Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Vernal Irreverence

As yet another stint of long and difficult work hours in R'lyeh is coming to an end, I contemplate the activities to come this weekend when I travel back to the still damp and chilly northeast and final resting place of the greatest weird fiction author the cosmos has ever known. Since I am for a while at least still a servant of the empire and cannot pursue my true calling as a drug-addled fame hog and kick off my Bloviating Shoggoth of Truth Elder Signs Are Not An Option Tour I am forced to think of more temporary and important things.

"How about a little Heisman, motherfucker?!"

At first I decided to get all up in arms and write my kids' school a nasty letter telling them they had better not even think of pulling a "Seattle's Best Spring Spheres" or I would personally and violently find whatever misguided fellow non-believer suggested the name and shove that person's overly-sensitive head even farther up his/her ass. Oh wait, you didn't? Then forget everything I just said. We know the Easter Bunny poses no religious threat. Show me drawings of da' Ether Bunny weeping at the base of the cross, trying to shove jelly beans through the cracks into the tomb (saying "You'll need the blood sugar when you wake up!") or standing among the apostles pushing chocolate eggs through stigmata in awe-stricken awe and I'll re-evaluate.

That being said, I still have the mythological aspects of the weekend to deal with, which started last weekend (Palm Sunday or, "The day we all wave sticks at Jesus" as my youngest daughter explained) when I had to go to church (well, it's sort of a church - they're Anglican, you know ... "whatever your trip is" seems to be cool with them, very much unlike my Cat-Lick upbringing) to listen to my children sing. It's part of the "unspoken bargain" I feel I have with them that as long as my children are receiving excellent vocal training from them I should at least show up when they are singing so I can

a.) hear their voices
b.) know what to tell them to help them pick their way through dogmatic guidance and find their own way in the world
c.) feel like less of a hypocrite
d.) make sure my eldest (at 11 he sings a beautiful soprano) remains on track to be the next King Diamond

That and the family dinner should be enough of the "traditional" imagery and celebration for yours truly and his minions. While there is bound to be Sphere Hunt at mom and dad's (which will lead to the inevitable hip checks, high-basketing and "She found more than me so she's getting all the dollars!") the Chef's family will revert to a more heathen demonstration of Easter Pride that is worthy of Great Cthulhu...

It will taste and smell much better than four-day-old boiled eggs. Plus, we will ensure a large portion of our craft is pleasing to the Great Old Ones.

Free with every kids' meal, while supplies last!