Not the toys your grandma gave you

Some of you may already know that I work at a newspaper as a production artist. This means that aside from the main job of pulling stories and photos onto the pages, I also have a shitload of smaller tasks to do on a daily basis. Most of these other tasks are menial and boring, such as typesetting drunken letters to the editor and converting quark documents to either .eps or .pdf format, depending on what they're needed for.

One task, however, has the suprising potential for amusement. This is the task of typing up legal documents to run in the Public Notices section of the Classifieds. While some forms of leaglese could be used as a form of torture with better results than bamboo shoots under the fingernails, some other wording on legal documents can be flat-out tongue-in-cheek, albeit accidentally so. I'm talking about the Fictitous Business Name Statements (FBNs), which anyone who owns a business has to file with the county that business is run in, and the wording I'm speaking of is the business names.

Some people are creative with their names. Some just don't know how to spell. And still others really shouldn't try so hard. Several years ago I began compiling a list of "Odd Business Names." Some examples are Little Tadpoles Day Care (maybe I just have a dirty mind, but tadpoles and children really should not be compared, IMHO), Mi Amigas Big Ones (do I really want to know?), Banshee Courier (where they scream tidings of death at you from outside your window), and Intuitive Web Solutions (if I'm gonna pay you to fix my internet problems, you damn well better know what you're doing and have the credentials to back it up, not just go on a "feeling." I can blow up my computer just fine on my own, thank you.)

My all-time favorite odd business name, however, is Hold Me Urns. That's right. Hold Me Urns.

Can you hear the soft insturmental music of the commercials now? Can you see the elegantly dressed elderly lady walking with a sentimental smile through a golden-lit garden? Can you see her thoughts as she imagines her grown children, her grandchildren, laughter, happiness, memories, joy? Can you see her smile waver as she entertains thoughts of her own impending death, and the horrible sadness this will cause her family? Can you hear the music take on a more somber tone?

Then, can you hear the music suddenly perk up to a light, airy melody as the lady's smile returns, brighter than before, as her thoughts turn to that wonderful company, Hold Me Urns? Can you feel her relief to know that her ashes will be not just shoved in a jar in a closet, but will instead be held dearly in an elegant, possibly 24-karat gold, beautiful urn that her whole family will ooooh and aaahhhh over, fighting over who gets to polish it each day?

Can you hear the symathetically happy, soothing woman-announcer's voice at the end saying in a trembly, tug-at-your-heart-strings voice, "You can rest in peace, knowing you'll rest with ... Hold Me Urns?"

I mean, come on. Hold Me?!? Because, you know, you're holding my lifeless ashes?

I have been amused by this for years.

I had every intention of writing about the general oddities of the misspellings, bad handwriting, and just plain lack of good sense when filling out an FBN, and thought it might be nice to link to any businesses on that odd business names list that happend to have a website, pruely for amusement's sake. As it's my favorite, I googled Hold Me Urns first, and yes, they do have a website, and at first glance I groaned at how the name had evovled: Huggable Urns.

Please, check it out. I insist; it's worse than I originally thought.

Instead of a nice elegant urn that, by it's very beauty, demands that you pick it up, it's teddy bears.

Upon seeing the photograph of a cute cuddly teddy bear with a black bag upon which, in gold lettering, are the words "Eternal Love," I cringed and tried to stifle a giggle (a combo which probably looks painfull to passerby.) Then I read the introduction, about how a woman began this ash-bearing teddy bear business solely because the spirit of her dead father spoke to her and told her he wasn't happy about being "in some ugly, hard container."

Now, don't get me wrong here; I'm a believer. I've had too many strange things happen to me to not believe in paranormal things like ghosts. Hell, I had one walk down the steps in front of me and my setp-dad from the attic right to my apartment door when I was a kid. But.

Being a business owner, wouldn't you sort of shy away from telling stories that might make you sound crazy to someone who doesn't believe in these things? Especially if it's the story of the whole reason you started the business? Maybe I'm wrong, but it just doesn't sound like a smart business decision to me, and here this person has it right on the opening page of heir businesses official website.

I found myself thinking, again, "Are you serious? Really???"

But, I read on. And I clicked. And then I saw that there is a link to actual customer testimonials. Testimonials about teddy bear urns, for goodness' sake. I had to see it, and so I clicked.

Being the Cancer that I am, and therefore irresistably drawn to sentimental stuff and prone to cry at the drop of a hat, I found myself blinking back tears within seconds, and my whole attitude about this odd business changed. People have not only sent in letters of gratitude, they've sent in photographs of their bears, some of them with a remaining family member. There were even photographs of family dogs snuggled up to teddy dogs, wherein I'm guessing were the ashes of another family pet.

Awwww, crap. Cancer moment. Pardon me while I blubber for a second here; I can't see the damn screen through the damn tears. Damn photographs.

Ok then. So now my whole view of this business has changed; instead of being amused, I'm touched. It's sappy, yes. Almost disgustingly cute, yes. But, these urns have helped families through some of the darkest times a person can face. Being able to hug the memory of your loved one instead of just looking at "some ugly, hard container" is really an awesome idea, at least for those of us with overly-sappy hearts (like me.) So, converted teddy bear-urner that I am, I want my ashes, whenever I may kick the bucket, to be housed in a damned teddy bear, so that someone who loved me can still hug me when they need to.

And since you can accessorize the bears, mine better have a pierced nose and a pencil behind one ear.