BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

There’s this old saying that goes something like, “You can never have too many friends.”

I think that’s right. I didn’t go look it up. Maybe I should… Oh, what the hell. Let’s just call it good and say that’s what the saying says. Know what I’m saying? ‘Nuff said.

So, anyway, here are my thoughts on that subject. In this age of Social Networking and such, maybe it actually is possible to have too many friends. I mean, if you put yourself out there and the six degrees of Bacon Bits kicks in, the next thing you know you have friends of friends of friends being your friends. It can be a little overwhelming. If you also add to the mix silly stuff like being an author who has to publicize his (or her) books, well then you end up with readers (sometimes called fans) who become your friends (online), most of whom you’ve never met.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I am not complaining… No siree, not at all. I am merely making an observation. And, with that observation comes a convoluted analysis – because, if you happen to be my friend, on Facebook or otherwise, you are well aware that my mind works in a bizarre fashion. Much like a combination drunk and acid induced haze that makes everything a little weird.

But then, rumor has it that’s what makes me so interesting. (BTW – no acid involved, save for the acetylsalicylic acid from the aspirin necessary to treat the hangover from the alcohol.)

But, back to this convoluted analysis… I’ve come to the conclusion that having too many friends is the reason the PTB, God, Goddess, Gawd, Dog,  Evolution, or what have you, endowed us with anal sphincters.

Scratchin’ your head yet?

Let me see if I can explain… As it happens, there’s this whole other saying that goes something like, “Opinions are like assholes. Everybody has one.” I didn’t look that up either, but I’m pretty sure I’m close to accurate in my rendition.

Now, while this built-in defense system has been operational for a little bit of forever, it has really come into its own in the age of online social networking. “How?” you ask. Well, it’s simple, really.

Whenever I look at my Facebook page and decide that I have way too many friends, I enable the system by… no, NOT posting a picture of my ass… but, close… I express an opinion. Yeah, easy as that. Go figure. And believe me, it works. I’ve sat and watched my friend “counter” almost literally decrement right before my eyes. It’s downright amazing.

You see, a huge segment of the population apparently operates on the “assumption principle.” If you’ve never heard of that, I’m not surprised, because I just made it up. If you have heard of it and someone else is laying claim to having created it, well, what can I say? News to me, and no infringement intended or claimed on my part. At any rate, the “assumption principle” works like this – Assume that everyone believes the way you do and shares your exact same opinion.

The dangerous thing about the “assumption principle” is that in cases where the infection has really taken hold, the afflicted individual finds it impossible to accept the fact that s/he could possibly maintain a friendship with someone whose opinions or beliefs deviate in any way from his/her own. Even if said friendship is superficial via a social networking site. But, while dangerous in one sense, this is also what makes the “too many friends defense system” work so well.

So, next time you look at your social networks and think to yourself, “Wow… I have too many friends. What should I do?” the answer is right in front of you. Just run off at the mouth for a bit and express your own, personal opinion about something. It doesn’t even have to be earthshattering or the least bit important. It simply needs to be your opinion. Believe me, you’re sure to pare that list down just a bit in nothing flat.

Oh, and by the way. For those of you wondering, this blog entry, like the vast majority of my others, is satire.

But then, I guess that’s just my opinion. Guess I should go watch my friend counter, eh?

More to come…

Murv

“Nyah, nyah, I win…” Mike said to Luets.

You remember Mike and Luets, correct? I wrote about them just the other day in the blog about how competitive Luets is, and during that blog I also pointed out just exactly how non-competitive Mike happens to be. However, I also noted that he “lives to get one over on Luets”, so I guess in a weird sort of way, he is competitive. Just with Luets and nobody else.

However, none of that explains why he was giving her the, “Nyah Nyah” treatment. But, trust me, I was just as confused at the time as you probably are now. So, are your seatbelts fastened? Good, because it’s subject whiplash time.

We live in a small house.

It’s not tiny, mind you. It’s definitely larger than the duplex apartment E K and I lived in early on in our relationship. And, it’s also much larger than several other houses I’ve been in over the years. But, by the same token, it’s just a 100+ year old, 1.5 story bungalow in a relatively quiet neighborhood. When we bought it, we were after a fixer-upper, and that’s exactly what we got. And, fix up we have. While it isn’t a showpiece by any stretch of the imagination, it’s not bad for what we started out with – as well as the limited funding available to us in our earlier days. Suffice it to say, the house is small but nice, and more importantly, we own it, not the bank. Yes, the house is paid off. Free and clear. Our little corner of the world. I could secede from the union if I wanted… And, still might. But, that’s a different story.

Still, small as it is, it was always just fine for us – until the o-spring came along, that is. The thing being, children are sort of like that foam insulation you spray into cracks to seal up drafts. Once you let them out of the proverbial can, they just expand exponentially – and I’m not just talking about their physical growth. What I mean is that everything they own takes up every available inch of space in your home. Even though it will all fit into said child’s room, it grows legs and deposits itself everywhere BUT said room.

But, I’m digressing… Although, only a little…

You see, when O-spring came along, E K and I gave up the master bedroom (which happens to be the only one on the main floor) and turned it into a “nursery” which has since become the o-spring’s room. This meant that we moved up into the half story. To accomplish this we turned the old loft-like storage room into a bedroom. Well, actually our contractor buddy Steve (see the hell house blogs) did. And, the room directly across the stair landing remained our office.

So, whenever you see one of my status updates on a social networking site or one of these blogs mentioning me being in my office, that’s where I am. Across the landing from our half story bedroom. Said office – with the exception of a few airplanes, hotel rooms, and a stint in our dining room when the A/C was broken – is exactly where all of the Rowan Gant novels have been written. That also goes for the novelette, and just about every article I’ve ever penned for any magazine, e-zine, website, or whatever. It’s my office. It’s where I work. I really don’t think of it as much of anything other than a room where I go do my job.

Seriously.

It’s nothing fancy by any stretch. A sloped, peaked ceiling, some walls, a counter, some cabinets, and a couple of desks. Sure, I’ve networked the hell out of it, but then I’ve done that to the whole house. That’s just something that came along with being a computer tech for so many years. But still, all in all, it’s just a room. A room where I go to work.

So, imagine my surprise when Mike looked at Luets and said, “Nyah, nyah, I win…”

And then, she proceeded to pout.

Being the curious person I am, it was a moral imperative that I ask what was going on. And, they told me.

You see, Mike and I had just returned from being upstairs in the office where we had gone to grab something we needed. I honestly can’t even remember what it was. It was no big deal to me. We just ran up the stairs, grabbed whatever it was – or checked whatever email it was… Or whatever. My point being, we ran up to the office, then right back down.

But, apparently, there was wayyyyy more to it for Luets and him. It seems they’ve had a long running bet about which one of them would be the first to actually, physically see “Murv’s Office.” Apparently, it is some manner of Holy Shrine or something. Granted, there are a few nail holes in the wall but none of them look like any biblical personages… Nor do they look like any of the characters from my novels. There are the OOAK action figures on my desk of Ben Storm, Felicity O’Brien, Constance Mandalay, and Miranda… (Never have been able to create a decent Rowan, but that’s another story)… But, what I’m trying to say here is this – the nail holes just look like nail holes.

Honestly, this confuses me. While I’ve had a few personal epiphanies during the times I hang out in my office, I don’t think they really translate to shrine material… I mean, it’s just an office. And, it’s not even clean, because I can tend to accumulate a lot of paper and such when I am researching. It’s not filthy, mind you, but it is definitely in a state of disarray. And, like I said… It’s just an office.

However, now that I’ve been made aware of this little tidbit of info, I suppose I should straighten it up a bit then invite Luets upstairs to see it. Maybe I should even get myself some of those stanchions and a velvet rope to cordon off my desk. Of course, I’ll also need a sign that says “Please No Flash Photography”…

Hmmmm… Maybe I could charge admission… And, now that I think about it, what with E K being so much more popular than me, I wonder how much they’d pay to see the secret room in the basement where she tortures people?

Something to think about. Could be a whole new source of revenue. Then maybe we could buy a bigger house.

More to come…

Murv