Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," daily delivery of delightful deities! I'm your host, Anne Johnson. Anne Johnson is my real name. When I was in high school, my best friend was Lisa Jones. Which proves that my mom wasn't the only woman with no imagination.
I'm getting a feeling that I have two or three new readers. So, as we enter Holy Buzzard Week, now is a good time to re-hash what we at "The Gods Are Bored" are all about.
My name is Anne Johnson (see above).
In 2005 I read a newspaper article about a woman who got all her vet bills paid by readers of her blog. I thought to myself, "Well, I don't have a dog, but you never know. I might some day get a dog. Better fire up a blog, because vets are expensive."
I still don't have a dog. So, why do I blog?
It's simple, really. It all comes down to jealousy.
In the Bible, God admits he's jealous. He tells his followers not to have any other deities but Him. All right, so that just proves there are other deities. How many of these deities are sitting around watching the sweep hand on a clock with absolutely nothing to do because God cornered the praise and worship market?
Usually this is the place in this sermon where I go into a riff about Gods and Goddesses selling knockoff Prada bags from kiosks in Manhattan. They're immortal, after all. They have to do something! Instead, today, I'm going to take this into a more serious track.
If your ancient ancestors lived anywhere but the Middle East, chances are that you don't hearken back to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. If these three men lived at all (and there is some lively debate on that issue, particularly in the case of Abraham), they were leaders of a Semitic tribe located along the eastern Mediterranean. Where were your ancestors in those days? Did they herd for Isaac? Where did they fish -- the Sea of Galilee or the English Channel?
Well, you say. What difference does it make if my ancestors lived in Ireland, or Norway, or the Smoky Mountains in the days of yore? I'm here to tell you. Just as if you put your ear to a seashell to hear the ocean roar, so should you put your ear to your soul to hear the voices of the gods. Your ancestors' gods, not someone else's ancestor's gods. There's been no end of boredom dealt out to deities in the name of religious "progress."
Fact of the matter is, for quite some time I've wondered what exactly about Yahweh is superior to any other deity, and if He is superior, then why is He jealous? Is the prettiest cheerleader in the high school jealous of the nerdy, pimpled, unpopular girl? What does this perpetually busy and popular God have to fear from the other Immortals out there?
When I first began "The Gods Are Bored," I meant for it to be a place where people would be encouraged to do two things:
1. Use ancient ancestry as a road map to discovery of holiness, and
2. Pay reverent attention to all deities whose aims are true.
Of course, what I've wound up writing about over the past four years is vastly more important stuff like supersized flatware, mending upholstery, rat finks, night school, politics, kittens, and ... drum roll ... buzzards, buzzards, buzzards! You might say I'm off topic more often than I'm on topic.
Truth be told, it didn't take me long to realize that a web log is the perfect place to battle the blues with laughter. By the time someone asked me to synchroblog photographs of my house, and I Google Imaged "trailer park," "landfill," "velvet Elvis painting" and "outhouse," I knew I had found a silly soapbox, not a serious one.
I'm totally human, with all the problems the human race dishes out. I've just decided that my work here at "The Gods Are Bored" will not be to pick away at heartache with tweezers ... not to devote my energies to one particular praise and worship team ... not to hang my dirty linen out to dry ... but to shake my fist at my troubles and laugh! Laugh!
In other words, let the world crumble around me. I'll still sit here and write about upholstery, rat finks, and vultures. With an eye to making us all laugh. Laughter is the best medicine, and I, Dr. Anne Johnson, prescribe it in copious quantities! Pay at the register. This pharmacy is never closed.