My Brain, Peanuts

Poetry Barn: An Ode to My Annoying Brain, Peanuts

Linda Vernon My Brain, Peanuts , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Well my brain, Peanuts, was really annoying this morning. (Peanuts being the nickname my brain insisted on giving itself.)  Peanuts sometimes runs amok and when that happens, all I can do is stand by and watch helplessly.

This morning Peanuts was writing fast and furiously!  Peanuts was so pleased about what was materializing on the computer screen that Peanuts was feeling confident to the point of being cocky.  This is a dangerous state of mind.  Last time Peanuts got like this it cost me and Peanuts $300.

That’s because Peanuts said we could  go 59 when the speed limit was 35.  Peanuts rationalized this decision by explaining that Peanuts didn’t see no cops so there ain’t no cops. Sometimes Peanuts insists on talking with a cheesey, fakey made up dialect. (I always have to roll my eyes.)

Anyway, sure enough  Peanuts spent all morning typing up a post that Peanuts had to stop and laugh at every five minutes.  It was really kind of nauseating how cute Peanuts thought it was being.

So it really served Peanuts right when Peanuts went to hit SAVE DRAFT and the little donut started spinning and spinning and spinning and then the Wordpress screen disappeared altogether!  Peanuts panicked and flailed around clicking buttons and icons like a regular banshee but to no avail.  The post was gone entirely.

I took it rather well, but Peanuts threw a big, huge, hissy fit by pounding fists on  the desk, and shouting the F word, then shouting the S word and then went back to shouting the F word.

Of course, this display of immaturity didn’t do Peanuts one bit of good.  I told Peanuts that in so many words, but Peanuts wasn’t listening.

So instead of posting the hilarious post that Peanuts lost us thanks to cockiness, Peanuts and I will rerun this poem entitled Ode to Peanuts.  It’s really called Ode to the Brain, but Peanuts thinks it’s about Peanuts so we’ll just let Peanuts keep on thinking that:

ODE TO My Brain Peanuts

Oh little brain

We love you so

For thinking up

The things we know

From your hemispheres

To your thalamuses

You know the times of all the buses

Your skull cap’s skewed so jauntily

You’ve hit a spinal chord with me!

And furthermore, let’s be quite placid

Because of your amino acid,

You do not sail this synapse sea

As hairy as a chimpanzee

That ought to shut Peanuts up for a while!

Until next time . . . I love you

I Was a Cow in Chuck’s Head

Linda Vernon My Brain, Peanuts , , , , , ,

“I was a cow in Chuck’s head,” is the line my brain, Peanuts, delivered to me this morning just as I was waking up.  Of course, there was no story attached to it.  It was simply a  tagline drifting around the tar and driftwood that masquerades as my subconscious mind.

I stayed in bed with my eyes shut pretending to be asleep for the longest time so that Peanuts would dictate the rest of the story to me but I think Peanuts needs to take a writing class or something because there was nothing more forthcoming.

So it looks like once again, Dear Reader, it seems Peanuts has left me holding the bag when it comes to thinking up some sort of scenarios for this title so here goes:

“I Was a Cow in Chuck’s Head.” The Modern Romance Story

Betty Matilda McFlirp stuck her head out of the plastic enclosure of the bus stop in the pouring rain imploring the bus to come quickly with every fiber of her being from her imploring, bovine brown eyes to her bus-magnet heart.  For if it didn’t come soon, her hair was going to frizz up something awful causing her to look more like a sheep than a cow — which was bound to change her relationship with Chuck profoundly.

“I Was a Cow in Chuck’s Head.” The Science Fiction Story

Chuck, an alien from the planet Chucktilian located three-hundred light years to the left of  the constellation Armadillo, just happened to land his  alien craft at the bus stop at which it just so happened Betty Matilda McFlirp was sticking her head out of at the time.  Their eyes met and it was love at first, second and third sight, what with Chuck having the three eyes and all.  Chuck’s mission was clear, he had to take Betty Matilda McFlirp back to planet Chucktilian or his passion for her would drive him mad.  A plan was quickly formed in which Chuck would first turn Betty into a cow and then convert her atoms into a thought form and store her in his head for the return trip. Betty agreed to this crazy scheme but only if she could obtain all rights to any future story or movie that might (or might no)t be forthcoming.

“I Was a Cow in Chuck’s Head.” The Pre-twentieth Century British Romance

Sir Chuck ChipsandSalsa, the Earl of Douchebaggary partitioned his father, The Lord of Noteggsandhamagain if he mighten marry his childhood sweetheart, Bessie and pointed into the pasture where Bessie was busy chewing and digesting her cud in that adorable way she had.  As luck would have it, Lady Betty Matilda McFlirp just happened to be sticking her head out from beneath the thatched roof of the Carriage Stop by which Bessie was standing.   Thinking that Sir Chuck was pointing to Betty, the Lord of Noteggsandhamagain was highly impressed and gave his permission that Sir Chuck and Lady Betty Matilda McFlirp would be married as soon as may be.  Years later, the couple would regale the king every chance they  got to tell the story of the mix up involving their marriage which the king thought uproariously funny right up to the very second he cut off their heads.

So there you have it dear reader.  I’m afraid these scenarios will have to suffice until I get another message from Peanuts while I’m alseep . . . if you need me, you’ll know where to find me.

Until next time . . . I love you

New Post Suckcess at Last!

Linda Vernon My Brain, Peanuts, Writing life , , , , , ,

I’ve been trying to think of a topic to post about but something happened to my brain, Peanuts.  All my thoughts seemed to have settled to the bottom of my brain leaving me officially devoid of thought.

And take it from me, there’s nothing more boring than having one’s brain as empty as a keg of lager at a 5 a.m. frat party.

Not that Peanuts is an expert on frat parties.  Peanuts only knows what Peanuts has managed to observe through the stained-glass window of the  church rectory, but you get my point, I’m feeling dull, uninspired and  totally bored with myself.

Which is so weird because I normally lead such a madcap, whirling dervish existence!

Usually, I never know WHAT I’m going to do next!

For instance, sometimes I’ll go to the  grocery store to buy a tub of tapioca pudding and then, for no apparent reason, I’ll suddenly go flat-out wackadoodle, and say “Screw that!”

Next thing you know, I’m pulling into a Reserved for Frozen Yogurt Customer’s Only parking space!

And god only knows WHAT KIND OF TOPPING I’M GOING TO CHOOSE!

Sometimes, when I pick up that scoop for the chocolate sprinkles, I’ll suddenly decide “Sprinkles be hanged!”

And then, I’ll haphazardly as all get out set down that chocolate sprinkles scoop  and I’ll reach, instead, for the scoop in the container labeled Mochi!  That’s right.  You read that correctly: MOCHI!

It’s from Japan.  It means “sticky rice cake” in Japanese.  So putting mochi on my yogurt in the United States of America is — by my calculations — equivalent to the excitement of  eating a  big huge bowl of sticky rice at a sidewalk cafe in downtown Tokyo while wearing nothing but a  sleeveless cotton top and a pair of lightweight capris in the midst of a  chilly breeze that kicks up during the pregnant pause just seconds before Godzilla snatches me up and eats me on his way to the local university to eat an entire frat party.

"Mmm . . . . frat party!"

So you see that’s the kind of madcap whirling dervishness that normally makes my blog bubble with excitement.

So until Peanuts gets back online, I’m going to have to resign myself to the fact that the act of posting may produce somewhat mixed results.  Oh I’ll succeed alright, but I may have to add a “k” in there somewhere.

Until next time . . . I love you

My Internally Grateful Organs

Linda Vernon My Brain, Peanuts, Who am I? , , ,

I haven’t got anything against my brain (who insists on calling itself, Peanuts, btw).  It’s just that when Peanuts tries to take over for me, it sometimes gets ahead of itself and does the dumbest things.

Yesterday, I attempted to write an essay about how comical it was that my crooked tooth is now the new beauty trend in Japan.  Japanese women are paying for crooked teeth to make themselves appear more approachable.

I know it’s funny, right?  And since I have a this humorous crooked tooth that sticks out in front, I thought it would make a hilarious essay!

Little did I know that my brain, Peanuts, unbeknownst to me, didn’t think it was funny at all because when I went to edit the crooked-tooth essay  this morning, Peanuts hit the “trash” button instead of the “edit” button before I even realized what was going on!

Oh I get it!  Obviously, Peanuts feels a little self-conscious about the whole subject of “our” crooked tooth  Well, who knew?

So then I thought, well if my brain, Peanuts, feels that way about “our” crooked tooth, how do my other organs feel about it?  So I decided to survey my organs.

My Heart

As for my heart liking my crooked-t00th essay, well it feels like my heart didn’t like the fact that I was pointing out “our” flaws to the world. But it tends to be a softy so I can’t really take its opinion all that seriously.

My Spleen

Frankly, I have no idea what my spleen’s opinion is about the crooked tooth essay, but does it really matter what a spleen thinks?  I mean, sure, the spleen is in there chuggin’ away day after day, but don’t you get the feeling it’s just performing busy work?  If my spleen went away tomorrow, I doubt I’d even notice. No offense to my spleen, of course.

My Stomach

Oddly — even though my stomach is the most demanding organ in my body — it could care less about my crooked tooth. But it’s a self-centered little thing that just sits there waiting for the world to come to it.  In fact, sometimes my stomach makes me sick.

My Liver

My liver doesn’t have time to even have an opinion about anything as it’s been backed up with work since the 70’s and I hate to bother it with trivial matters.

My Kidneys

Well, they’re just a couple of snooty twins who think they’re god’s gift just because they are always in such high demand transplant-wise.  I’m sure they disapprove of my poking fun at any parts of the body that they are affiliated with. I have a good mind to tell them they’re just a couple of glorified garbage sifters, and knock them off their high horses!

My Appendix

My poor pathetic appendix.  How can you have any respect for the opinion of an organ whose sole purpose is to sit there and be quiet in case anybody wants to remove it.    I assure you,  if I could think of some way to boost the self-esteem of my appendix, I would.  But until people start needing appendix transplants, my lowly appendix’s opinion about anything is totally inconsequential — sorry to say.

In Conclusion

I’d have to say that perhaps my brain, Peanuts, isn’t so dumb.  After taking the above survey, it seems Peanuts threw itself over a grenade in the form of a crooked-tooth essay that would have done serious damage to the self-esteem of most of my internal organs had it been published.

It’s funny the way life turns out sometimes.  Isn’t it?

Until next time . . . I love you

Death Be Not Nice

Linda Vernon My Brain, Peanuts, Writing life , , , , , ,
"You wouldn't happen to know the time, would you?"

In ten years I’ll be pushing 70, and when I say pushing 70 — I mean all 70 has to do is step a little to the side and I’m over the edge.

Sometimes it feels like Father Time is stalking me.

I mean, when you think about how old you will be  ten years from this very day, well, it’s downright shocking, depressing and/or scary!  It makes you feel like you want to get a move on. 

 And I’m all for things that make me want to get a move on because I secretly suspect my default button is set on “lazy” or at the very least “putter”.

Frankly, you’d be shocked to know how much time I’ve spent over the course of my life just milling around.

Of course, I’ve always felt I was accomplishing something, but when I actually look back on it;- what?

Luckily, I’ve got my brain, Peanuts, to blame everything on which is a great comfort to me.  I’m not the lazy one, Peanuts is by gum!

Still I’m not really working very hard on my biggest goal which is to write a book.

You see, sometimes my brain, Peanuts, bubbles over like a pot with too much macaroni left on high.  Peanuts is trying its darndest to cook something up, but the results are often questionable and somewhat messy.

Case in point, I once wrote ten chapters into a murder mystery entitled Book Clubbed to Death, but when I took it to a writer’s group and read an excerpt from it, the writing instructor asked for a display of hands on how many people thought it sucked — and almost everyone raised their hands.

I made a promise to myself right  and there, that if I ever wrote another murder mystery that particular instructor was going to be the murder victim.

So on that happy note, dear reader, I am now going to go takes some vitamins, check on my maccaroni, and then get busy writing that murder mystery.  I’ve already got the title:

Who  Stabbed the Writing Instructor? (and then poisoned him and electrocuted him) 

by

 Linda Vernon

Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain Peanuts Turns Pro

Linda Vernon My Brain, Peanuts, Writing life , , , ,

Hello my fine feathery friends!  It’s been a very busy day here at the blog.  I’ve hardly had time to turn on my computer let alone type a complete word.  But that’s the way it goes in the terrifically, fast-paced life of a  Full-time Professional Bloggist® such as myself.

Finger of a Full-time Professional Bloggist® such as myself as represented by a finger model.

Things are moving so quickly here at the blog that the Full Time Professional Blog Hubbub® is deafening, blinding and crippling!

Which makes it hard to hear, see and type.   But that will never stop me, dear reader.

For rest assured I shall never let my courage fail me. I shall get this blog into your eyes before the morrow or I shall die trying — for I am a Full-time Professional Bloggist®.

Just take a look at my to-do list and tell me the life of a Full-time Professional Bloggist® such as myself isn’t important and somewhat adorable. 

5:00 am  to 6:00 am:  Lie in bed and decide whether or not the new words and phrases my brain, Peanuts, dreamed last night are worth getting out of bed to write down.

6:01 am to 7:45 a.m:  Wander around house in pajamas looking for a pencil and paper.

7:45 am to 7:46 am:   Write down  “plep” and “I love you Hearth Burl.” and silently thank Peanuts.

7:46 am. to 9:30 am:  Resume lying in bed strategizing how to incorporate “plep” and “I love you Hearth Burl” into  blog.

9:30am to 11:30 am:  Prepare to write blog by pensively staring out window pensively.

11:30 am to 4:45 pm:   Lunch

4:46 pm – 8:20 pm:  Supper

8:20 pm to 8:30 pm:  Finally experience a creative  breakthrough by thinking up an ingenious method for incorporating “plep” and “I love you Hearth Burl” into the following sentence:

“I love you Hearth Burl,” said Plep.

8:30 pm to 8:31 pm:  Post on blog.

 8:31 pm to 9:30 am:  Put Peanuts to work thinking up new words for tomorrow’s blog post by going back to bed.

And there you have it, dear reader.  The important and somewhat adorable, fast-paced  life of a Full-time Professional Bloggist® such as myself.

Until next time . . . I love you

The Wisdumb of Sleep

Linda Vernon My Brain, Peanuts , , , , ,

I woke up in the middle of the night and was writing my blog in my head.  The only line I can remember now went something like:

“Daddy is a Friggin’ Genius and Mama Ain’t no Slouch”

Of course, at 3 am in the dark this phrase seemed a lot funnier.

Peanuts thought it was hilarious. (Peanuts being my brain’s nickname for itself.) I must admit that Peanuts is usually funnier when asleep. Here’s another line Peanuts came up with while sleeping:

“Goats on the Skids”

I thought maybe I could make this the title of a novel about a group of fun-loving goats who had fallen on hard economic times. I plan to run it by Peanuts next time I’m asleep.

Ne-er do well goat
Baa-aaa-ddy can you spare a dime?

I remember once reading about how you can program your subconscious mind to solve problems for you if you pose a question for it just before drifting off.

So one night I asked Peanuts if it would be kind enough to think of a way I could make a million dollars. I fell asleep and dreamed about a new invention:

“The underwater bicycle”

Which proves two things:

1) You really can program you’re subconscious mind
2) to come up with a lot of stupid ideas.

underwater bicycle
"Hey! She stole my idea!"

Of course, my family is never ever going to quit teasing me about The Underwater Bicycle idea.

Fine. It’s well worth the ribbing if it will keep them occupied and off the streets for another day.

I also hold the family record for making the lamest joke in the history of the Vernon Family.

We were driving on a steep, winding road near Yosemite, and we met a couple of gray-haired guys in a Model A going the other way. So I quipped, “Hope your brakes hold there, Joe.” OK, maybe it wasn’t a quip, as such, but hey — at least I tried. Somebody had to say something for heaven sakes!

Can I help it if Peanuts hadn’t thought up “Goats on the Skids” yet?

Until next time . . . I love you

Word Swirling

Linda Vernon My Brain, Peanuts, Writing life , , , , , , , ,
Peanuts

Peanuts, my brain, and I have finally come to an agreement on two things.  We are going to  1) write on this blog each day and 2) go for a walk each day.

Unfortunately, Peanuts is a little confused about the difference between writing and walking.

While walking, Peanuts is a veritable word magician.  Arranging words in the cleverest of ways, coming up with funny, original concepts left and right; and then whipping them all together with hearty doses of unusual nouns, sparkling verbs, and to-die-for adjectives.

Peanuts often ends up with a swirl of words the world has never seen the likes of which!  (That last sentence  being a perfect example!)

On any given day, you might see Peanuts and I  walking down the street mumbling, “Oh that’s good, I gotta remember that!” And then repeating some catchy phrase over and over inwardly (trying not to move our lips lest we be mistaken for crazy) and doing a fine job of  it too, until Peanut’s gets distracted by  running  into a telephone pole and lets go of the idea completely.

At this point, all  I can do is watch  helplessly as the perfect word combo floats away to  Cosmic Essay Limbo, where all the good little essays live, huddled together, in a cruel parallel universe where prepositions are panned, adjectives are illegal and verbs just rub everybody the wrong way.

Sigh. . . If  Peanuts would simply pay attention to where Peanuts is walking instead of trying to write essays on the fly, there would certainly be a lot fewer distractions going on in the way of stumbling, fumbling and mumbling.

Of course as soon as we get back, and I am seated at the computer keyboard, Peanuts has already punched out for the day, and I am left nothing but Peanut’s involuntary functions with which to slap together some sort of wordage for this blog.

Don’t get me wrong, slapping together wordage is one of my favorite things, but it’s even more fun when Peanuts is actually involved in the process and not wandering around up there in the attic folds sifting through old memories.

Sometimes I think Peanuts just doesn’t give a flying fig about me.

I’m warning you, Peanuts, if you ever become vegetative, I’m unplugging on you so fast it will make your wordage swirl!

Wait . . . what’s that?  Oh, Peanuts has just checked in with me.  Peanuts says instead of saying, “Peanuts doesn’t give a flying fig about me”, I should say, “Peanuts doesn’t give an airborne artichoke about me.”

That Peanuts! It’s that kind of writing that makes me forgive Peanuts every time, no matter how mad I get.

Until next time . . . I love you

Peanuts

Linda Vernon My Brain, Peanuts , , , , , ,

Thank you for coming again!  It’s so darling of you and pay no attention to that gun in your back!

Perhaps you can see from the title of this post that my brain and I have finally decided on a nickname for it.  After giving the matter a split-second’s thought, I am happy to announce that we have decided that my brain shall henceforth be affectionately referred to as “Peanuts.”

I feel a little bad that I’ve waited 59 years to nickname my brain.  This should have been done months ago,  but what with my shoe-lacing projects and water-under-the bridge observations, well we just could never find the time to put our heads together, figuratively speaking, of course.

Cabbage:  A vegetable about as large and wise as a man’s head.” –Ambrose Bierce (1852-1914)

Isn’t it interesting that my brain came up with the crazy  idea of nick-naming itself?  (Please note that the words interesting and crazy can be used interchangeably here).

When you really think about it, the brain doesn’t understand itself and so it studies itself.   It doesn’t know who or what it is (so try not to mention anything about cabbages when it’s around).

When you really get jiggy with it, the brain is just another internal organ.  One of many I might add.  But it’s the uppity organ, the king of the hill, the cabbage on the mount.  The brain thinks that you can’t do anything with out it.  No wonder it is encased in such a big head.

Scientists are about as confused on this subject as “Peanuts” and I are.  They could study the brain ad naseum (and they do) but never seem to come up with a simple explanation as to who we really are, where we really came from and where we are going.

So as Smarty Pants as the brain is, it really doesn’t know diddly squat. (Sorry Peanuts).  Thank God for the heart.  The heart always knows more than the brain.  Of course, it would lose big time to the brain in a game of Trivial Pursuit, but that’s because the brain is a Know-it-all whereas the heart just knows . . . it all.  We often say “I know in my heart it’s the right thing to do.” and never “I know in my brain it’s the right thing to do.”

In fact, we never refer to our brain regarding anything we think, feel or do.  We’ll say, “I had a gut feeling” or “my heart was telling me”  But the brain just sits up there in the control tower doing all the work and getting none of the credit -unwept, unhonour’d and unsung.

Poor Peanuts.

Until next time . . . I love you