Easter Eggs, Deviled Eggs, or Rotten Eggs; Be a Good Eggs and Decide for Yourself

Often when I look for funny things on the internet, one thing leads to another (which is usually a good thing for me because it opens new opportunities to find other funny things). I usually don’t document these journeys because 1) they often lead to places that are decidedly unfunny and 2) the search itself isn’t that funny; it can be downright boring. Today I’m going to depart from that norm just a little and peel back the curtain a little on the “work” I do to make the world a happier place. Come dive with me into the Rabbit Hole with me and see if we can discover some Easter Eggs.

Phase One

It started out with a simple idea. I thought I would do a bit on the Nordstrom Rack chain. You know, find a suitable picture of a medieval rack that I could twist into patrons picking out what victim they wanted to buy. (Really, Peter? That’s pretty dark. I’d hate to see what you consider “decidedly unfunny…”)

 “Could I get one in Extra Long?”

This search provided me with the following.

 The one on the left provides us with the grim historical context as well as reminding us of the potential penalty of violating copyright laws; the one on the right lets us know that the Rack is still relevant in today’s world…at an affordable price (full size models are considerably more expensive: now you know what I mean when I say decidedly unfunny.)

Other tangents led me to things I didn’t know were called “The Rack”.

 It’s a rare thing when I find an old movie I never heard of. (Incidentally, that’s Anne Francis on the movie poster, not Wendell Corey; if you saw a picture of Wendell Corey you could probably tell the difference…) And correct me if I’m wrong but isn’t the exercise device on the right just a walker? This exercise “machine” sells for $125…

If you truly have fitness goals, lifting weights should be a part of your regimen. Naturally, you will need to store your weights when you are not using them. How about a rack?

 The name of this storage system tells you all you need to know about why the Medieval Rack was ever used.

Of course no search of mine would be complete without an inappropriate reference. (This is a picture I actually downloaded to my phone a few weeks back as a funny Avengers meme, but never got around to posting it on Facebook.)

 Having seen enough evil in his life, Hawkeye checks out a “nice” rack.

The Final Nordstrom Rack product is actually not final. I couldn’t decide which Nordstrom image fit the original concept better. So I mashed them together and you can decide. They are both pretty “dark” in the context.

 Phase Two

Me, ever being the malcontent, decided that one such endeavor was not enough. Surely I could come up with another brand that would lend itself to “fun”. I confess, at this point it was no longer about entertaining you, the reader; it was all about me.

Mongolian Barbeque was the first thing that popped into my head. It seemed like a natural to poke fun at Genghis Khan. I always assumed that BD’s was the only game in town. I was wrong and the internet delivered me a present I wasn’t expecting.

 That’s right folks. Genghis Khan has a restaurant chain named after him. I supposed we should expect Napoleon’s Bone-apart Rib Joint next. Or maybe Hitler’s Sauer Kraut Biergarten.

Right. THIS Genghis Khan.

If Sauron had him on his side, he wouldn't have needed Saruman or the Orcs to win...

Anyway, I plodded ahead to find what a barbeque might look like if Khan ran one.

“No, the other Khan!”

 “No! The other, other Khan!!”

 “Ahh, that’s better! Now THAT is a Mongolian Barbeque!”

Phase Three

My mind was awash with possibilities. My next victim ended up being Pizza Hut. That should be an easy one. As it turned out, I had a little trouble with this one. Somehow, my Google searches just didn’t want to cooperate. But after much perseverance, I finally found something suitable. Well, it was the only image of its kind that I was able to find and luckily, it suited the purpose quite well. I would have been screwed otherwise.

 Behold! A hut of pizza!

The original plan was to put the Pizza Hut logo next to the picture, so you would know what it was. Looking at it now I think it pretty much speaks for itself. But as I grabbed the logo, I noticed something about it. See if you can see it, too.

 Maybe it should be called Pizza Hat.

I should have known Carmen Sandiego would bring a host of memes with her. The best ones of course involved Waldo. And also the worst: there was one that proved yet again that Rule 34 still holds true. Here are a couple of clean ones.

 I hope they find happiness together wherever they end up.

One thing I did not know is that Pizza Hut is now into the shoe business. And have been for over a year. Obviously, the type of programming I normally watch doesn’t cater to that type of advertising (and you know I love advertising). That or I just put them out of my head as soon as I heard of them. Either way, I was surprised. I hope the shoes’ soles don’t influence the quality of the pizzas’ crusts. In addition to being able to order a pizza delivery using your shoes like last year’s model, this year’s will let you pause the game while you answer the door and pay for your pizza.

Next year they will open the door to let the delivery person bring your pizza directly to you. Plans are in the works for the year after to have the delivery person feed it to you. Pizza Hut is trying to trademark a living room toilet/recliner so you never have to get up at all.

Phase Four

My last thought (“thank goodness,” you say?) came to me after quite a few non-starters. Sadly, it was centered on a food chain again, but my brain was getting tired by this point.

 

Tim Horton Hears a Who:

 “Sorry, sir. We don’t serve Danishes.”
“I’m not Danish! I’m a Time Lord!”

Or:

 “No, really, this is a police emergency: I’m calling from a Police Box. We need a dozen jelly-filled donuts immediately!”

Or:

 “Why yes. I am a swinger. I’m swinging right now. Why do you ask?”

I just don’t know. The whole thing just became all timey-wimey.

Tim Horton hears The Who:

 “Who are you? Who? Who? ’Cause I really want to know”

“Who are you?”

“We are the Who.”

“Aww, is this some kinda ‘Who’s on first’ gag? I’m sorry I didn’t get it. Mr. Horton played hockey, not baseball.”

I couldn’t even decide which Who picture to use.

 “No, sir, ’Won’t get fooled again’.”

“Seriously, what’s your name?”

“Baba O’Riley”

And the devolution was complete. Who is Who? Maybe Dr. Seuss heard Tim Horton:

Maybe Dr. Seuss is THE Doctor!

So there it is: the process. What was once simple, became complex; what was once orderly became chaotic. We have moved from medieval torture devices to world conquerors, modest huts to elephants possibly suffering from auditory hallucinations. Along the way we touched on shopping, barbequing, getting lost, coffee and donuts, time travel, and legendary rock bands. We even saw some exercise and athletic shoes that are anti-athletic. We have experienced a lot of life here today. I hope you enjoyed your trip with me. Please come again. Watch your step as you exit.

Remember this while you’re hunting for your Easter eggs.

I was toying with a couple of titles for this entry, but none of them seemed very appropriate. (I have a long history of being inappropriate, so I want to be careful here.) “Jesus didn’t lay an Easter egg; He laid down so much more” and “Jesus wasn’t an April Fool” were a bit more disrespectful than I wanted to go here. Then I remembered, remembrance is at the core of the message. So naturally I found a meme.

With that out of the way, I turn to more serious thoughts.

Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. - John 15:13 

King James Version (KJV)

I have heard this Bible verse quoted thousands of times, in many different contexts. With this being Easter weekend, I thought I would use the opportunity to share my take on it since this post has been on my mind for a while now. Whether or not you are a believer, I hope you can get something out of it. 

Taken in its direct context, we have Jesus talking to his disciples shortly before his arrest and crucifixion. He is attempting to prepare them for what is about to happen. He is telling them he will soon be dead, sacrificing himself for the sake of the world. Of course the disciples are a thick-headed bunch—especially Peter (there must be something about that name)—and they aren’t quite getting it. 

We often speak of the ultimate sacrifice when it comes to our war heroes, and really anyone who dies in the line of duty, especially police and firefighters. And I honestly think Jesus would approve of the comparison; he often used real examples to illustrate the theological principles he was trying to teach. But don’t think that the concept of “laying down your life” stops at death. Well, it may *stop* there, but it doesn’t start there. I think Jesus was talking about a whole lot more.

We are in an era of multiple observances. This year Easter falls on All Fool’s Day, much to the delight of many activist atheists no doubt. But also Thursday was was not only Maundy Thursday (the night of the Last Supper, a celebration of Passover, when Jesus said, “Do this in remembrance of me.”), but also Vietnam Veterans Day. And that leads into the point of my musing. Laying down your life means purposely, and purposefully, giving it up. It refers to sacrifice. Not only in death, but in life. According to orthodox Christian theology, Christ left his eternal glory in heaven to come live among us, under the most humble of circumstances. He laid down the life he was living to become one of us, to save us from eternal death. The closest thing he got on earth to his life in heaven was an impromptu ticker tape parade (Palm Sunday) less than a week before he was executed.

Members of our armed forces in the same way, on perhaps a less cosmic scale, have given up their lives at home to protect our country. They have left their families behind so that the rest of us might live free. They put themselves in harms way, doing our dirty work for us so that we can go on with our more “normal” lives.

The Christian teaching is that in order for the crucifixion to work, with with Christ taking our sins upon himself, he had to live a sinless life. His act of being our substitute for the penalty of sin (death) could only be carried out if the life he led here was a perfect replacement for our imperfection. 

Our military, and our first responders as well, do the things we are unable—and perhaps unwilling—to do for ourselves: protect us, rescue us, and serve us during times that the normal rules of life vanish like puffs of smoke in the wind. 

The overriding point of the season—whether you are a Christian celebrating Easter, a Jew commemorating Passover, a Muslim observing Leilat al-Meiraj, or an Atheist who is free to believe whatever they want in America—is GRATITUDE for those to whom we owe debts we can never repay. 

Remember that this weekend if you’re going to remember anything at all.

Unplugging the router and rooting the clog

So last night I asked myself, “How many times will I have to hit the reset button on my life?” Is there a limit? I have had to start over more times than I care to count. It’s like being reincarnated without the benefit of dying first. Yes, I will grant that some of my do overs were undeserved; I got second chances that maybe I shouldn’t have gotten. And I am grateful for those. It’s the other ones that trouble me.

 

Last night I opted for pizza, which meant driving home past the place Toni died on the way to the hospital. (Yes, they revived her for a little while, but for me that was the end.) Every time I drive by takes me back to that gut-wrenching moment. The intensity varies but it’s always the same. Last night was not the worst, but it was worse than usual.

 

Then this happened. I got to come home to a present—I am assuming from Hercules; the neat placement and sheer scale makes me think so—that I needed to take care of. Now among Toni’s house rules there were two that are relevant here. One: that I take indoor floor stools outside and not flush them down the toilet. Two: that we never have a plunger in the house, because she didn’t want to ruin the bathroom esthetic. (Some of you are getting ahead of me here; just hold on.) I agreed with the stipulation that we get a snake.

 

Well, you know me. I’m on my own now and am trying new ways of doing things. I dumped the dump into the toilet—in phases to avoid a clog—and promptly clogged it up beyond all hope. Not wanting to deal with snaking the problem at the moment, I shut the lid and figured I would let things simmer. I quickly used Toni’s bathroom (which had been dormant all these months, to the point where all the water had evaporated out of the bowl), and got on to the evening business. Come this morning the blockage was holding fast. Nothing to do but use Toni’s bathroom again. But this time my stay was longer. I had plenty of time to look around and see a thousand little memories that I haven’t thought of in months. Her makeup, jewelry, shoes, all the knick-knacks I had gotten her over the years...it was kind of overwhelming. And after last night’s ride home...

So all is well now. I gave my toilet one last try before I got out the snake and amazingly it worked. I plugged my router back in after several days of no service, and it worked, too. I went to my job and I worked. Everything is back to normal. Almost. Still working on my latest reset. I wanna unplug. Or unclog. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

Mom

Today is a day I traditionally wax a bit serious. It was 43 years ago on this date that my world changed forever. I had just turned 15 two weeks earlier and was at that magical age that I could be equally excited about Hot Wheels, GI Joes, and girls. In other words, before January 27, 1975, I was still a kid. After that day, my childhood vanished.


It was a Monday. My mother had been suffering from the flu for days. And she was too sick to drive me to school, so I walked the 1+ miles in the snow. Just like the cliche but shorter. When I got to my grandparents house after school (my normal routine, another almost mile), I found out mom was in the hospital. So off we went. One more mile. Worried but not scared.


At the hospital it took a bit to wake her but she finally did, just enough to greet me with a kiss, and she dropped off again. To while away the time, I sketched her picture on a mini note pad. The family stepped out of the room for a little break. After a few minutes I looked into the room and noticed that her lips were blue. I ran to get a nurse, who verified my findings, and then ran to get help. We waited for 3 hours and at long last the doctor told us she was stabilized but in a coma. By this time other family and the pastor had arrived. The next 5 days (and beyond) are a bit of a blur. I have always referred to it as hell week. Bits and pieces stand out. They had to switch her ventilator from a mask to a tracheotomy. They didn't have a brain scan machine [electroencephalogram] at the hospital and since she could not be moved, they had to wait to borrow one from a bigger hospital, which couldn't be arranged until Friday. We got that news on Wednesday. We spent our daytime hours at the hospital and our nights at home crying and bargaining with God. The pastor and the elders performed a rarely used anointing ritual for healing. Friday finally came.


I remember the exact moment when childhood left me behind. It left me, not the other way around. You were at some point supposed to leave your childhood behind. At least that's how I figured it was supposed to happen. The family and the pastor were all in the conference room waiting for the doctor. He came in and said there was no brain activity. My mother would never wake up. So the question was what did we want to do.



This was a time before all the publicity about end of life decisions. Laws now have much to say about our situation. But back then our choice was simple. My mother could be kept alive in her present state indefinitely. Or we could--knowing there was no hope of her regaining consciousness--take her off life support. What should we do? My grandparents, who had survived World War II and being refugees in a work camp afterward with my mother, were grief-stricken in way I never thought possible. Their realized dream of coming to America to start over, was now for nothing. Their only daughter had been taken from them, whether she lived or died. And while I had no legal standing being a minor at the time, I remember all eyes turning to me. What should we do? Looking back on it now, that might not be the reason why everyone looked at me, but that is the way it felt at the time. And really, what if I said, don't kill her, she's my mom, might it not have been enough to convince everyone to keep her alive, at least for a little bit longer? (The Karen Ann Quinlan case would make the national news three months later, initiating all kinds of controversy and debate about end of life decisions; she ended up living in her comatose state for another 10 years. I followed the story closely at the time and remember being sad when I heard she finally passed away. But we didn't have her case in front of us to glean any wisdom from it, and I don't know if it would have influenced our decision anyway.) I remember getting up from the table and looking out the window through the venetian blinds (because that's what they do in movies), tears welling up in my eyes. I turned back around and announced my opinion. What else could we do? She was gone to us already. I stabbed my grandmother in the heart. But she also knew I was right. Papers were signed and my great uncle asked to be present. (He later wrote about the experience which I always cherished.)


That done, my first act as a man was to go tell my great aunt the news in the lobby. She couldn't bear to come up with the rest of us. (Truth be told--or maybe reimagined--I needed to get out of the room; I was the fastest one there and it made a good excuse,)  I remember the elevator doors opening and making eye contact with her. I realized at that moment how powerful a look could be; no words were necessary and that's probably a mercy. I walked up to her and she clung to my arm and wept. (In writing this tale, this is where, 43 years later, my eyes got moist.)


My mother didn’t actually die from the flu. At least not directly. She just had the flu at the time she died. Her cause of death was “a massive brain hemorrhage”; apparently she had an aneurysm. In the days leading up to her hospitalization, she slept a lot, and when she did wake she would vomit. She was unable to eat real food, but would drink a little tea. In my head I think the constant vomiting probably raised the blood pressure in her head once too often. Just a hunch, but it makes sense to me.


I have lived a lot of years since. Who I became in life was shaped in a large part by this day. But it was also shaped during the 15 years leading up to that day by the woman who made sacrifices to give me the best childhood she could. She let me be a little kid and loved on me every day. And she gave me enough stuff to take of the business at hand when the time came. I've had plenty of hard decisions to make, and I've made many bad ones along the way. But I hope she's proud of how I turned out. I had a lot of help from a lot of people and that can't be stressed enough. But it all started with her. She was a dream mom. And I am a very lucky man to have had her as mine.



I miss you, Mom.

It's been a while

I'm tired.
I'm tired of needing to sleep.
I'm tired of not being able to sleep.
I'm tired of waking up in pain in both body and soul.
I'm tired of needing to eat.
I'm tired of needing to work.
I'm tired of being bored.
I'm tired of not wanting to do something.
I'm tired of being alone.
I'm tired of not wanting anyone around.
I'm tired of the world we live in.
I'm tired of how stupid we're all acting.
I'm tired of living, but I don't want to die.
I'm tired of being tired.

As I sit here and put these words together, I am not any more morose or melancholy than any other day. You may know me as funny--or trying to be--or happy. And I am. At least the happy part. But every single day, I feel all the rest of the things I listed above, sometimes multiple times. I have been sharing my grief life as openly as possible with you. I am not always okay, and that's okay. I may not be okay at a deep level; I don't know but I suspect that it's true. I may never be okay again; also a possibility.

Am I writing this now because I just had a birthday and feel old? I don't think so. Am I doing it because I really feel "old" now? In other words, am I tired because I feel old? Perhaps. I certainly don't feel as young as I used to. Am I just feeling the effects of long term depressive episode brought on by a traumatic incident? Probably. Again, I don't know.

I do know that I said I would share the experience with you. But I'm not doing it for the attention or sympathy or as a plea for help. Not for this entry anyway. I do not want to have any comments made on this post; I will delete them. I cannot stop you from "liking" it (without blocking you, and I don't want to do that) and so I respectfully ask that you refrain from doing so. It may be unbelievably tempting, but please, just don't. Feel free to continue to do so with any of my other posts. Seeing your responses is a highlight of my day. Everyday. But this one is different. You need to know that everyday is a process.

If you have never experienced a close personal loss, maybe this will help you when that time comes. If you have, then you know and this can be a reminder. Life is unrelenting in it's forward movement. It goes on whether we try to withdraw from it or not. I am not withdrawing. Not entirely, anyway, and I am still optimistic that "things will turn around". Part of that, of course, is up to me. And part is letting things work themselves out. It's not easy, folks, but not much about life really is, is it? What I want you to know from this--the "takeaway" as it were--is that no matter how dark it gets for me (and hopefully for you), there is always that tiny part of me that says, "the night will fade away, as it always has every morning since the beginning of the world. Wait for it, the sun will rise, the dawn will gradually break, and darkness will flee as it always has."

Get through this life as best you can. There's still a lot in this world to be happy about and to marvel at. Enjoy what moments you can, and they will give you what you need when things aren't so great.

Just had to get that off my chest. Thanks for "listening". Have a great day.