Not much happening today

This morning, I was up pretty early.  I checked into the BB&M studio office to see if Bagman or Butler had anything interesting to say but the office was empty.   I poured a cup of coffee from the large espresso-maker that sits on marble-topped credenza next to the bronze bust of Kurt Vonnegut.  But the room was chilly because nobody had remembered to bring in wood for the fireplace which smelled of damp ashes.  So I trundled back upstairs for awhle.

A little later, Butler walked into the empty office and surveyed it.  He carefully wiped up a few drops of coffee that had been spilled on the marble and muttered something about how Mark can never pour coffee without spilling at least a drop or two.  Then he went out to get some logs from the woodshed.

While he was gone, Bagman, who had spent the night binging on Red Bull came crashing into the empty office like one of Kramer's entrances in the old Seinfield show.   "Dang!" he swore to himself, disappointed that nobody was there to appreciate his antics.   He went over to Butler's desk and scrambled the pencils which Butler always leaves in nice parallel rows.  The he put a thumbtack on Butler's chair and went back to his room.

In the East the sky was just beginning to turn toward pale blue.

Bagman and Butler celebrate an anniversary!

Bagman, who has been grumpy lately and whining about sore knees, is sitting the downstairs office with his feet up on the desk. The lights are off and the only light seeps in from the street through the Venetian blinds. Bagman is almost about to doze off when Butler throws open the door, snaps on the light and yells, “Happy Anniversary, Baggie, old friend!”

“What the...huh…what?!” Bagman startles and sees large cake that Butler is putting down in front of him.

Butler smiles. Actually, it isn’t really a smile but just a microscopic upturn of the sides of his mouth. But this is a true grin for the properly reserved Butler. Bagman notices it and starts to comment when the top of the cake falls off and a six-inch-tall virtual strip tease dancer leaps out and begins gyrating on the table.

Bagman whoops with an open-mouthed smirk, a drop of spittle sliding down his shaggy beard. He watches for a few minutes. (Actually he watches for three or four days but in order to move this blog along, I’ll use poetic license and shorten the time frame). Then he jumps up and claps Butler hard on the back and gives him a bear hug. “What did I do to deserve this?!”

Butler, smoothing the wrinkles in his jacket, says, “Don’t you remember? It was one year ago today that we started this blog together. You were trying to run outside to shock passers-by and I chased you down to stop you from exposing yourself.”

“And you failed, didn’t you?”

“No, I seem to remember that I talked some sense into you.”

“Bah! Never happened that way! I still get postcards from the blond on the bicycle.”

“I don’t think so,” says Butler calmly. “I think we had a long discussion on morality and ethics.”

“In your dreams! I’ve never had a long discussion about anything! In fact, I’m already bored with this one.”

“Anyhow,” continues Butler, unperturbed as always, “It’s been a good year. Of course Mark horned in on our blog and talked about family and such and posted photographs of babies and dogs…”

“Yea. Women love babies and dogs,” interrupts Bagman.

“But we made a lot of good friends and wrote over 230 blogs! And a new year is starting and I just thought I’d bring you the cake in honor of our ongoing friendship.”

But by now, Bagman has zoned out and is holding a pencil that the diminutive and now naked adult entertainer is using for pole-dancing.

Butler shrugs and turns to walk out of the room, muttering, “I’m not surprised that you didn’t remember our blogging anniversary.”

Bagman jumps up, letting go of the pencil which sends the miniscule tart sprawling backwards over a tape dispenser and landing in a pose that is simultaneously absurd and highly suggestive. Meanwhile, Bagman is calling Butler back and yelling, “I didn’t forget! Of course I didn’t forget!”

Butler turns back and Bagman is holding out a neatly wrapped package for him. Actually it is not neatly wrapped. In fact, it is thrown together with pages from the comics section and gobs of Scotch tape. “In honor of our first year of blogging,” Bagman announces.

Butler takes the package and opens it carefully, folding the paper and making sure no bits of tape fall on the floor. He looks at the two books in his hand, the latest editions of Strunk and White’s Elements of Style and Emily Post’s Etiquette. “What a perfect gift!” exclaims Butler.

“Ouch!” screams Bagman, grabbing his posterior where the elfin sex worker has just lanced him with the pencil.

Bagman takes issue with me

So I'm working hard on Friday's hometown shootout although it is becoming more like architectural and construction history than having much to do with photographs.  Butler is actually poring over blueprints of the building where I work, measuring square footage when Bagman stomps in and slams the door!

BAGMAN: "So why did you take my name off your Blogspot ID and put yours in!  You've lost have your followers by confusing them."

ME:  "I think they recognize the red car avitar."

BUTLER:  "That rhymes, you know.  Red car, avatar; red car, avatar..OW!"  (The x-rated DVD that Bagman has thrown like a frisbee bounces off Butler's head.)

BAGMAN:  "Don't change the subject, dammit!  Why is your ID now 'Mark Cowell'?  Wasn't Bagman and Butler good enough for you?  Mark Cowell is a wussy name anyhow.  Mark kkcowell."

ME: "If you must know, I started another blog."

Expressions of surprise!  Disappointment!  Crashing as Butler falls off his chair!  "NOOOOO!"

ME:  It may not be for long but my 45th high school reunion is happening and I was trying to set up a team blog where all my old classmates can post stories and photos and such.  I thought it would be nice since the reunion is up in Massachusetts and I can't go to it."

BAGMAN:  "Go!  We have to go!  How can we not go!"

ME: "Too far.  Too expensive.  I've got stuff to do here."

BAGMAN:  "BULL&%#@!   You don't want to go.  You've never gone to any of them.  You're scared to go!"

BUTLER: "Partly true, my dear brother Bags..but that's because of you."

BAGMAN: "I'm the one who wants to go!!"

BUTLER: "Exactly.  Not to share old high school memories.  You're probably thinking of Nancy, Kathy, Mary, Donna, Janet, etc. etc."

ME: "And they are all married now.  And I am married now.  And we are all in our sixties."

BUTLER: "And, you, Baggie, would make an ass of all of us and get Mark in trouble with with his wife and with at least seven husbands that he doesn't know yet and probably doesn't need to know."

BAGMAN: "But you'd keep me on a tight rope like you always do."

BUTLER:  "Going back in time, though...I don't know...lots of old feelings might come up."

MARK:  "Actually, I might get even slapped the moment I walk in the door for something that someone has been carrying around for 45 years.  Yes, a blog is much safer."

BAGMAN:  "You are both wusses!  And I'd behave myself like I always do."

BUTLER and MARK together: "Then why do you want to go in the first place?"

BAGMAN:  "I hate you both!!!"    Bagman goes out and slams the door.

BUTLER:  "He does have a point about putting your name on your ID.  I know it helps your classmates recognize you, but you are confusing your true friends on your main blog."

ME:  "I know.  But it won't be long.  Only two people have even seen the blog and there is nothing on it of interest.  I think I'll take it down in a few weeks and go back to my Bagman and Butler name."

BUTLER:  "Yeah.  Great.  Just when eveyone has gotten use to that one.   I think Bagman's right that you are kind of losing it.  But I agree that we shouldn't go to the reunion.  But we should go to Massachsetts sometime where we have a couple of weeks to visit old places and take pictures."

Bagman takes off his seatbelt and shoots

So I’m driving along to work on Route 17 out of Mt. Pleasant toward the new Ravenel Bridge into Charleston. Shortly before the bridge is the Scotchman Gas Station and Convenience Store where I often stop to wake myself up with a Red Bull. They call it Scotchman, I suppose, because they want us to think it is thriiifffty. But everything costs too much there, including Red Bull, so I decide to pass on it this morning.

Bagman suddenly shouts, “Hey! I want my Red Bull!”

Butler puts his hand on Bagman’s shoulder and says, “Easy Mr. B., he’s right to save a couple of dollars and he doesn’t need the calories either.”

Bagman goes berserk, shouting, “But I’ve conceded to the sugar free!” Then, without warning, he snaps off his seatbelt, grabs the camera and screams, “Let’s take pictures from a moving car!!!”

I’m going slow because there is a stoplight coming up, but I don’t like this one bit. I glance over but Bagman is already shooting. I start to tell him to put his seatbelt back on but Butler is already wrestling him for it. Since FuManchu is only a two-seat sports car, Butler and Bagman have to share the same seat and they are now rolling around on it as the light changes and I head up toward the Bridge.

“The Bridge! Take pictures of the Bridge!” Bagman knocks Butler to the floorboard and takes another picture.

“Hold on just one minute!” I yell, knowing that I, as well as all the other cars, usually take the new bridge at between 70 and 79 mph. (Don’t tell the police, although I think they already know and sometimes – but rarely – set up radar). Although I’m screaming at Bagman too, I’m not really too concerned since Fu and I (sometime I’ll blog about why I named him “Fu Manchu”) know each other well and have even done some amateur racing together (another blog for yet another time).

Bagman is now standing straight up in the seat and I’m wishing I had listened to Butler and kept the top up. Bagman is singing at the top of his lungs into the wind as we pass under the span.

“I love to shoot from moving cars,

It’s better than drinking in the bars

If it were night we could shoot the stars

Tra la la la la!”

“La doesn’t rhyme with stars,” mumbles Butler, his face pressed into the floorboard by Bagman’s foot on his head. Always the critic of rhythm and rhyme, I think. My thoughts are drowned out by cars honking angrily on both sides of me.

By now we are on the Crosstown and I’m hoping that Bagman is done. Or at least, since we’re not too far from my job, I’m hoping none of the cars around me are being driven by my colleagues who will give me a hard time about this. A woman passes on my right and gives me the finger. Who does she think she is, I roll my eyes. She's talking on a cell phone. I'm just taking pictures. I've seen people driving to work reading the newspaper!

Bagman is not quite done. “That church place!” He yells. “Let’s get a picture of the house where the guy has painted the side with religious stuff!” Unfortunately, it is on the other side of the road, so Bagman leans across the driver’s side to shoot it. Since I am in the driver’s side (because I am supposed to be driving), he leans across me and his huge barrel chest crushes mine and his thick beard gets in my eyes. My nose also figures out pretty quickly, unlike Butler and myself, he didn’t shower today. Or yesterday. And probably not since last week.

Click.

I’ve never wanted to get quickly to work so badly and, oxymoronically, driven so carefully and slow on the Crosstown before. Thankfully, Bagman has tired a bit already of this sport, the result of being refused his Red Bull. But he still takes two more pictures before I turn right after the hospital and into my parking spot.

Stuffing the camera angrily back in the bag, I slam Fu’s door and stomp into the building where I work, ignoring Bagman and Butler who are untangling themselves and carrying on their usual debate. At the elevator, I run into Miles who looks at me strangely and says, "What on earth were you doing back there? I was sure you were going to sideswipe that schoolbus!"

Flipping Mattresses and the Vernal Equinox

Bagman and Butler are back!

Bagman seldom rises before noon, but today he is up with the crack of dawn, beating his chest, breathing deeply, leaping into Butler’s office like a ballet dancer (thankfully, however, without the tights), and roars, “Spring! Spring! The Vernal Equinox! I love the word vernal. It sounds so sensual…veerrrrnaalll.

“It’s just a season,” deadpans, Butler. “It means Spring. From the Latin. Vernalis. Spring.”

“Vernal, Vernalis, Venal, Vagina, Venus! I adore words that start with “V” And Springtime! I love Spring! The time when a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of…”

“Flipping the mattress,” Butler interrupts.

“Yes! Flipping the mattress! I love flipping the mattress…” Bagman suddenly deflates as he realizes what Butler is talking about. He stares at Butler with a mix of contempt and despair. Butler stares back with a mix of…well…just a blank stare.

While the odd couple engages in a staring contest, I should explain what this is all about. Eight years ago, Karen and I went out and to purchase a new queen-sized mattress. We were like the three bears in Goldilocks. One was too soft, one was too hard, etc. But instead of three, we spent days, going and lying down on every mattress in every store in Charleston. I never realized how exhausting lying down could be! But it had to be the perfect mattress.

And once we purchased it and wrestled it into the bedroom, and set it up, Karen announced her research in Consumer Reports that showed mattresses last longer if they are regularly flipped over and alternately turned. I supposed that this flipping and turning delayed the mattress’s inevitable development of buttocks-shaped indentations, so I agreed.

But soon, I realized that we were flipping and turning it every other time we changed the sheets. This was a lot of work, not to mention that, when turning the mattress, the corners were prone to knock the lamps off the bed tables. Finally I got up the courage to suggest that we could probably get the same benefit if we did it less often. I was thinking maybe once a year. Wrong.

Butler, being the emperor of efficiency, came up with the astronomically accurate system of flipping the mattress at each equinox and turning it at each solstice. Brilliant.

Bagman, gives up the staring contest with Butler and erupts, “Who else in the world does this?! Nobody! Most people don’t flip mattresses at all!!!”

“I’ll bet lots of the people who read this blog flip their mattresses,” replies Butler. “Although in Australia they probably do it opposite and flip on solstices and turn on equinoxes.”

“Bah!” shouts Bagman. “And furthermore, I’ll bet nobody does half the anal retentive things we do!”

“Name one thing we do that is…well, I won’t use the phrase.”

“Lots of things!” Bagman says. He is on a roll now. “Like when the spray butter is almost gone and you open a new spray butter container…who in their right mind stops to pour the last few drops of the old container into the new container?”

“Waste not, want not,” Butler intones self-righteously.

“And who drives halfway across town because gas is 3 cents cheaper per gallon?! Who reuses the dryer sheets in the clothes dryer? Who goes to three different super markets to maximize coupons with store sales? Most people don’t even use (bleep)ing coupons in the first place!!!!”

“But think of how much we save by stocking up on things that are on sale,” instructs Butler in his best schoolmarm voice.

“Which is why we have 90 rolls of toilet paper stacked in the garage?”

At this point, I walk out of the room, unwilling to continue listening to this argument. I can see both sides of it. (Well, duh, seeing both sides of things is why I’m saddled with Bagman and Butler in the first place).

But I have to admit that before I met Karen the Coupon Queen, I lived in a small rented apartment, had no savings account, and my credit cards were maxed out and I was using Visa to pay my Master Card bill and vice versa. And now our mortgage is almost paid off and I might have even had a nice retirement ahead of me if the Economy hadn’t just tanked. And we still might be able to retire on income gained by selling toilet paper on the black market.

But I must admit that I don’t really know anyone who actually flips their mattresses. Then again, I’ve always been too embarrassed to ask.

So, followers of B&B, how many of you flip your mattresses. And welcome to Spring.