space, or parking lot, or whatever. Suddenly I heard a sharp, “MURV!”

When my name is said in such a way by Her Supreme Evilness that generally means she has now had to repeat herself.

I instantly responded, without even looking in her direction, “YES, DEAR!”

The couple next to me chuckled.

“We’re ready to go,” E K barked.

“I’m glad somebody is…” I mumbled.

The couple next to me chuckled again.

I pushed myself up out of the chair, and with all of the camera equipment, water bottles, and other necessary hiking about items for three people strapped to my person, began to trudge away, following the one of red hair.

I glanced back over my shoulder at the couple and said, “Y’all enjoy those chairs for me, okay?”

This, of course, elicited yet another chuckle from the pair.

But, let’s face it… I mean, it’s not like THEY were going to save me. The bikers had hauled a$$ out of there at the mere mention of “The E K,” so an ice cream eating couple from some small town in east wherever definitely wasn’t about to mount a rescue op.

Oh well, judging from their chuckles at least I entertained them for a few seconds… I wonder if they blog…

More to come…

Murv