Six Degrees of Eggs and Bacon

In this time of recession, war, abject poverty, disaster, and overall worldwide malaise, people can be come, understandably, somewhat depressed. Why not help the world smile a little more? Wouldn’t you like to be part of the solution rather than the problem? Now you can, with a simple understanding of this remarkable new role playing game invented by yours truly (just trying to do my part, a little bit at a time).

I call the game, “Six Degrees of Eggs and Bacon.” Clever, I know. And all you need to play is a handful of friends and your local Denny’s (IHOP can be substituted, but I personally refuse to eat in any establishment that feels the need to name a food product “Rooty-Tooty Fresh and Fruity”…I have standards—they’re low, but they are standards). Anyhow, you need a basic, run of the mill breakfast oriented dining establishment (oh, yeah, not Waffle House either—seriously, have you been in one? What the hell?).

So, enter the Denny’s with your pack of hungry friends and wait to be seated. You will need to wait to be seated…not because the restaurant is full (it won’t be), but because the sign tells you to wait and as a society we have been programmed to follow all signs no matter how ridiculous or inappropriate (don’t get me started on “Slow Children at Play” which I happen to find insulting and wish they would become politically correct and refer to these youngsters as Learning Disabled). At some point, a hostess/manager/waitress/busboy/cook will come out and greet you and ask if she can help you. I have discovered that it is safer to simply say, “Yes, I’d like to be seated” as opposed to saying, “Yeah, do my taxes.” The hostess/manager/waitress/busboy/cook tends to not have a sense of humor.

Once seated, the game officially begins. Peruse the seemingly limitless number of items on the menu, taking special note of the lovely photographs that are provided for the people who are too lazy to actually read the description of the food. Lovely, aren’t they? Also, ever notice that the menus have a weird stickiness and the faint smell of maple syrup? Weird… To continue with the game, at least one person in your dining party must order an item that contains both eggs and bacon, and the eggs must be ordered sunny side up. This is critical to the success of the game (also, in this time of recession, war, abject poverty, disaster, and overall worldwide malaise, isn’t it nice to order something with the word “sunny” in it?). After everyone has ordered, pass around some hand sanitizer and await the arrival of the food. This is a good time to go use the restroom, because once the food arrives, the hilarity begins—and you don’t want to miss that!

Once the food is delivered to the table, the person who ordered the sunny-side up eggs and bacon will need to move quickly. Let’s assume it’s you because, from what I understand, you are a natural leader. First, assemble the eggs and bacon on the plate in an order that resembles a face. Eggs for eyes, bacon for mouth. Feel free to utilize other food items for noses, though not entirely necessary. And make sure it resembles a real face and not some vertical eyed Picasso-esque version of a face. Once the artwork is completed, call the server back to the table. Now this is critical: You must act sad. I know, I know—how do I act sad when I’m staring at a happy face made from eggs with the word sunny in them? It’s difficult, but you can do it. When the server arrives, begin telling her that you are deeply distraught because your breakfast eerily resembles your recently departed Uncle Albert (you can utilize any type of relative with any name for this: Aunt Jenny, Cousin Luke, Step daddy Bob). If you can work up tears, great! If not, make the sadness sincere. Remember, you are distraught. Ask questions like, “Is this some sort of sick sordid joke (note the alliteration for emphasis)?” Be outraged: “How dare you desecrate the image of a loving family member!!!” Don’t smile—look away from the happy eggs if it helps.

Your friends play a vital role in this game as well. After all, what fun is a game without friends (except for solitaire and drinking--hey, I can call it a game if I want to)? They must also be outraged and indignant at this insult to your good family name. One of your friends must then insist on seeing the manager. You would ask for the manager, but you’re too distraught. When the manager arrives, continue with the charade and insist that the meal be replaced with one that does not resemble your dearly departed Uncle Albert. Believe it or not, most managers will replace the meal. Now, when the server returns with the new plate (though most likely it’s the same plate with the original items now moved around the surface in a non-facial manner), look at the food, open your eyes as wide as possible, drop your jaw low and in a barely audible, shakey whisper say, “Mom?” Pause for reaction.  Then laugh hysterically.

As you wait to be bailed out, use your time in jail to reflect back on the hilarity that is “Six Degrees of Eggs and Bacon”. Think about new types of food that can make faces on plates and expand your playing field to other eateries. Personally, I’ve got a cousin whose face closely resembles a pepperoni pizza…watch out Pizza Hut, here I come!

No Writing, Just Fun

Shotgun!!!

“Jesus is my co-pilot” bumper stickers bother me to no end. Religious bumper stickers in general bother me. The idea of needing to advertise one’s religion is absurd and would lead me to believe that the religion is really not that impressive to begin with. If it was such an incredible faith, everyone would know about it already—and everybody would already be a part of it. But the “co-pilot” stickers…those are the worst. They are the epitome of narcissism, the peak of human hubris, and the very core of all that is wrong with organized religion. Ok, maybe not the core, but definitely part of the inner areas--you know, the parts we all have but no one really likes to talk about.

First, to believe that Jesus has chosen you, the driver, to sit with on your journey to the supermarket is ludicrous. There are six billion people on this planet and you feel that the son of God has decided that you need the most help while on the road? What good would He do you anyway? Sure, I bet He finds great parking spots, not to mention the benefit of having Him with you if you are pulled over by a State Trooper (“No officer, I don’t know how fast I was going…maybe my friend here can answer that….Jesus?”), but in all reality He really is not needed in the car. Now once you get to the supermarket, that’s a different story. I mean, water into wine? What a money saver!

Also, there is no way that Jesus is riding shotgun. It’s just not going to happen. He’s the son of God! He’s going to be driving…and He’s going to be driving fast. This would make sense. He would zip by people doing 90 and they would yell out, “Jesus Christ!” and He of course would smile and wink and say, “Ya got that right, buddy.” So no riding shotgun. Not now, not ever.

And what about your car? Don’t you think Jesus would want to be seen in something a little more up to par with being a holy spirit? An ’89 Dodge Neon is just not going to work. He’s got a reputation to think about. For crying out loud, He's the son of God!  And he definitely is not going to drive around in a vehicle with bumper stickers on it—unless it was something truly witty.  No, Jesus would want a convertible.  Yeah, that's right.  Top down, hair flowing magnificently in the wind.  Flashing that "I'm a great deity" charm that He's known for.  That's how He rolls...

So, the JIMCP bumper stickers have got to go. Peel them off, paint over them, or replace them…maybe with a nice “Jesus is the reason for the season” sticker...

Great Expectations

I would like to write a book. Not necessarily a novel, though it would be creative and fiction, but rather a collection of beginnings. I love the beginnings of stories—the really descriptive, creative beginnings that draw the readers in and force them to continue. I can handle writing the beginnings of stories, but I tend to lose focus shortly thereafter. Therefore, I hope to write a book of beginnings. And people could buy the book with understanding that it will, in fact, go nowhere. However, it will be interesting and intriguing for snippets at a time. Here are some excerpts from my forthcoming venture into the world of beginnings:


1. The cold air blew in silently through the cracked window, crept around the staggered furniture, gently touched the marble tiled floor, and remorsefully settled on the dry skin of the sleeping old woman. Death traveled by many means, but this was its favorite.

2. One bead of sweat. One lonely bead of sweat stretching down his face and hanging precariously from his chin. One deep breath. One finger. One trigger. From up here, it all finally made sense.

3. Perfection fell across the campground under the guise of nature and a sunrise that, although a daily occurrence in these parts, bore the very proof that God did exist in some form or another. It was unrivaled beauty, and it hurt.

4. “I have to tell you something, and I’ve been up for days struggling over the way to say it.” She looked away, towards the door, as if wanting to leave or expecting someone to suddenly enter and save her from this conversation. She did not leave. No one entered. Her eyes turned back to his and she was met with the unexpected stare of stability. He knew, she thought. He knows the dark that is about to encompass our lives.

5. He moved quickly through the park, stopping only long enough to second-look the small figure crawling through the concrete tube. Not her. A laugh from the swings turned his head backwards and his body slowly followed. A squint against the blinding sunset helped focus his stare. Not her. The bent metal gate rattled behind him as he moved past the playground and towards the edge of the woods. His heart raced, but he was still. “Please, not the woods again,” he whispered.

And that’s Chapter 1!

Don’t they just captivate the mind? I think I’m on to something. Maybe my next work will be a collection of endings…

Will Work for Phone

Today I saw a "homeless" man standing at a pretty high-traffic intersection.  He was waiting for the signal to change so that he could continue panhandling from the drivers who had driven too slowly to make the light.  I watched, with great interest, as this man proceeded to take out a Blackberry-esque phone and began texting a message to someone (possibly a fellow homeless friend on a different street corner).  Two things came to mind as I watched him feverishly thumb-type a message of seemingly great importance:

1.  I am woefully underpaid as a teacher, as I can not even remotely afford a Blackberry or the service required to send texts of the utmost importance.

2. This man needs to get his priorities in order! 

The first thought, that of being underpaid as a public school teacher, jumps to mind all of the time regardless of the situation.  Let's face it, everyone believes they are underpaid.  It's always on my mind and the homeless guy had little to do with that thought.

However, the simple fact that this man had enough money for an expensive phone (and service plan) but was supposedly living on the street was absurd.  Either his priorities were completely out of whack, or he was running some kind of scam.  I'm actually hoping it was a scam because the thought of a person feeling that cellular prowess was far more important than basic necessities, such as food and shelter, sends my brain into a tizzy.  Truth be told, I would bet that if many of my students were surveyed about what they felt were the necessities of life many of them would list their phones in the top three--leaving clothing by the wayside.  Maybe it's because I'm just not that into cell phones.  Or maybe it's because I enjoy living indoors and eating food (rather than finding food).  But it is just difficult to imagine needing to be so connected that I would be willing to forgo the luxuries of the basics.

I should have asked him.  I should have pulled off to the side of the road, approached him, waited for him to finish his text as to not be rude, and asked him point blank, "Who the hell are you calling!"  I mean, isn't that really the twist in this story?  Who are this guy's friends that know he is living on the streets but maintaining a cellular account?  Well, I didn't ask.  But the next time I see this guy I'll text him that question...