BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Yep, I know… Y’all weren’t expecting another blog entry until Wednesday morning when the next installment of Mahwage deploys from the queue.  However, I did warn you back when I extolled the virtues of the “post this in the future” function of WordPress, that I might occasionally drop a little something on you completely unannounced if the mood or circumstances struck.

Well, this is one of those times… I will admit, however,  that I considered just adding this missive to the queue for future posting as well, but since it somewhat involves that annual February event known as the “Salad Bowl”… Wait… “Cereal Bowl”… No… That ain’t it either… Well, all I know is that it has bowl in the title and people have parties while looking at Football on TV, so there…

Now, those of you who know me fairly well are certainly aware that “Football” isn’t my thing. Neither is Baseball, Basketball, or Soccer. Hockey, well that’s a different story, but since the “Rice Bowl” or whatever they call it has something or another to do with Football and not Hockey… Well, I guess we need to talk about Football.

Obviously, my personal perception of this activity isn’t quite the same as that of the overwhelming majority of the masses. In fact, when I set out to describe my view of this particular sport I have found it to be a waste of time to bother reinventing the wheel. What I mean by that is this: Andy Griffith explained it best in his old monologue, “What it was, was football…“

Yeah… The sheriff of Mayberry. Harry Broderick from Salvage One… Matlock… Uh-huh, that guy. For those of you who may be way too young to remember, before Mister Griffith became Barney Fife’s keeper, or appeared in movies, he was quite an accomplished stand up comedian of sorts. Yeah… No kidding. He didn’t have any cool puppets, nor did he insult the crowd for effect. He was a bardic sort of comedian. He simply told funny stories, and one of them happened to be all about an experience with seeing a “football” game, ostensibly for the first time. It became one of his most popular and beloved monologues, and is a classic.

Now, I’m certainly not about to plagiarize Mister Griffith’s routine, (I do, however, highly recommend it if you have a chance to hear it – much of his material is available on CD by the way), suffice it to say, my perception of football is much the same as his: A bunch of guys running around in a cow pasture fighting over a petrified pumpkin for no apparent reason.

But, of course, I didn’t come here to talk to you about “Football,” but you already knew that… I came here to talk to you about the “Soup Bowl” party… (You know, that actually sounds kinda close to what I remember hearing it called… Hmm…)

You see, every year some friends of ours host one of these massive shindigs. A bunch of folks show up, each toting a dish of food and a cooler. So, as always is the case with our gatherings, there is food for days and much malted beverage to be imbibed. I suppose, in most respects, that is what brings everyone together… But then, there is that whole pumpkin in the cow pasture thing on TV…

Of course, not everyone attending the party is that much of a “Football” fan… Granted, we do get caught up in the excitement near the end and we will all be plastered to the TV hooting and hollering, but that usually happens sometime around the last 5 minutes or so. Maybe even the entire last quarter if things are close and much violence is ensuing, if you know what I mean. But, I think that’s all just a matter of contagious excitement or something.

Still, for the most part, there are the “Football” fans and there are the Commercial fans. Generally the commercial fans consist of the wives. That isn’t intended as a sexist remark by any stretch of the imagination, it just happens to be how things are with our particular group. Still, some of the wives are Football fans too. Well, to some extent. In fact, I can actually remember coming down the stairs one Sunday to find E K lounged out on the sofa with a beer in her hand, watching a football game and explaining it to our daughter who was all of about 3 at the time. But, even taking that little event into account, E K isn’t what you’d call a rabid fan by any means…

Yes, just in case you are wondering, there really is a point to all this rambling…

So here’s the thing. Generally, what happens is that the wives will gather in one room and play cards or some manner of dice games or some such. I tend to mosey back and forth between the camps being a bit of a social butterfly, so to speak. But, that’s not really my point either…

Back to the “thing”…

Last night, the game being played by the ladies was some kind of semi – yahtzeeish – bone – throwing – what have you that involved rolling dice and passing tokens left, right, center, or even not passing them at all depending on your roll, until the last person with a token rolled a “dot” or some such, and won all the tokens in the center. Whereupon the game started all over again. Fairly simple, and it even looked like a bit of fun when things got rolling, (pun not intended, but I’ll definitely take it…)

Now, the folks hosting the party have a 21 year old son who was there along with a friend of his. Both of them are good kids.  I just thought I’d throw that out there… Well, actually, it does also play an integral part to my monologue here…

You see, the friend, we’ll call him what’s is name to protect the innocent, while interested in the “Football” game, was also familiar with, and interested in, playing the game with the dice. So, since the first half of the football game was kind of boring, he joined the ladies in the dining room.

In case you haven’t done the math just yet, that made him the sole male at a table full of mature, but nonetheless incredibly gorgeous women. And, you know, that whole mature thing has its perks as well, but we won’t go there…

Well, actually we will, but not just yet…

Anyway, damn smart kid, IMHO…

At any rate, long about halftime we husband types were standing around in the kitchen gnawing on some hot wings and popping open fresh beers. One of the husbands poked his head through the doorway to see what was up with the dice game, then started laughing and jokingly announced so that everyone could hear, “Hey, what’s is name is in there being a girl with all the rest of the women.”

It was a good-natured jibe and definitely drew a round of chuckles.  Still,  you know me… I simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity to explore the half-full, half-empty principle where it applied to this situation.

When the chuckling died down I replied, “Yeah, but look at it this way. He’s the only guy in a room full of good looking women. Seems like a smart move to me.”

One of the other husbands snorted and said, “Yeah, but they’re all old and married.”

I had pretty much expected a response in that vein, after all, I’ve known these guys for a long time. I’m not saying they are completely predictable, but I do know how they think, so I definitely wasn’t surprised by what he said. Of course, as we all know, when you expect something it is much easier to be prepared… And, I was.

I nodded in response to his rebuttal and said, “Well,  I guess it’s all in how you look at it, you know… I mean, if they’re old then so are we, right?”

“Well, yeah,” came a chorus of responses from the men, punctuated here and there by a “no sh*t” or two.

“Well then,” I continued. “So you have a whole room of mature, hot women who are married to the likes of us old bastards, which pretty much means they are probably all getting pretty desperate, know what I’m saying? And right now they’re sitting in there with a guy who is still young enough to get it up repeatedly without  the aid of pharmaceuticals.”

A chuckle ran through the room, but I wasn’t finished yet. I let things settle for a moment before pulling the pin on the punchline.

I looked around at the guys and shrugged, then gave them a nod. “But, you’re probably right,” I finally offered. “I mean, it’s not like guys ever have that whole older woman fantasy when they’re his age…”

Yeah, I know… Pretty evil, eh?  But I just couldn’t help myself.

More to come…

Murv

Yeah…dying.

And, I don’t mean like up on stage or anything. Although, that has happened too. I once gave a workshop to about two dozen people who sat there quietly, never asked a question, cracked a smile, or even showed any expression on their faces. Apparently they didn’t find me anywhere near as amusing or informative as I find myself. So, I had no choice but to ask Morrison to turn them all into frogs. I mean, what are big sisters for if they can’t defend their little brothers from crap like that?

There I go doing that digressing thing again…I must have adult onset ADD or something. (No, not making light of the disorder at all. The way my brain bounces around I often wonder if I have a mild case of it…)

Hold on…Need more coffee…

That’s better…and see there? It didn’t take anywhere near as long as you thought it would.

Okay, so back to this dying thing…

Long about Monday afternoon the flu hit me. I’m pretty much figuring it was the flu because it was sudden–as in the symptoms literally appeared over the span of a couple of hours–and were accompanied by a fever, chills, body aches, and all the debilitating crap that comes with the actual influenza virus. And, after a few days of sweating it out, I started feeling better. So, though I don’t even play a doctor on TV (although I’ve had a few of them as characters running around in my books) I have officially diagnosed what I had as the flu. So there.

Oh…And, yes, I DID have a flu shot. I’m an old guy, so I always get one. And, I made it through the whole flu season without getting ill…Now this. Either the shot wore off, or it didn’t account for this fugged up strain…

Anyway, so the problem is that the feeling better only lasted about a day. Actually, around 18 hours at most. Then I plummeted right back into miserable. However, I think this time it is either a cold, brought about by my immune system having been weakened by the flu, or it is just some horrid aftermath of the flu virus itself. Not sure which.

I won’t go into too many gory details, suffice it to say I am horribly congested and have a nasty–and overly productive–cough. (yech!) The body aches WERE gone, but now they are back…However, I can literally trace this new round of pains directly to the violent coughing fits.

Like I said, I’m dying here. Now, aren’t you glad I shared?

Okay…I suppose I should write something worthwhile in this blog to make reading it worth your time, rather than just grouse about feeling bad. (Although, if you ask Morrison, she will be happy to tell you that after seeing my astrological chart, it’s pretty obvious that “it’s all about me,” so I suppose I am allowed to complain for a bit–yeah, big sisters pick on you too. That’s one of the downsides *grin*…So do younger sisters. Yeah, I’m talkin’ about you Madden. Guess it’s a sister thing. I’d say it was a female thing, but wives are a different story. They don’t just pick on you. They subjugate you and then use you as an oversized Ken™ doll when they feel like dressing someone up other than themselves…But that’s another story, for another blog…*LOL*)

What’s that? Oh yeah…I said I would write something worthwhile…Okay. You’re right…Guess I’d better get to it then…

So, important stuff. Hmmm…Well, this might be of interest:

Even with all this being sick and stuff I managed to finish a Rowan Gant Investigations short story for submission to an anthology which is being put out by a different publisher. Even though WillowTree has dibs on all the future novel length Rowan Gant books ad infinitum, there wasn’t an issue with the characters appearing elsewhere, which is a good thing. It allows those crazy kids to go explore other stuff and get in trouble elsewhere for a change.

I can’t really say much about the anthology right at the moment, but as soon as I can, I will. What I can reveal is that the editor really liked the story. I suppose it helps that she was already a fan, but as I’ve said in the past, editors are evil. My WTP editor is a fan too, but she never hesitates to tell me if she hates something. I can only assume that it is an “editor gene sequence” and that they all will be brutally honest. At least, that has been my experience. However, the thing about all this is that since the setting for this piece was a bit of a departure for my characters, I was a fairly worried about effectively implementing it.

Apparently I was losing sleep over nothing.

Either way, like I said, as soon as I am free to run off at the mouth I will be doing so. You know me, and since it is about me, well…just ask Morrison. *grin*

Let’s see…Did I mention that I am miserable sick? I did? Okay…just checking…

Hmmmm…Well, I don’t know if I am in a frame of mind to answer any of the FAQ/Questions of the week right now. Maybe in a couple of days…Or, later next week actually, since I am buried with writing and my blogging needs to take a back seat to that…Which means, only one or two blogs per week right now as I am sure you’ve noticed…In fact, I’ve even received email about it.

So…how about some RGI trivia? Sound good? ‘Kay, here goes:

Little Known Trivia About the RGI Series

1) Various homicide detectives and patrol cops in the RGI series who are recurring peripheral type characters, requiring little to no development but still needing a name other than “hey you”, are named for the various English/Lit teachers/profs I had in high school and college: Ackman, Golden, Osthoff, Martin, and many others.

2) Yes. The recurring character named “Murv”–the lead crime scene technician with the SLPD Crime Scene Unit–is me. Kinda one of those Hitchcockian/Kingian cameo things. (Yeah…all about me again… *snicker*)

3) The cameo character of the news helicopter pilot in The Law Of Three, while never actually given a name, was an homage to St. Louis news helicopter pilot and hometown hero Allen Barklage, who was killed in a crash September 25th, 1998. Like the character in the book answered in reply to a question from Rowan, Barklage actually was a member of the 192nd AHC (Attack Helicopter Company) in Vietnam. As if surviving that weren’t enough, he gained notoriety here in STL for not only surviving, but foiling (while in flight) an attempt to hijack his helicopter so that it could be used for a prison break. Barklage was also responsible for using his aircraft to rescue a person who had jumped from a local bridge into the Missouri River.

4) I actually thought this one was glaring, but while some folks caught it, many others did not. No, I’m not commenting on the intelligence of the reading public here. I am just observing that I may have overestimated the “obviousness” of this bit of trivia. Of course, since I “already know the answer before I write the question,” all of it seems terribly obvious to me. Anyhow, Eldon Andrew Porter, the recurring antagonist who first appeared in Never Burn A Witch, shares his  initials with a famous author. His name was derived from the initials EAP (obviously) which are the same as one of my all time favorite writers, Edgar Allen Poe.

Okay…there are many more tidbits I can reveal, but I think I’ll leave them for another day. I need to go hack up a lung then grab some more coffee.

Hope everyone else out there is feeling better than I do right now. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone…

Welllll…that’s not entirely true. Maybe I’d wish it on Barbara Albright and Eldon Porter…

MR/Murv