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I found an Easter Egg over at Silent Running today. Not a real one, of course, an Easter egg for the mind, after the term for the small surprises hidden in computer programs by their creators. Every now and then I’ll be banging a post out on the keyboard, when suddenly I realize that an obscure pop culture or science fiction reference will fit in with the flow of the post, yet have a secret, second meaning instantly recognizable to anyone with a frame of reference similar to my own. It’s a very, very geeky way of trolling for the same emotional connection that occurs when teenyboppers talk about music.
“Omigod, You like that song? I love that song! Justin is soooooooo hot!”
I embed these tiny references fairly often, enough to know that I do it, but not enough to remember the last one I did. I’m always inordinately proud of them, often making the sainted wife sit through a description of how clever they are.
In case you’re wondering, she’s of the opinion that very little is more boring than being forced to listen to a recitation of my obscure genius. This from a woman who can have conversations for upwards of an hour with her sister and cousins, conversations that consist entirely of shorthand references.
“Hey, Moleboy?”
“With the Ice cream?”
“Yes. Married with Children!”
“Siamese?”
“No, Gypsy Rose Lee!”
“You’re kidding! What about the Pants?”
This happens most often at Thanksgiving, when her entire tribe of related women (In three generations of multi child families, the wife’s family has managed to produce exactly one boy, and he’s only 20 months old.) gathers together at one house or another and has a great big shorthand party. They never understand why the husbands are all looped on jug wine by the time dinner rolls around.
Not that anyone has noticed my Easter eggs, that I know of, and that’s ok. The more obscure they are the prouder I am of them, to the point where I’ve sometimes decided that the only person on the planet that would get the joke is me, and possibly not then.
I liked finding the one at Silent Running, though. It’s the next best thing to someone finding one of my own.
