When Cold Dread Fills Me

There's one word in the English language that fills me to the brim with cold dread. That word is

DECORATE.

You give me something and tell me to decorate it, my hands will go clammy. Then I'll flail helplessly. Then I'll petition the bored gods. Who scoff at me, because every last one of Them has had fabulous decoraters at one time or another.

This is my back yard. After my neighbors demanded that I decorate it, I did the best I could.

Last Monday, the dreaded word reared its ugly head. I'm in for it, folks.

My school has never held a Spirit Week decorating shindig before. But there's a first time for every fiasco thing. Alas, we teachers were told that our students would have 30 minutes and a piece of bright red paper, and they had to decorate the classroom doors with a suitable theme based on our deplorable mascot (a tornado *cringe*)!

I have the first door across the hall from the Main Office. You know the Main Office. That's where the principal hangs out, in her posh office with fresh plants and an air conditioner.

We teachers were not supposed to devote instructional time to this project. The only time we could put anything up is during home room announcements on May 20. I must admit, readers ... I cheated. I let my home room students spend 40 minutes on the big slab of red paper Friday morning. As with everything else, they needed more time. Which they didn't have.

I am lugging everything home with me, crossing my fingers that The Spare will channel her former Spirit Week prowess and do the doggone thing for me. If she doesn't, it's gonna suck. End of story.

TEN THINGS ANNE WOULD RATHER DO THAN DECORATE HER CLASSROOM DOOR WITH A TORNADO THEME, IN LESS THAN 30 MINUTES

1. I would rather be stuck in an 8-mile traffic jam on the Jersey Turnpike with the tank running on empty.

2. I would rather eat fried scorpions.

3. I would rather watch The O'Reilly Factor. Indefinitely.

4. I would rather find my favorite finger within the beak of the aggressive, nut-cracking Decibel the parrot.

5. I would rather come to school without my mug of hot tea.

6. I would rather use the same towel throughout the summer without laundering it once.

7. I would rather split firewood. In July. With a hatchet.

8. I would rather take a pleasant ride around all the dirt bike trails the new owner of my farm has bulldozed into the landscape.

9. I would rather go two whole weeks without seeing a single vulture.

10. You might actually be able to convince me to renew my interest in the Methodist Church. Txt me.

So, Annie. How will you spend your weekend? @#$@#@#$@#!$!@@#!!!

Spare? Spare? Are you there?

Like Any Normal Day, by Mark Kram Jr. Goes into Paperback

Hello, smart people!

Today marks the paperback launch of Like Any Normal Day: A Story of Devotion, by Mark Kram, Jr. This is a great opportunity for those of you who haven't read this wonderful, powerful story. The paperback is quality, gentle on the hands and stimulating to the brain.

To refresh your memory, this nonfiction tale follows the tragic life of Buddy Miley, a promising high school athlete rendered quadriplegic in a football game. The story traces Buddy's life and the lives of the people who cared about him the most, chiefly his devoted family. It's very thought-provoking and full of "what if" moments. This is an ideal choice for a book group or for serious summer reading.

Like Any Normal Day has been optioned for film by the producer of Glee and American Horror Story. These busy Hollywood types don't waste their time on shoddy material, so right there you have an endorsement for the book that might at least make your eyebrow twitch.

Fresh on the heels of this moment comes the sad news that Bert Miley passed away on Monday afternoon. One by one the members of "The Greatest Generation" are leaving us, and as they do a certain community spirit goes with them. Bert served in the Pacific theater and saw his share of tough action, yet he lived into his 90s and raised a large family, all of whom are fine folks.

So, while you're drawing up that list of summer reads, heave Like Any Normal Day to the top of the heap. Leave me a comment if you want a signed copy.

This public service message is brought to you by "The Gods Are Bored." On Facebook: TheGodsAreBored. Join us there!

And congratulations to Mark for this milestone!

Clothes for the Fool Kids

Have you ever shopped at Abercrombie & Fitch? If so, I have some great free advice for you. Go to the nearest Goodwill, find the sloppiest Size Small clothes, take them home and beat them with a rake, and you can claim they're Abercrombie & Fitch while saving enough to treat yourself to dinner!

And enjoy that dinner, knowing that A&F only wants to attract the "cool kids."

These are the exact words of A&F's CEO, Michael "Beanpole" Jeffries:

"We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don't belong [in our clothes]. And they can't belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely."

The largest size A&F carries is a 10. If you need a larger size, you aren't welcome. "Those companies that are in trouble are trying to target everybody: young, old, fat, skinny. You don't alienate anybody, but you don't excite anybody, either." (Again the gallant Jeffries)

You know what alienates us here at "The Gods Are Bored?" Seeing a bunch of spoiled, rich, skinny girls, all attired nearly (but not completely) identically from Abercrombie's shelves. I've gone into that store once or twice to gawk. The price tags for carefully destroyed-looking clothing are ridiculous. And the stuff is about as exciting as organic paper towels.

People are making much of the exclusion of fat kids in this Abercrombie equation. It's despicable. But I find it even more despicable that this CEO says his company is going after "the attractive all-American kid with a lot of friends." A&F is going after nothing of the sort. They're going after insecure young people who want others to make decisions for them. At a very high ticket price. Where he sees "a lot of friends," I see "a herd of sheep."

The growing hipster movement is a backlash against this kind of overpriced, uniform slopwear. More and more I see young, artsy-looking people shopping at the Goodwill, trying to find a look that is unique and affordable.

My daughters The Heir and The Spare have been way ahead of the curve when it comes to fashion choice. No Abercrombie for them! Urban Outfitters? You kidding me? My daughters can't afford to look like everybody else! And they like a little color in their lives. A little lace. A Size 14 top with a great pattern, belted! A nautical hoodie from who-knows-where with cute flags on it! You know where they get their stuff? Goodwill!

No one has more friends than Spare, and a favored girls' night out in her posse is a trip to ... yes, indeed ... Goodwill.

Abercrombie & Fitch sells clothing to kids who are afraid of themselves and others. They want to be thin, because that's what they see in the fashion magazines. They want to be young, because old people are gross. They want to be frumpy, because their friends are all frumpy, and if they can't afford to pay for frumpiness, they'll be unpopular, unattractive ... un-all-American.

Who are you attracting, Abercrombie? The cool kids or the fool kids? MORONS.

Mom

Love your Mother.

Love your children.

Be kind to buzzards.

Image: "Fairy Godmother," Brian Froud, Good Faeries, Bad Faeries.

Free Advice on Creating a Fairy Festival in Your Home Town

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" We hand out free advice and then pay you to take it ... because that's the kind of give-back society we live in these days. Please let me know if you haven't taken a single pay cut since 1990. I'll be amazed.

I somehow can't leave comment replies when I'm at work, so today I'm addressing a commenter who wishes there was a festival in his or her area.

The Spoutwood festival began with a group of close friends who gathered on May Day for a picnic. Everyone brought something, and fairy attire was optional. Through word of mouth, the picnic grew year by year. The key is that it didn't remain one little clique, and all were welcome.

My free advice to those of you who have no faerie/Pagan events in your area is to invite all of your friends and acquaintances to a picnic in some benign (and shady) local park. If you're really motivated, you can rent or reserve a pavillion. Facebook would be helpful to get the word out. Start with modest but festive attire, and bring any instrument you know how to play.

From such humble origins grew one of the largest fairy festivals on the East Coast. If you ask me, the key is to find a terrific location where people can socialize and then wander around enjoying the beauty. I would also choose a date in May or June when the weather is at its most benign. (Earlier in the South if it's very warm.)

Perhaps another key is to minimize the Pagan element of the gathering, acknowledging Beltane but not omitting your Christian friends. There's no way a May Day event will ever turn Christian, so you can add rituals as the thing gets traction.

So, there you have it! At the very least a fun picnic, at the most the beginning of something that will spin major.

Blessed be,
Anne

May Day Fairie Festival at Spoutwood Farm 2013

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Story time! My story, that is. Annestory. Sometimes it just happens that I have to open my shirt and gaze into the ol' navel for the sake of future reminiscences. This is one of those times.

Every year my daughter The Spare and I go to the May Day Fairie Festival at Spoutwood Farm. There are more and more faerie festivals popping up all the time, but Spoutwood is one of the oldest and best situated for pleasing the fae.

If you pop around YouTube or any other image place, you'll find an abundance of video and photos of this annual event. What follows here is a written narrative, from one person's point of view. So maybe I'm doing this for more than just my own sagging memory. Maybe there's a niche for words about Spoutwood.

I had my little Dodge all packed to go last Thursday night when I got a call from Spare. Here's how it went:

Spare: Mom, please don't scream at what I'm about to tell you.

Anne: ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?

Spare: It's good news. But you've got to promise not to scream.

Anne: I'll do my best.

Spare: I won a scholarship at my school for the child of someone who marches in the Philadelphia Mummer's Parade!

Anne: SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!! *gets all teary*

Spare: Yes, pretty much I'm being rewarded because of your crazy antics.

Anne: *teary* All's right with the world!

The moment I clicked off the phone, I went to my Two Street Stompers treasure trove and fished out this year's suit, my slippers (Adidas spray painted gold), and my parasol. For good measure I pinned on the 2012 championship ribbon we got this year as well. I hadn't planned on rocking Spoutwood in my Mummer's suit, but I was too proud of dear Spare not to.

Anne's List of Portables to the May Day Fairie Fesival at Spoutwood Farm:

1. Stuffed dragon, "Big Red." Goes every year.
2. Wearable faeries, Puck, Chance, and Yule. They go every year.
3. Blindingly neon tie-dye t-shirts and yoga pants from Woodstock Trading Company. The pants were new this year.
4. Mountain hat, also from Woodstock. Pin on hat, "My Heart, My Soul, and My Grave are in Appalachia." Goes every year.
5. Druid cloak. Goes sometimes in cooler weather, glad I had it this year.
6. Money. Because money spent at Spoutwood helps artists, performers, and an organic farm.
7. Drip-dye camisole made by Spare.
8. Comfortable sandals.
9. Comfortable boots.
10. Quartz crystals. Take them every year.
11. Mountain tribe flag made by Pam and Rita Kryglik. Second year.
12. Star Wars Day sign, made by me and Extra Chair.
13. Drum.
14. Sunscreen.

DAY ONE, JUST ANNE. WEATHER: MAGNIFICENT

*Sat at a standstill on the Pennsylvania Turnpike for 30 minutes, feeling sorry for whoever had the accident that caused the backup (note the Spoutwood frame of mind already asserting itself).
*Driving through the verdant Pennsylvania countryside on the way to Spoutwood, I noticed a dead deer at the edge of the road. A portent of deity?
*Arrived one heartbeat shy of missing the opening event at which I had to represent Spare and Mountain Tribe. Had to barter my way into the festival by leaving my Mummer parasol as surety.
*Bid hello from the Mountain Tribe on behalf of Spare. Nick of time.
*Looked out over the landscape and cried for joy at being there.
*Retrieved parasol and paid for a 3-day pass.
*Ate lunch with Michael Bull.
*Drum circle with King Trolland. Forever after known as Drum and Mum.
*Said hello to vendors, old and new. This year Cucina Aurora was there! Squeee!
*Party at the Hampton Inn where we stay. All visitors, performers, vendors, and volunteers were invited. This was a lovely way to get to talk to otherwise very busy people.
*Spare, Mr. J and Spare's friends arrived.

DAY TWO, ANNE, SPARE, and MANY FRIENDS. WEATHER: BEYOND MAGNIFICENT

*Nice buffet breakfast at the Hampton Inn. I'm too old for camping, and Spare is pretty prissy.
*Driving through the verdant Pennsylvania countryside on the way to Spoutwood. Wait! What do I see? A DEER CARCASS COVERED WITH VULTURES!!!!! Oh, blessed festival that is sanctioned by Sacred Thunderbird!
*Arrived at Spoutwood full of Mountain Sass.
*Greeted incoming guests with Star Wars Day signs, to whit
                     Help us, Obi-Wan Kenobi
                     You're our only hope
                     May the Fourth
                     Be with You
(Okay, nerds, I know I got it wrong. But it's the thought that counts.)
*SISTER! With her cutest dog!
*Mountain Tribe friends! Wow, we are getting clicky! Big Red makes friends for keeps! Maebius and his fantastic son, Jeff, Sis, Jeff's friends, Spare's friends, and (as always) a few people strolling past who were offered the bribe incentive of a token if they would march with Mountain Tribe.
*Tribe Ceremony to Crown the Spoutwood King and Queen. This was Spare's first year as leader. Oh, my three readers, if you only could have seen her strut! In her shiny white Winter Faerie tutu, she's the perfect counterpart for the leader of the River Tribe, who smears himself with mud from head to toe. She was so poised and beautiful. The mountains are proud to call her theirs.
*Drum circle
*Musical interlude -- watched Telesma with Sister, danced to Cu Dubh with Sister.
*Healthy hot dog and smoothie
*Drum circle
*Closing ceremony, where everyone who cared to said how long they had been coming to the festival, and why they like it. I said it was good to have a farm to come home to, now that I'm no longer an Appalachian landowner. Now Spoutwood is my farm.
*Supper with Spare and her posse at Ruby Tuesday, literally the only restaurant approaching real food in the general vicinity.
*Nightcap with the sprightly Bibi!

DAY THREE, ANNE, SPARE, AND EVEN MORE FRIENDS. WEATHER: GLORIOUS

*Caught a set of Cu Dubh before Tribal Ceremony.
*Mountain Tribe! Maebius and Sis not there, Pam and Rita there, Jeff and friends there again, Spare's posse taking photos and toting banners! Spare and the other Tribe leaders each got a flute. They are challenged to learn a song (or bribe encourage some musical friend to do it) for next year's ceremony. Whew. Sis plays every kind of flute known to humankind and the Bored Gods! River Tribe boasting they have two professional flute players ... well, I'm sure they're no match for the piccolo soloist for the Williamsport Community Marching Band!
*Hugged the Moss Man.
*Pictures and chat in the soft spring grass with Pam and Rita.
*Another nice healthy hot dog! I'm gonna live to be 100!
*Final drum circle. Some dude proposed marriage to his sweetheart in the middle of the dancing throng. (And for the record, this was the very first year I had my own drum. Heir gave me a drum for Christmas, a little, portable bongo drum. So sweet of her, and the perfect instrument for someone like me who is challenged by the idea of counting to four.)
*Stood on the hillside with Spare, hugging and crying because the festival was over.
*Drove back to the city via Pennsylvania Turnpike. Dropped Spare and roomie off in the city, took Spare's other friend home to Snobville.

There's a magic word that everyone says at Spoutwood. It's "Kubiando." The word is original to the festival and was coined by a little girl who went there, many years ago. The faeries gave this word to this festival so we would all have a way to channel great energy from the Earth into ourselves and out to the sky. So we say "Kubiando" a lot at Spoutwood. Sometimes in large groups, sometimes just as a greeting, sometimes as a cheer.

There are other Beltane observances at Spoutwood as well.

• Love your Mother.
• Love the faeries.
• Be kind to yourself.
• Be kind to the Earth.
• Be kind to each other.

Now I will finish this narrative with a thanks to Rob and Lucy Wood, Spoutwood's owners, for throwing open their lovely, stream-fed farmland to 10,000 guests every year. May Kubiando be with you two wonderful people, and to everyone who volunteers their time and trouble for the festival. Those who work on behalf of the fae will be rewarded by the fae. So mote it be.

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On Parenting Princesses

Well, my lieblings, I am off tomorrow to the May Day Fairie Festival at Spoutwood Farm! Won't you join me? I'll be easy enough to find. Everyone else dresses up like a faerie, or a steampunk, or a Ren Faire. Me, I'm the gal in the neon tie-dye, neck to ankle. I'll be hard to miss, even in such colorful, glittering surroundings. Look for me! Come say howdy! I'll even have a little gift for you, if you tell me you read "The Gods Are Bored" and think it stinks up the joint is uncommonly witty and par excellence!

The other day an article was circulating on Facebook about women who are making a goodly pile of ducats by dressing like princesses and going to little girls' birthday parties. Of course, not everyone likes the idea of little girls dressing up like princesses. Princesses, in seems, are needy and greedy and helpless hand-wringers in the face of danger.

Tell it to Elizabeth I of England.

I suppose these same princess-haters would feel that little girls dressed up like faeries isn't a good idea, either. To which I say, "pish tosh." In exactly that order.

Have you ever seen a team of soccer players take to the field? Are they routinely dressed in drab gray? Are they never needy (even when injured), or greedy (when pursuing a victory), or helpless hand-wringers (when losing)? Have you ever seen a kid's eyes light up when they are handed a varsity jacket all decked out with embroidered school lettering and mascot?

People like to dress up. You choose a tribe, or a team, or a social set, and you dress to the nines for that group of people. If there are numerous little girls who want to dress like princesses, or faeries, what does that determine about their futures? Maybe that they'll have some imagination? Maybe that they'll shop at Nordstrom's? I think the former and not the latter.

It might just be me, but I am up-to-the-brim irritated with the more rugged type of parent who bemoans the "bad influence" of princess parties on their rugged little offspring. I have outfitted female offspring for hiking and biking, and let me tell you, it's expensive. One of the most costly clothing items I ever acquired for either of my daughters was a pair of hiking boots. I got them for Heir, and thank goodness they fit me, because she grew out of them!

Speaking of Heir, she dressed like a princess when she was a tot. It didn't last. Two summers ago she found herself ascending the craggy peaks of Norway, like some ancient and fearsome Viking. She lugs her bike onto the El train so she can ride through downtown Philly to get to her job. She considers herself dressed up if she puts on a clean pair of jeans.

Spare dressed up like a princess too. It stuck. She's a thrift store fashion plate, the sartorial envy of her peers. And she will be at the Fairie Festival in a radiant, gooey faerie gown with iridescent wings. She is 19.  But a word to the wise. This gal is no helpless hand-wringer. She takes charge. Like a boss. Like a princess.

The moral of this sermon is, don't be so quick to disrespect a princess party. You go right ahead and buy state-of-the-art scuba gear for your tot instead of sequins and toille. She may yet grow up to be a princess, having cut her teeth on the brave and exhilarating notion that she is a living Ariel.