Humans have decorated eggs for thousands of years. Just...because.

It's not just your average patron at Denny's or chicken farmers who love a good egg, as humanity has always been fascinated with them. Therefore, since it's Easter, we might as well dive into why Easter eggs exist, and why there's a bunny going around with them in a basket.


Easter Eggs:

For some unfathomable reason, humans have always taken to decorating eggs. Long before Christianity, Islam, or Judaism existed, evidence shows humans decorated ostrich eggs 60,000 years ago in parts of Africa. The Sumerians and Egyptians maintained the tradition thousands of years before Moses or Jesus arrived on the scene, and those civilizations often placed decorated eggs in graves, too.

(((shrugs))) People have been buried with weirder things.

Let's assume the Sumerians' eggs looked slightly different.

It's largely a portrayal and symbolism of vitality and birth that captivated people. This fascination with eggs continued with Christianity after the death of Jesus, as followers began dyeing eggs red as a representation of Christ's blood at his crucifixion and sacrifice for all to have eternal life.

Bloody eggs commemorating murder? Gather 'round the kids! I know I'll never look at one of those PAAS Easter egg kits the same way again.

All the allure of a crucifixion!

Likewise, for centuries eggs were banned to be eaten during the forty days of Lent leading up Easter, part of a slew of foods and drink to instill a fast. Since chickens are uncooperative rebels and still have eggs nonstop, there was always a surplus of eggs to consume by the time Easter arrived, where feasts on hoarded eggs occurred so food didn't spoil.

The Western Christian denominations rescinded the ban long ago, so your Sunday morning omelette is still safe. Eastern Orthodox churches still maintain the ban, though. This might explain why you can find a Denny's in Japan, Qatar, and the United Arab Emirates, but nowhere Eastern Orthodox churches are popular.

Not popular around the Eastern Orthodox folks.

Many have tried to symbolize the egg in a Christian vein (despite egg popularity pre-dating Christianity by 58,000 years), suggesting the egg represents the tomb Christ's body was placed in, or, again, the potential for rebirth and eternal life. Alas, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John in the Bible never jotted that egg nugget down, so take it with a grain of salt.


Easter Bunny:

Short and simple, it was the Germans who popularized the Easter Bunny myth. Since none of this egg history really makes sense, let's invite the Germans to this international party to confuse it more.

Germany has always had a distinguished history with folktales, and the appearance of rabbits or hares in those tales frequently occurred. Stories about the animals were passed down through generations, often with allusions to their--(((ahem)))--procreation abilities.

As with all things related to spring, rabbits' sexual proclivities symbolized rebirth in Northern Christian churches, so much so that the "three hares" symbol became popular as a design accent on medieval churches. With Easter occurring only in the springtime, the combination of rabbits to the holiday was a simple addition for German folklorists.

None of this creepy old greeting card should make a lick of sense to you.

Tales of the Easter Bunny were passed down through the oral tradition before German physician and botanist Georg Franck von Franckenau wrote about the tale of a hare in his 1682 work De ovis paschalibus, which was the first written mention of the Easter Bunny.

German Lutherans popularized the Easter Bunny myth as a teaching tool to children, suggesting the rabbit would come on Easter to judge children on whether they deserved to be given the ever-coveted eggs. Yes, it's just like you always thought. The Easter Bunny really is just a springtime version of Santa Claus.

It's good to be number one.

The Pennsylvania Dutch Protestants and emigrating Germans to America brought this fable of the Easter Bunny with them, calling it "Osterhase" or "Easter Hare," and American commercialization and affinity for soft, fluffy looking animals took right on over from there.


Conclusion:

None of this explains or defends the cheap plastic grass in those Easter baskets or these guys:

Some Famous Writer Once Lived Here: Amherst, Massachusetts

Some Famous Writer Once Lived Here is where we check out cities or towns that--you guessed it--a famous writer once lived. Picture the illegitimate lovechild between the US Census report and a tourist pamphlet from a local chamber of commerce. What's it like there today? Here's where we find out.


Today:  Emily Dickinson once lived in Amherst, Massachusetts:

Outside of Boston, whenever you think of a nebbish, scholarly, cultured New England type, the stereotype you're envisioning is largely located in Amherst, MA, where academic elitists blend with barefooted hobos in a delightful human fondue of awkwardness with a quaint, small town vibe.

Sure, she never left the house much, but that doesn't stop the good folk of this western Massachusetts enclave from building its agoraphobic reputation partly around Emily Dickinson and the socially uncomfortable, depression-inducing ideals you'd come to expect from a powerhouse literary neighborhood.

Amherst College, Hampshire College, and UMass-Amherst all call the town home, placing tens of thousands of students into the cozy confines of a rural New England hamlet. It's the equivalent of having an Insane Clown Posse concert in your grandma's living room.


The basics of Amherst, Massachusetts:

Location:
Just shy of 75 miles away as the crow flies from Boston, but nearly 100 miles on surface roads, Amherst is directly closer to Albany, NY, and Hartford, CT. But you should never want to visit Albany or Hartford under any circumstances, so 100 miles to Boston it is.

2010 Census:
Population: 37,819, up nearly 3,000 since 2000. Some college graduates just won't leave.

Racial Makeup: 76.9% white, 5.4% African American, 0.2% Native American, 10.9% Asian. Out of the 37,819 people in Amherst, only 13 defined themselves as a Pacific Islander, verifying once and for all that Amherst is nowhere near a Pacific island.

Good news for single men: 51.1% of the population is female, and only 99.98% of that population wants you to wear shoes.

10.6% of Amherst residents live below the poverty line, while 56% of the work force works in education. Sounds like those three colleges need to start paying their employees more coin.


What to see, what to do in Amherst:

Ravenous hungry caterpillars wear shoes.

Do you enjoy Emily Dickinson, but find looking at words to be too much of a hassle with the reading experience? Good news! The Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art is located in Amherst. Is there a monument to The Very Hungry Caterpillar? There is if they know what's good for them.

After you're done examining the artistic complexity of Brown Bear, Brown Bear, head on down to the National Yiddish Book Center. As one One Yelp reviewer describes it, it's "worth a trip for the whole micschpokhe."

And when you're looking to take the edge off, there's the Amherst Farm Winery, where an old dairy barn has been converted into a modern, cozy, den of boozy deliciousness. $5 gets you a logo glass, a taste of five wines, and a brief buzz.

Of course, there's the Emily Dickinson Museum, a National Historic Landmark, and what used to be the poet's home during her secluded life. Remember, folks, agoraphobia is less depressing when you see it on a guided tour!


Where to eat in Amherst:

For intriguing menu item names alone, The Black Sheep Deli wins for sandwiches called the Purple People Eater (eggplant), Fowl Play (chicken), and the Humongous Fungus (grilled portobellos). It sounds creepier when you say "grilled fungus on a roll" though.

Bistro 63 at the Monkey Bar and Grille is a mouthful to say, as is their description of their Oyster Rockefeller, which includes "lemon butter parnod besciamella sauce." At least three of those are real words. That said, everything tastes more delicious when it sounds deceptively French and/or Italian.

Looking for a Denny's experience but with 99% less shame than a Denny's experience? Head over to the breakfasts of The Lone Wolf, which straddles the bitter culinary breakfast divide between Israel (Challah French Toast) and Mexico (Chilli Relenos).


Didn't Robert Frost once live in Amherst?

Gypsy.

Indeed, but he lived everywhere in New England, so it hardly counts. Robert Frost was like a Johnny Cash song come to life.













Emily Dickinson's thoughts on her hometown:

"[C]ould it please your convenience to come so far as Amherst, I should be very glad, but I do not cross my father's ground to any house or town."

You are what you eat.

The New York Times had a cute little story recently about what famous writers ate while working on their craft. What they ate conjures images awfully similar to how they wrote. But the article is best surmised in the following drawing that was part of it:

Let's analyze the food choices for what they casually say about the writer:

Lord Byron:  Vinegar.
What it says about him:  Smelly dude, silent pickle lover.

Daniel Handler (Lemony Snicket): Raw, unpeeled carrots.
What it says about him:  Wow, there's a party.

Marcel Proust:  Espresso.
What it says about him:  Figures.

Joyce Maynard:  Lime popsicles.
What is says about her:  Less weird than JD Salinger.

Michael Pollan:  Tea out of a glass and roasted almonds during breaks.
What it says about him:  Someone just haaaas to be a little different, huh?

Walt Whitman:  Oysters and meat for breakfast.
What it says about him:  Aphrodisiac lover.

Mary Roach:  Pretty near-raw beef pho and corn nuts.
What it says about her:  Pretty gassy.

Truman Capote:  Coffee, mint tea, sherry, martini.
What it says about him:  Pees a lot.

John Steinbeck:  Cold toast and stale coffee.
What it says about him:  Potentially wrote at a booth at Denny's.

F. Scott Fitzgerald:  Canned meat eaten from the tin and apples.
What it says about him:  Possibly Hawaiian.

Franz Kafka:  Milk.
What it says about him:  Superhuman bone strength, kidney stones.



Photo / Drawing: New York Times, Wendy MacNaughton

Charles Wolock: the world's smartest person (with a #2 pencil).

Standardized tests are amazing things that tell a lot about a person. Specifically, they tell a lot about how well someone takes standardized tests.

This means we can tell a lot about Charles Wolock. Charles is a senior in high school outside Kansas City, MO. And according to the Kansas City Star, he had perfect scores on both the SAT and the ACT.

This means a variety of things for Charles:

1.) He's really good at standardized tests.
2.) Colleges and universities that blindly accept students based on standardized test scores just saved themselves five minutes and mailed out an acceptance letter to Charles without his even having to apply and waste a stamp.
3.) He probably has a really good supply of #2 pencils.
4.) People probably high-fived him a lot after he got his grades back.

I never took the SATs myself. (Long, sleep-inducing story that you needn't know.) And the only ACT I know of is the name of a low-brow mouthwash and an even lower-brow brand of microwave popcorn

But, hey, more power to Charles. Hopefully he gets a scholarship out of it. Or at least a gift card to Panera. Denny's, even. Something, you know?