Crispëhness of Biblical Proportions: Esau

Distant Shores Media/Sweet Publishing, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

So the kiddo, a.k.a. Dabbing Devil, is listening to a Bible-in-a-Year podcast with me. We started on New Year's Day, and if we can see it through, we'll have tackled the whole big weird book by the end of 2024. Dabber is homeschooled, and one of my roles is to be her religious-education teacher. So this is sort of a religious-studies project. I think anyone who lives in the Western world needs to be conversant with the holy writings on which our civilization was largely based. We assert that we have inherent value as human beings because those who came before us believed that we were created in the image of the divine, just as the Bible says.

Now, I've read through the Bible a couple of times, but it's been many, many years. And the one thing that strikes me as we near the end of Genesis is just how weird and messed-up all these people were. I mean, like, completely dysfunctional. You have parents playing favorites, old men getting drunk and passing out naked, daughters getting their dad drunk for Alabama-type purposes, and on and on. 

Then there's Jacob. He is a thoroughly unlikable character. He's a schemer, a swindler, and a cheat. He's deceitful and self-serving. And yet somehow this is the chosen, favored son of the God of the Old Testament, the one he chooses to become the father of an entire nation. I'm sure there's some lesson in the story about how ol' Yahweh doesn't just pick the upright and the perfect to carry out his will, that he'll mess with everyone's expectations and sometimes select the biggest screw-ups imaginable for whatever job he wants carried out. But that sure doesn't make me warm up to the characters at all. 

In fact, out of everyone we've met so far in Genesis, I think my two favorite people aren't even main characters: Leah and Esau. 

I feel bad for Leah because she's a plain-Jane homely girl who just wants hubby Jacob to love her, while Jacob gives all his attention to her sister, Rachel, who's a hottie but also a jealous drama queen. Rachel is also a thief and a liar, but then that's par for the course among Old Testament characters.

Then there's poor old Esau, Jacob's twin. Esau is the firstborn of the two, but his conniving younger brother finds every opportunity he can to take advantage of him. Jacob, you see, is portrayed as the smarter and more cultured of the two. Esau, in contrast, is rugged, hairy, and ruddy. He's a hunter. He's a manly man. And he also seems, well, kind of simple-minded -- and, therefore, easy to take advantage of.

Jacob knows this about his brother, and he uses it to his advantage. First, he exploits Esau when the great outdoorsman comes home hungry from a day of hunting. (Evidently, it was an unsuccessful hunt.) Jacob is cooking up some grub, and Esau asks him for some. 

"First, grant me your birthright," Jacob says. 

"Whatever," Esau says. "I'm starving."

Jacob yanks away the yummy-smelling bowl of beans. "Swear it first."

"Fine, dude, take it. It's not like it's gonna fill my belly."

"Enjoy your beans," Jacob grins, sliding the bowl across the table. 

Now, I think you're supposed to see Esau as the bad guy here. Who would be so stupid and shortsighted that he'd throw away his inheritance rights as the firstborn son, just because he was hungry? Me, I just see a crook taking advantage of someone with a lesser intellect.  

Later, we see Jacob teaming up with his equally scheming snake of a mother, Rebekah, to dress up as Esau and steal his blessing from their father, Isaac. Now, Isaac is an old man and nearly blind, so he has no idea he's being duped. He can tell that Esau's voice sounds suspiciously like Jacob's, but because Jacob threw on an animal skin to complete the ruse, Isaac can feel that the son before him is hairy and smells like outdoors. Esau is hairy and no doubt smells like outdoors. So Isaac offers "Esau" his blessing and sends him on his way. Only later, when the real Esau shows up, do Esau and Isaac both realize they've been conned. 

"But don't you have another blessing to spare?" Esau asks.

"Sorry, Son," Isaac said. "I can't undo what's been done." 

Esau is so mad that he vows to kill his brother. Can't really say I blame him. I'd be cheesed off, too. But he never gets the chance, because their stupid mother tells Jacob to go hide out at her brother's house. 

Esau is basically left with nothing. He becomes, more or less, the patriarch of the Edomite people, who end up in constant conflict with the Israelites over the course of biblical history. They're consistently painted as the bad guys and are forever being conquered and subjugated. Possibly the best-known person to rise from the Edomite peoples was King Herod, the villain of the Gospels who ordered the slaughter of all boys under age 2 after the Magi told him there was a new king in town. 

Eventually, the Edomites faded from history, while Jacob's people went on to thrive. What lesson are we supposed to draw from all this, but that lying and cheating will get you ahead? That God has bad taste in the people he chooses to like? That good guys finish last?

Seriously. I feel bad for Esau. He got the raw end of the deal through no fault of his own.

But that's not why Esau is Crispëh.

Have you ever seen Gravity Falls? The cartoon series about a weird little town in the sticks of Oregon where lots of mysterious and seemingly supernatural events take place? There's a hilarious character in there named Manly Dan. He's the stereotypical man's man, hairy and musclebound, wrestling bears and punching through trees and fishing with his bare hands. You know the type. 

That's pretty much Esau.

And yes, Esau is indeed quite Crispëh.

As ever, I can't tell you exactly why, because the essence of Crispëhness transcends mere words. But his simple, rugged earthiness definitely has something to do with it. The dude smelled like outside. That's kind of awesome. He was so manly and outdoorsy that he probably farted wood chips. 

Plus, he was an underdog, and that definitely counts for something in the Crispëh department.

Basically, if you haven't figured it out already, Crispëh is just something you are. Either you have it or you don't. Esau has it. In fact, he practically oozes it. 

Or farts it. Or something.

Crispëhcraft: The Sniffer

My kiddo, a.k.a. Dabbing Devil, loves Minecraft. She's spent hours building multiple worlds in its block-based universe. I've played with her a few times, and it was fun. But being an old Atari 2600 guy who grew up with a one-button joystick, I'm going to need a lot more practice to get used to the 53,822 buttons and knobs on her Nintendo Switch controller. It's hard to teach an old dad new tricks, but I'm trying.

In an interactive game that features everything from llamas, chickens, and spiders to wandering traders, clueless villagers, and exploding creepers, there's a fairly new creature on the Minecraft scene that makes me smile every time I see it:  

The Sniffer.

I'm not entirely sure what a Sniffer is actually supposed to be. They're big, they're slow, and yes, they sniff. Their entire purpose seems to be to sniff out seeds and pods from the ground and dig them up. The player can then plant the seeds and pods and get either a torchflower or a pitcher plant. The flowers and plants don't really serve any purpose, other than just adding some prettiness to the game. (Also, I've been told, you can use torchflower seeds to spawn new Sniffers.)

I've included some Sniffer screen shots from Dabbing Devil's Minecraft world. She's named them all. They all have R-names. 

This one, Rufus, lives in a massive hotel that Dabbing Devil constructed all the way up to the vertical build limit. Some Sniffers live in luxury. (Luxurëh?) 

Sniffers, as you can see, are basically big lumbering rectangles, with six legs (why six?), yellow beaks, brown fur, and what I assume is moss covering their backs. I think of them as part sloth, part platypus, part Snuffleupagus, and part sentient covered wagon. They mostly just plod around and grunt a lot. But if you're lucky, you'll catch them digging up some seeds. When they do, they're so pleased with themselves that they do a cute little ear-flopping happy dance for you. 

They're pretty adorable overall. 

So what makes the Sniffer Crispëh? 

Well, the essence of Crispëhness is hard to pin down. But I think it has something to do with his uncomplicated earthiness. Not everyone is Crispëh for the same reason. That's just how it goes.

According to Dabbing Devil, some Minecraft players complain that the Sniffer is useless, that he doesn't serve any purpose in moving the game along. But I say: What's wrong with that? Why can't the Sniffer just exist for the purpose of being a Sniffer?

That reminds me of an old Taoist story that Mrs. Egg is very fond of. It's a story about a tree. All the other trees with straight trunks and thick limbs got cut down to be used for furniture, vehicles, and weapons. But there was one tree that no one ever cut down. It was an old tree with a twisted trunk and gnarled branches. It outlasted the entire forest, precisely because it was useless. 

So hooray for the very useless, very Crispëh Minecraft Sniffer. Welcome to the club, Big Guy.

Confirmed Crispëh: Huckleberry the Dog

Huckleberry, our family's bluetick coonhound, is Crispëh Zero. That is, the concept of Crispëhness originated with him.

Why? Well, because we voice our animals and give them personalities, and because we sometimes make words up out of thin air to describe our pets, among other things. In particular, we had identified two nebulous states of being that existed pre-Crispëh. These states were Scraunchy, the older of the two, and Scrunkly, a more recent addition. What they mean is really up to the person who bestows the label. For instance, we've established that our vizsla, Tater Tot, is Scraunchy. So, as coincidence would have it, is our daughter, Dabbing Devil. The Scraunchitude of both creatures was determined by my wife, Mrs. Egg. I had no say in the matter. I simply trust that she knows a Scraunch when she sees one. 

Scrunkliness is a little harder to pin down. Dabbing Devil has provisionally identified things that might be Scrunkly: her fictional axolotl character, Gills; our chubby yellow Lab, Cheesecake; and cheeseburgers in general. But we're not 100 percent sure yet on those.

The young Miss DD, a.k.a. Dabber, was also the first to identify the existence of Crispëhness. It happened one day when she was voicing Huckleberry. In an excitable hillbilly drawl, Huck, by way of Dabber, bellowed to the family: 

"Maw, I'm crispy!" 

And thus was Crispëhness born.

Huck calls us all "Maw" when we channel him. We're not entirely sure why. Nor was I or Mrs. Egg immediately able to discern exactly what it meant to be Crispy. But since the title was first associated with ol' Huck, and since he indirectly communicates with a notable twang, "Crispy" became "Crispeh," and he from thenceforward became the template for All Things Crispeh. Yours Truly added the umlaut, as I thought it added a touch of Old World dignity and mystery. Plus, it reminded me of Spın̈al Tap, those legendary English purveyors of fine metallic rock 'n' roll who make me laugh almost as much as Huckleberry does.

So what is it that makes our boy Crispëh? It's hard to put a finger on, as is the case with All Things Crispëh. It could be his droopy ears, or his ever-swinging tail that knocks down everything in its path. It could be his goofy markings, or his big, loud, deep bay that can literally be heard halfway across town. It could be his weird camel-like saunter, or the way he dutifully patrols our yard and alerts us -- and the neighbors -- when so much as a leaf falls from a tree. It could be the way he tosses a freshly received dog treat in the air in celebration, or the way he Marine-crawls across the floor when he's apparently too lazy to get up and walk. It could even be his ever-present vacant stare. (No one said hounds were among the most intelligent of dogs.) Or perhaps it's a combination of those qualities, plus a little je ne sais quoi that ties all these fine (and not-so-fine) qualities together in some mystical, mysterious way.

The essence of Crispëhness will forever remain inexpressible. In some respects, the Crispëh that can be spoken of is not the true Crispëh. But Huckleberry gives us at least some sense of what it might be. 

Come, and we'll ponder together the mysteries of what it truly means to be Crispëh.