BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Back in the 70’s, C. W. McCall (Bill Fries) along with Chip Davis (Yeah, THAT Chip Davis) wrote a song called Green River. If you’d like to listen to the original, here’s a link:

I suppose you are  probably wondering why I am even bringing up an almost 40 year old song. Well, you see, it’s like this: Evil Kat.

Come on… You knew The Supreme Redhead had to be involved in this somehow…

Back in the days when it was just E K and her leashed pets – that being two canines and one husband (I can’t complain, she bought me a really nice collar with an engraved tag that said Property of Evil Kat on it) we used to go on float trips CONSTANTLY. For non-Missourians – as I have found that the term “float-trip” is not universal – a float trip is where you rent a canoe, get dropped off with it and your coolers, and paddle/float yourself down a river to the “take-out point,” which can either be where you parked originally, or a different place where they pick you up and bring you back to your car.

This is intended to be fun. As a rule, it usually is. Like I said, back in the day, E K would leash us up, put us in the car, and off we’d go. There was one year I recall that we went on float trips almost every weekend for the entire summer. AND, truth be told, a float trip was EKay’s and my first official date – and she still married me anyway. But that’s a different blog that I’ll tell sometime in the future.

At any rate, back to the here and now. For several years after the O-spring came along, we stopped “floating” – primarily due to time constraints. However, now that she is older and can come along with us, and can swim, and all that good stuff, E K has made it her mission in life to see to it that we go on at least one float per summer, if not more. With that, she has started scheduling an end of summer float with friends for the past two years. One more year and it becomes a tradition…

Last year’s float, while it had a couple of mildly harrowing incidents, was almost completely unremarkable as compared to this year’s canoeing odyssey – which occurred just yesterday,  Saturday August 27…

I knew it would become a blog when we were less than a mile into the float. Why? Because Steve, Mary, and Tammy flipped. Not as in “flipped someone off,” or “flipped out”… Although, they DID flip out of the canoe, so I guess in a way they DID flip out. Basically, Mary’s sunglasses “flipped” off her head, Steve tried to grab them, they all shifted in the canoe, and… Well… Moments later we were standing on a gravel bar emptying water from their craft and then reloading it with their coolers.

But what REALLY told me this would be a blog was that while we were reloading their “boat,” some other canoers came around the bend, merrily singing “Row, Row, Row your boat.” To this, a waterlogged Mary muttered under her breath, “I’ll show you row, row your f*cking boat… Quit your damn singing.”

After that, it was all over for us. The river proceeded to exact revenge upon each and every member of our group. E K, O-Spring, and I flipped – something that literally has NOT happened since the second time E K and I went floating (We are actually pretty damn good “canoe drivers”). Mary was taken down by a slippery rock and banged the crap out of her knee. Same thing then happened to the O-spring. We were caught in a snag and I had to bail out of the canoe and fight the current to get us free. Later, during a similar operation I was sucked under the canoe while E K and the O-spring were still aboard and became a speed bump after I loosed it – then the current popped me back up above the surface, but still had hold of me and I tumbled over rocks for several feet until I could get a handhold. Of course, E K and the O-spring were now 300 yards down the river and I had to walk the rocks to get to them. There was plenty more, actually, but this blog is already over 1000 words, so I need to give it a bit of a rest… Instead, what I will try to do is recount our adventure through rewriting C. W.’s tune…

Meramec River

It was daylight on the river but we weren’t having any fun
And we couldn’t find our cooler cups no more
But we felt the boilin’ current and the spring was runnin’ cold
As we headed down the river two plus four
And the rocks were kickin’ our asses
On the day we ran the rapids of the Meramec

[Chorus]
And we died a thousand times in that nine miles of hell
The longest day of life we’d ever seen
But we lived to tell the story and we know the story well
Then we ate some dinner at a truck stop

We were four plus two in number when we gathered on the shore
And we loaded up our coolers full of beer
But we summoned up our courage an’ we said we wouldn’t scream
And we ran that rocky river without fear
Yeah, the logs were kickin’ our asses
On the day we ran the rapids of the Meramec

Echoing Shouts:
Steve – Paddle RIGHT!
E K – HANG LEFT!
Mary – WHAT THE FUUUU–
Tammy – GODDAMIT!
Murv – Here, hold my beer…
O-spring – Squeeeeeee!

And we saw a thousand floaters hung up on the snags and logs
As we fought to keep ourselves from their fate
And we saw the bobbing beer cans and we heard the ghostly cries
Of the drunks who ran the river long ago
And the rocks were kickin’ our asses
On the day we ran the rapids of the Meramec

Echoing Shouts:
Steve – Paddle LEFT!
E K – SERPENTINE! SERPENTINE!
Mary – STOP SINGING!!
Tammy – GODDAMIT!
Murv – Here, hold my beer…
O-spring – Squeeeeeee!
Steve – Whatever…
Mary – Dammit, Steve!
E K – Those assholes just threw trash in the river!
Tammy – GODDAMMIT!
Murv – (clunk clunk) … I’m okay… I think…Gimme a beer…
O-Spring – Squeeeeee!

Now the memories are swirlin’ down the campground shower drains
But the waters of the Meramec flow like tears
And the rocks and snags and crashes will be a long remembered tale
To be told around the campfires through the years
Yeah, the rocks were tryin’ to kill us
On the day we ran the rapids of the Meramec

[Chorus]
And we died a thousand times in that nine miles of hell
The longest day of life we’d ever seen
But we lived to tell the story and we know the story well
Then we ate some dinner at a truck stop

Echoing Shouts:
Steve – Paddle RIGHT… NO, LEFT!
E K – O-spring, give me the paddle!
Mary – I can’t bend my knee…
Tammy – GODDAMIT!
Murv – We should have brought Scotch…
O-spring – Squeeeeeee!
Steve – Lookit that fish…
Mary – How does our canoe look?
E K – Look, Mary, a snake…
Mary – (SCREAM)
Tammy – GODDAMMIT!
Murv – There’s a blog in this…
O-Spring – Here, hold my Gatorade…

Fade out

And there you have it. We made it home alive… Late. We’re bruised and battered and sore and blood was shed (I’m not kidding)…

Funny thing is, I have a physical tomorrow. Before you ask, there’s nothing wrong. It’s just a “coming up on 50,000 mile” service check sort of thing. I suspect the doc won’t even mention the bruises and scrapes. He’s used to seeing me after E K has been “in a mood”…

More to come…

Murv

Continued From Food. It’s Not Really That Hard…

Kerchunk, kabloop, fribble, kerchunk, ecky-ptwang… (Gratuitous Wayback Machine noises)

Okay, here we are. If you are JUST NOW joining us, you have some catching up to do… Or should that be chasing forward? After all, this started in 2011 and now here we are in 2008 and… Well… Umm… Well anyway, should it be the case that you don’t know what’s going on here, go back… err… spring forward…  Oh hell, just go read the $750.00 Later… and Food. It’s Not Really That Hard… entries. Otherwise, you are going to be lost and the rest of us aren’t going to come looking for you. It wouldn’t do any good anyway, because I’m leading this expedition and obviously I’m lost myself…

Okay, everybody ready? Good. Here we go…

Way, way, wayyyyyyy back in 2008, I was booked to do the very first OstaraFest. Everything was cranking along just fine – in fact, I wasn’t even ill – but then, something changed. That being, my handler’s ability to feed me. My handler that year was Lolly. She was to see to it that I arrived where I needed to be, when I needed to be there, and that I had things like water, food, my shots, got let out to pee, got taken for a walk… you know, the standard handler stuff. Truth is, I’m a fairly easy guest author to get along with. However, I do need to be fed every now and then, even though I’m a fat guy.

Long story short, however, Lolly kept forgetting to feed me. She saw to it that I was where I needed to be, when I needed to be there, that’s for sure. She even made sure I had pens, a place to sit, an orderly line for the fans who wanted to get books signed… But food… Well, that just didn’t seem to work out.

Finally. Food. I really look like I'm wasting away, don't I?

Fast forward (because the Wayback Machine just takes too long) to 2010. I was scheduled for OstaraFest again. Lolly decided that if I was going to be fed she was going to have to hand me off to someone else – Therefore, Doug, her husband took over. For Doug, coffee and beer are food groups. This was perfectly fine with me. Apparently, it was NOT perfectly fine with Lolly. She made it a point to be photographed handing me a hotdog so that I could no longer say she hadn’t fed me. It was a good hotdog. Not as good as the beer, but hey, it was still good. (BTW – this was also the year I was introduced to Butch’s breakfasts, as Doug and I would make the trip over the river and through the woods in the opposite direction each morning in order to have breakfast at “Butch’s Home Diner”…) So I was really all set – a made to order breakfast that will keep you going all day, coffee, and BEER…

But as I said, Lolly didn’t see it that way…

Fast forward once again to OstaraFest 2011… After a full day on Saturday, where I did an address, a roundtable discussion, a seminar, signed 42 bazillion books, visited with folks, and was chased around the VFW Hall by “Bouncy Brandi” (remember her?), we all went out to dinner at “Old Chicago Pizzeria.”

For The Purpose Of Illustration Only: NOT ACTUAL Bouncy Brandi Hooker Shoes

Upon arrival, all eleven thousand and three of us gathered around a football field of tables. Somehow or another – I suspect by careful arrangement on her part – I was positioned directly across from “Bouncy Brandi”. After ordering, while we waited for the food, “BB” kept showing me pictures on her phone… Apparently she wanted me to know just exactly what was available to me for $750.00 – right down to the stack heeled, burgundy, Mary Jane hooker shoes she was planning to wear.

I have to admit, these were some pretty sharp shoes. Worth $750.00? I dunno… But they were definitely some hot lookin’ girl shoes.

So anyway, food arrived… Well… some of it. You see, everyone at the table received their food, except moi. Srsly. Eventually the server returned and asked if there was anything else we needed.

I said, “Ummm… My food?”

She went to check. Apparently it was still cooking, which is restaurant speak for “somebody f*cked up and we’re scrambling to put it together as fast as we can right now.”

All good. I was in no hurry. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes passed. When it hit twenty-five minutes, Joyce excused herself from the table. A moment later, Mike, “Bouncy Brandi’s” husband, excused himself as well. I tried to get him to stay because I was really, really afraid of being left alone with that much perkiness sitting across from me.

Before long they returned. Seconds later, the server and the manager came rushing out the door with my dinner. For free. Then they gave me something like a quarter of a cheesecake. For free. And they bought me a drink. (yes, for free)… All the while they apologized profusely and gave Joyce and Mike a very wide berth. Apparently they had burned down a portion of the restaurant while explaining to the management that I was a world famous author who had been waiting for his food for 93 days, and that I would be killing them all in my next novel… Or something along that line. I never did hear the full story. I just saw the smoke, heard the screaming, and then ate my pizza.

The cheesecake? I gave it to Brandi, hoping to placate her and avoid the whole $750 thing… Well, that and the fact that Dave, who was sitting next to me, had looked over and said, “You know, after all the grief they just gave them, that’s probably a piece of sneezecake, not cheesecake.”

Of course, if that isn’t enough proof that Texas doesn’t want me to eat… well… it doesn’t end there.

However, for that, you need to tune in next time…

To Be CONCLUDED in The Girl, The Shoes, And The $750… coming 4/3/11…

More to come…

Murv