Welcome Home

Several years ago, I discovered that I had one undeniable duty in my life: every time I entered a retail establishment and saw an Ernie languishing on a shelf there, I had to rescue him from his lonely life as a mere commodity. When I came to the age where I could choose my own purchases and had a modest amount of my own spending money, there were more Ernies on the shelves than there are today, but they still were pretty rare. Each Wal-Mart and Target Ernie often sat alone among sixteen Elmos and the odd Furbie. He was subjected to the fleeting admiration of thousands of shoppers. Maybe one in thirty picked him up and gave him hope that he might get a home that day, but more often he was put back on the shelf to wait out the lonely nights until I walked down his aisle.

Mild poverty and reason limited my rescue efforts somewhat; I could only save one Ernie of every kind. As the years went by, the selection of Ernies dwindled, and now it is a rare thing to find one on the shelf of any store. Luckily (and dangerously), we now have the interwebs, which allow for a more comprehensive Amnesty-International-for-Ernies-type program. Frankly, the great internet Ernie search has been a little taxing on my 700 square-foot apartment, but it has not ended.

Once rescued, each Ernie gets his second name to distinguish him from his fellows and to give him a sense of individuality in the sea of orange that is his new home. And so I introduce you to the newest member of the family: Ernie Friday.