Mysterious Bunny

Easter is coming.  Easter is a mystery to me.  I’m not a very religious person unless you count worshipping the Cubs in the shrine of Wrigley Field and having read a few books on Buddhism.  So I don’t really know what Easter is all about, other than for some reason a giant bunny lays eggs.  That is a big mystery.  I know birds lay eggs.  And turtles.  Haha, no, birds don't lay turtles.  I meant turtles lay eggs.  Oh and I know the geese at the Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory can lay golden eggs.  And often times the Cubs will lay an egg, but I had no idea rabbits can do this.  It must be really special since it only occurs once a year. 

Easter reminds me of jellybeans.  Not Jelly Bellies although I will forever love the marketing genius at corporate headquarters of Jelly Belly that named imperfect Jelly Bellies “Belly Flops”.  I do like Jelly Bellies, but they haven’t been around as long as jellybeans.  So Easter reminds me of jellybeans.

Once upon a time there was a little jellybean.  Little in size, but big in stature.  And voice.  Yes, this jellybean can talk.  And talk and talk.  The little jellybean could even make Annoying Orange shut the fuck up.  Other than Mexican jumping beans, most beans don’t do much.  But this little jellybean is special.  This jellybean is colorful, smart and funny.  I admire the little jellybean.  I held the little jellybean tightly.  And then I ate the little jellybean.  Yum.

The moral of that story is a mystery to me.  Another mystery is that I think someone made pasta in my house while I was in San Diego with the kids.   I came back and noticed the remains of noodles in the sink.  They didn’t look like mac n cheese but I didn’t think too much about it.  Later, I opened the dishwasher and saw the big white plastic strainer in there.  I’d call it a colander but I want to say calendar and I know that’s not right, so I’m sticking with the big white plastic strainer.  I know I didn’t use that because I don’t cook and I believe the primary use of big white plastic strainers is for straining while one cooks. 

Perhaps I have a hungry Italian ghost.  I will name him Luigi and not worry about it. 

Another mystery is all this Pinterest hoopla.  Why is every chick I know on there?  I figured I finally better look at it, especially as clients have been asking how to utilize it in their marketing campaigns.  I’m now one of a handful of guys on there.  I started three boards and can see how it gets addictive.  Check me out on Pinterest here.

I’m so happy I can meet someone new and say: “Hi, I’m Brett. Follow me on Twitter at WTWA.  Read my blog.  Email me at any of these three addies.  Here are my digits.  I like inappropriate texts – keep the actual phone calls to emergencies only please.  Let’s network on LinkedIn, yo.  I say yo cuz I have great street cred.  Especially now that I’m on Pinterest with all my girlfriends.  Please re-pin something from me and I’ll like you on Facebook.  Check out my video and music channels on YouTube and Pandora.  I’ll make you a mix tape.  Haha.  My photo album is still on Flickr.  I know, I’m so 2010.  At least I’m not on MySpace anymore.  By they way, I already checked us in on FourSquare.  I’m bretthead on Words With Friends, Scramble With Friends and Draw Something.  Let’s get three games of each going at the same time.  We should FaceTime to talk smack.  IM me later.  If we keep hitting it off this well, I’ll think about taking down two or three of my dating profiles.  If you lose my data, I’ll put an ad in the Missed Connections on Craig’s List.  Love those posts.  Anyway, great to meet you.  I’ll send you an eVite to the virtual party I heard about on a podcast.  Bye now.  Skype me!!”

When my old iphone was broken and the battery died every fifteen minutes, I think I was more human than the rest of the world. 

So anyway, how the hell does the big bunny lay eggs? Never mind.  I’ll ask Siri.

This is Why Apple Doesn't Target the 80+ Age Market

For some reason my 83-year-old father bought an iPad.  It sounds like it was an impulsive buy at Wal-Mart while he was using a coupon to get some maple-glazed donuts.  He bought the basic version which requires wireless internet access.  My folks have cable bundled with DSL at home.  My mom knew she didn’t have wireless, but was under the impression she had Wi-Fi.   I’m not sure what she thinks Wi-Fi is, but clearly she doesn’t know it means wireless. 

They turned on their iPad and waited for something to happen.  After staring at the tablet for a few minutes they concluded that nothing was happening.  So they took action.  I can imagine their arthritic crooked fingers jostling for screen domination as they over-aggressively swiped at icons. 

My mom probably said, “Beel, wait a minute (she pronounces Bill as Beel when she is angry or frustrated with him – I’ve heard more Beels than Bill in recent years).  We need to connect to the Wi-Fi since we don’t have wireless."  I’m told they then looked for a place on the computer to plug in the iPad.  I’m not sure if they figured out how to disconnect the plug to make it a USB.  At this point, I got the phone call.

“Hi mom.”

“Hi honey, your father bought an iPad.  I don’t know why he did it.  So stupid.  He says we need to watch our spending and he comes home from Wal-Mart with an iPad.  He said it was on sale.  And now we can’t get the darn thing to work.  Our Wi-Fi won’t plug in so I guess we have to get wireless internet.  We’ve called the cable company and talked to them for a half hour and now they have to come out.  Our router is supposed to work but we can’t get it to connect.  Dick from down the street has an iPad and his worked right away, right out of the box and Dick doesn’t know anything about Wi-Fi, routers or wireless.  So he might come over and look at ours but I don’t know why Beel bought this stupid thing anyway.  He doesn’t even know how to work the computer.”

“Hi mom.  How are you?  I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

Slightly amused laugh.  “Oh honey, hi, I’m just so frustrated with your father.”

“Hey, now he’s one of the cool kids on the block.”

“Oh sure.  It took him ten minutes to find out how to turn it on.  He said he was going to get a donut and he came home with an iPad.  What is he going to do with an iPad?”

“Listen mom, they really are pretty easy and lots of fun, but you guys aren’t set up for wireless at home.  And you don’t have Wi-Fi either.  Wi-Fi is wireless.  You need to get a wireless router and set it all up, but I think that might be over your head a little bit.  No offense.  I’m basing that on the fact you were still using a typewriter five years ago.”

“Wi-Fi is wireless?”

“Yes.  When is the cable company sending somebody out?”

“Three days!”

“Okay, well if you are anxious to get the iPad going, go to Panera.  You can get wireless access there.”

“Hold on, let me get a pencil.”

“Why do you need a pencil?  And who uses pencils anymore? Why do you even have pencils in your house?”

“I want to write this down.  You said go to pin-era?  What is that?

“Panera.”

“Spell it.”

“Mom.   It’s not a website.  Panera.  The restaurant.  You know, the place I always had to go to when I was visiting you if I needed online access on my laptop.  It’s about a mile from your house.”

“Ohhh, Panera!  How can they help us get the dumb iPad to work?” 

Laughing.  “They won’t help you unless you are hungry or thirsty in which case you can order food and drinks.  They don’t have an IT staff there to teach you how to use your iPad although that’s not a bad idea for all you old folks in Florida.”

“What is an IT staff?”

“Never mind.  Just know that you can go to Panera and get access to the internet.  All you have to do is choose their network on your iPad.  It may even come up naturally.  A page will come up asking you to agree to their terms.  Check the box and you are online.  Then you can set everything up.”

Silence with slightly heavy breathing.  “I don’t know why he had to buy this dumb thing.  I’m going to go out and buy some shoes.”

“Okay mom.  Go retaliate.  And wait for the cable company to come out.  Thanks for the great phone call.  This whole thing delights me very much.”

“Bye honey.”

Da Plane Da Plane! Hooray for Herve!

Da plane, da plane, boss!  Good old Herve Villechaize.  Although he was well known for his role in Fantasy Island, he was also quite brilliant as Nick Nack in the Bond film The Man With the Golden Gun.  Why is Herve relevant to me right now you ask?  Because he is a midget, of course.  I love me my midgets.  I just want to hug them and toss them by their belt loops as far as I can.

But there is more to Herve than my demented fascination with dwarfism.  He reminds me of something I acquired recently and I’m not talking about an endocrine disorder.  No sir I am not. 

No, I did not get a plane.  Nor did I buy an island of fantasies, although that sounds pretty good.  As long as it’s not the island that all mimes and clowns will be sent to when I take over the world.  I will stay far far away from that island.

Still not sure what the hale I’m talking about?  A nick nack?  Did I buy a nick nack?  Wrong.  A white tuxedo?  No, but that would be cool.  I could use a white tuxedo for sure.  I’d wear it to dive bars and crash catered dinner parties.  I’d walk around with a martini glass, a raised eyebrow and snarky attitude.  I’d find a big table of couples and say to the guys, “Do you mind if I dance with your dates?”  I don’t need a wing-man when I’m wearing a white tuxedo. 

Still struggling with my acquisition that is related to Herve? Shut up Facebook friends – you already know the scoop. 

I was in San Francisco a few weeks ago.  I was in the Haight-Ashbury area of town.  I’ve been thinking about this for a couple years.  No, not of becoming a beatnik.  I finally got my tattoo.  A few months ago in Chicago I had an artist take a stab at a drawing based on what I wanted, but he didn’t nail it, so I walked.  I wandered in a shop in SF and felt a really good vibe.  I randomly opened one of about ten artist portfolios.  The first photo I turned to was of waves.  I wanted waves.  I looked at more and this artist was really good.

It was a Sunday afternoon and there weren’t many artists in the shop.  But the one I liked happened to be there.  Karma.  I explained what I wanted, which was basically this:

My ruling planet is the moon.  So is Drew’s.  Will’s is Neptune.  Which is water.  I’ve always been infatuated with the moon.  And all I do anymore is travel to water.  The moon and water are two of nature’s most powerful forces.  They represent many things to me.  I’m on this journey of meaningful happiness.  A big part of that is a balance in life and of course my children.  So I wanted my moon and water to be circular and loosely representing that balance via the yin-yang.  And of course the international sign for happiness is Forest Gump’s round smiling happy face.  Round is good.  Lastly, the first initials of my boys are hidden in the waves – upside down to someone looking at me, but facing me when I look down at my arm.  My angels in the moon and sea of happiness.

My kids love it.  They play I Spy and find other things in there like lizard claws and a basketball.  I love it because it symbolizes exactly what I wanted. 

I’m 44 years old and the funniest thing about all this is imagining my parents’ reaction.  They aren’t fans of ink.  I have a history of freaking them out.  Like when I dropped out of business school in college to pursue a degree Sociology.  My parents were horrified that I’d be a social worker on welfare.  When out of the blue I told them I felt like moving away from Chicago and then did it (to Colorado) six months later, they thought I was going through a phase.  When I quit my well paying job at an ad agency at age 29 to start my own shop, they questioned my sanity. They were freaked out when I told them I was divorcing.  They didn’t see that coming. 

They made it through all that.  They actually have a ton of faith in me even if they tend to disagree with all my big decisions.  They always come around.

But this tattoo. Uh oh.  I was thinking I’d tell them something really shocking and then say, “Just kidding.  But I did get this tattoo.  Aren’t you glad I’m not really getting a sex change?”