Artemis Brauronia Reports for Duty

 I've interviewed quite a number of bored deities over the 15 year span of "The Gods Are Bored." I've had chats with my great-great-grandmother and heard stories from Anansi the Spider. But never have I ever needed a Goddess more than at this present time.

Funny thing is, when I need a Goddess to perform a specific task, I often get help from the Graeco-Roman deities. And that is what has happened just now.

Some people have ecstatic religious experiences where a God or Goddess reveal themselves after long periods of preparation, devotion and study.

Me, I open my monthly Patreon mailing from Thalia Took.

For a very modest donation, the talented Ms. Took will send you a Goddess card every month in the mail. I have amassed quite a stack.

Last week I came home from the first day of school, and there sat an envelope that was clearly from Ms. Took. Being a super religious and deeply studied individual, I said to myself, "Whatever Goddess is in this envelope will be my protector in the COVID trenches."

Wouldn't you know, there were three cards in the envelope! I think Thalia missed a few monthly messages.

Thank all the bored deities of all the pantheons I already had Thalia's Hel card! Because there was another Hel card in there -- I would have curled up in a ball and cried. But since I already had a Hel card, I could pass Her along to the stack. Whew!

The second Goddess was Korean. I wasn't feeling Her. Now that I've said that, I'm determined to have Her in for an interview, because I don't want to feel like I'm discriminating against Asian deities.

The third Goddess was Artemis Brauronia.

EXHIBIT A: ARTEMIS BRAURONIA, BY THALIA TOOK

Artemis Brauronia is the Goddess Artemis as She was worshiped in the ancient Greek city of Brauronia. In that city's festivals, young girls would go through stages in a ritual that at times required them to dress like bear cubs and at other times required them to wear saffron-colored robes. It was a coming-of-age thing, so to speak.

The minute I laid eyes on Artemis Brauronia, I knew She was the perfect Goddess for my current needs. I mean, look at that intense gaze, that saffron robe, that gentle cradling of a baby creature! And wowsa, is She ever bored! Her chunk of the Acropolis is all that's left of Her influence. She's keen for an assignment as challenging as keeping an older school teacher safe from a novel plague!

I have taken my image of Artemis Brauronia in to my school and installed her at my right hand, literally. I even went to the thrift store and got a beautiful jeweled frame so She will be protected from the mice and the elements.

In the past I have called on Queen Brighid the Bright in times of need. But there's something so much more intense and fierce about Artemis. Right now I feel like I need a fighter in my corner. Here's another Thalia Took image of Artemis that I just love:

EXHIBIT B: ARTEMIS, BY THALIA TOOK

Nobody's going to mess with this Goddess. Nope.

Now, for those of you who Take Your Religion Seriously Thank You Very Much, don't look askance at me. It's a grand hillbilly tradition to stick your hand into a deck of cards and draw one out as an omen. It's just the way mountain people do things. You get an envelope and you need some help? Might be something in the envelope, if you intend it to be so.

I intended it to be so, and Artemis Brauronia has arrived to help me through these troubled times.

Interview with a Bored God: EndodaWorld

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Oh by all the fruit flies on the watermelon, there's a wild bored god here tonight! He's dressed in animal skins, and he looks pretty dusty. Thank goodness he's content to sit on the floor! I showed him how to use my can opener (I'm old school, I've got a hand-held), and he's opening all the cans in my pantry. Which is, yes, annoying, but he looks kind of hungry.

This deity doesn't speak anything like any language living or dead. Luckily I have Dr. Google. Dr. Google knows everything. It appears that this god is EndodaWorld, sacred to the extremely, extremely, extremely, extremely ancient peoples of the Fertile Crescent. Hard as it is to believe, Dr. Google can actually translate this diced-tomato-fixated deity for us.

Anne: Please, EndodaWorld, have another can of tomatoes! (aside) Glad he likes 'em, I'm too tired to bake a pie.

EndodaWorld: What are these delicious things?

Anne: Tomatoes.

EndodaWorld: Why didn't my people have these?

Anne: Hmmmm. Oh, I know the answer to that! Your people lived in the Old World. Tomatoes are a New World plant. Europeans didn't have them until Columbus sailed the ocean blue.

EndodaWorld: Who is Columbus?

Anne: Some dude. Oh! Ummm, Campbell's soup is better if you warm it up.

EndodaWorld: I don't see a fire.

Anne: I'll get right on that. So, EndodaWorld, tell me about yourself. What's that powder you're wearing? Looks like you fell into a vat of talc.

EndodaWorld: This? It's the stuff that fell out of the sky. For ten years.

[Anne takes a gentle dab with a Q-tip, gives the dust to Dr. Google.]

Dr. Google: Volcanic ash.

Anne: Wow! This fell from the sky for ten years?

EndodaWorld: Sometimes it came down dry, sometimes it came down wet. Either way, it killed a lot of people and a lot of gods.

Anne: How did you survive?

EndodaWorld: I didn't have to survive. I got hired after two years of famine by priests who blamed all the old deities and promised I would get this whole ash thing under control.

Anne: So that was after two years. What happened by Year Eight?

EndodaWorld: I got fired. It was a short tour.  My praise and worship team mostly died.

Anne: Guess you could say they bit the dust.

EndodaWorld: I beg your pardon?

Anne: Never mind. Totally tasteless joke. So let me understand. Some volcano erupted and spewed ash into the air for a decade, and it wasted a lot of people all over the place. I guess animals too.

EndodaWorld: Animals, plants, insects. It got very, very quiet. The people who wanted to survive had to migrate and fight for a spot in the areas that didn't get the dust.

Anne: Was your praise and worship team living in the shadow of this volcano?

EndodaWorld: What's a volcano?

Anne: Whoa! Ash falling from the sky for a decade, and you didn't even live near the volcano? Dr. Google, can you shed some light on this?

Dr. Google: This deity was briefly worshiped during the catastrophic eruption of the Yellowstone Caldera super volcano 645,000 years ago.

Anne: EndodaWorld, you are officially the oldest deity I've ever had the pleasure of meeting! Probably by a factor of ten.

EndodaWorld: Let's not talk about ten.

Anne: I read just the other day that the Yellowstone Caldera could fire up and erupt with just a few decades notice. It could happen any time. And you're here with an evocative name, warning me that such an eruption would be the end of the world.

EndodaWorld: Exactly.

Anne: Except it wasn't.

EndodaWorld: Who are you to argue? I was there!!!

Anne: But if it was the end of the world, there wouldn't be any people anywhere. Or animals, or plants, or insects. But we've got plenty of all of those things.

EndodaWorld: Well, Miss Priss, let me tell you: If you had been there in my time, you would have felt like it was the end of the world!

Anne: I daresay. And if that scary super volcano erupts in thirty years, it will certainly be the end of the world for me. But not for everyone. So long Anne, Mr. J, cats Beta and Gamma, beloved daughters, entire population of Philadelphia ... but not the human race. EndodaWorld, you've got to admit that some tribes of humankind survived the decade of ash rain.

EndodaWorld: Didn't do me any good. I've never gotten even a nibble on my resume, from then until now.

Anne: Speaking of nibble, could you please forego that last can of black beans? I need those for my soup.

EndodaWorld: But .....

Anne: Oh, never mind! Munch away!


I'm going to take a lesson from this hungry bored god. Apparently the shit hit the fan, and people stuck in the catastrophe blamed all of their gods and dumped them. The people drafted a new god, but that god couldn't fix the problem. In fact, it must have gotten a lot worse. Now, what does that remind me of?

Postcard from a Bored God: Huracan

Living in New Jersey, I've had plenty of visits from the bored god Huracan, sacred to the ancient Maya peoples. Once, in a fit of pique known as Hurricane Irene, Huracan knocked down three gigantic trees up the street from my house and snarled traffic for days. And then there was Sandy, which He technically didn't do, but still it bore all His earmarks. That was one terrible storm. Did you know it was five years ago, and there are still folks living in FEMA trailers?

The Maya had enormous respect for Huracan. They sacrificed and danced to keep Him away, which meant that He was always on their minds, so he wasn't bored. Now, He's not only not worshiped, He's downright forgotten. Add to this the climate change that everyone except our dictator has noticed, and you've got yourself a hot and bothered bored god.

He is wreaking savage havoc down in Texas, but somehow He took time to send me a postcard. Thanks but no thanks, o mighty Huracan!

Here's the text of His missive:

Well, Anne, that's a fine new president you've got there! He reminds me of Hernando Cortes in every detail. I'm down here in Texas, stirring things up because I'm BURNING HOT, I'm OVERHEATED, and damn if I don't want to pelt things extra hard! PS - I haven't ruled out New Jersey -- the season is still young.
See you soon,
Huracan

I admit I haven't mounted a praise and worship of Huracan for a very long time. I have thought about Him, though. In my mind I have kind of predicted His swelling power, based on the ocean temperatures and extra water and such.

Some of these bored gods aren't nice. They get angry when no one pacifies them. Natural phenomena like climate change can rile them up. If you combine a neglected deity with a rise in global temperatures, you're bound to start getting worse storms than you've ever seen in ten lifetimes.

What's to be done? I can't fix this with a scone and a cup of tea.

A New Goddess Joins the Magical Battle for America

I'm just off a short but memorable vacation, and when I got home my computer was so sick it can't be used. So this very important post lacks images (not that they are necessary).

Let's start with a mental image: Picture a beautiful Goddess of the Greco/Roman pantheon. She has curly hair and fine, keen features. Of course she is attired in a flowing toga. What makes her unusual is that wherever she walks, pristine water sprouts behind her steps. Her name is Cloacina.

In ancient Rome, Cloacina was charged with water purification. All of those elaborate sewer systems and aqueducts were dedicated to Her. Sometimes she is named Venus Cloacina, which tells you how beautiful She is and how highly the ancient Romans esteemed her.

Years and years ago, I petitioned Cloacina to safeguard a little dry run out in the land where I grew up. A developer bought a 900-acre tract and planned to build housing for 11, 000 people on it, mostly in the form of high-density townhouses. Since there's no infrastructure for 11,000 people in that part of the world, someone would have had to build stores. The local fire department would have had to expand, as would law enforcement. Traffic would have been a nightmare, since the only road to the entrance of this proposed development is curvaceous, two-lane Route 40.

The dry run's name is Terrapin Run. (A dry run is a small stream that can go completely dry, or just become a series of shallow pools, when the weather gets hot and dry.) I became involved in a citizens' campaign to save Terrapin Run and block the development. Since Terrapin Run is a Tier II waterway (meaning it's pretty damn pure), I thought Cloacina might be interested in helping with this campaign.

Cloacina is the very essence of a bored goddess. In modern times she is nothing more than a name for an orifice we all have below our waists. She was only too happy -- indeed, She was thrilled -- to have an important miracle to perform in the here-and-now.

And She performed it brilliantly. Not a spade of earth was turned on that development! The entire property sits idle, with Terrapin Run burbling through it, when it does burble, which is usually springtime.

Now I have asked Cloacina to take on a much bigger project. I'm sure you're all aware that our sitting president has ordered his cabinet members to roll back regulations on clean water and pesticides. This means that all of our major waterways could degrade from their current condition. Cloacina is all about clean water. She kept the Romans alive and healthy, and they loved Her for it! She can do this for us as well. We are, after all, another vast, militaristic, and far-flown empire, like the one that provided Her praise and worship team.

My friends, I am asking for you to find a place on your altar for Cloacina. I'm asking you to petition her to protect our sacred waterways from degradation. She wants to join the Magical Battle for America. She wants work. Let's give Her a big job, with full faith that, if we worship Her, She will deliver us from evil.

Please find room for Her in your heart! This Goddess delivers.

Interview with a Bored God: Anansi

My goodness, as I live and breathe, one of my favorite bored gods of all time is Anansi! He's all puffed up with pride these days, because through one medium or another, Neil Gaiman has made Him a star again.

Anansi is a flirt and a trickster, the kind of critter that with a mere wink can persuade you to part with your last piece of pecan pie. He pilfers the pretzels and leaves the lettuce. He snickers when you stub your toe, principally because He's the one who pushed the ottoman just so and made you do it.

Anansi preys upon people's weaknesses and leads them to downfall. He enjoys doing it ... sort of a matter of just desserts.

And speaking of desserts, that must be why He's here. I'm going to make a strawberry pie. How did He know?

Anne: Anansi, my friend, while I'm making this pie, will You tell me a story?

Anansi: With pleasure, Anne. Better make two pies. You might get company...


Anansi and the Jackal
by Anansi

Once upon a time, there was a jackal who was dissatisfied with his life. He had plenty to eat, and he was popular and well-liked in his circle, but he craved more attention and admiration.

Jackal went to Anansi and asked the Spider to make him more famous ... all-powerful over the rest of the animals on the savanna, in fact.

"I will do this,"Anansi said, "If you first give up one of your possessions. Think about it and get back to me."

Jackal thought about it. He was pretty good-looking, in a paunchy, overripe way. He didn't want to give that up. It was already getting harder to attract lady jackals! He was really good at manipulating other animals (particularly those who weren't as smart as they ought to be). Jackal couldn't imagine being powerful without being able to manipulate, so he didn't want to give that up, either. That left him with two possessions: the ability to lie, and a perfect memory. It seemed pretty clear that a good memory wasn't really important if you had lots of power, so Jackal returned to Anansi.

"You can have my memory," he said.

"Done!" Anansi said.

And Jackal was happy, because he felt just the same.

And the animals heaped him with praise and set him in the best seat and gave him the ability to make decisions that would affect the whole savanna.

In his most manipulative and lying way, Jackal promised all the animals that he would make everything great for them. He promised every kind of animal exactly what they wanted. The lions would get more meat. The wildebeests would get more forage and eat it in perfect safety. The zebras would get to cross the rivers safely. And since nobody liked the hyenas, they would be rounded up and sent away.

Needless to say, the hyenas weren't happy. They went to Anansi and complained.

"Wait it out," Anansi said. So they did.

Not long after Jackal assumed power, the lions got hungry. The wildebeests were fat from eating so much forage, so the lions hunted and killed a few.

The other wildebeests went to find Jackal. "The lions hunted us! You said we would be safe!"

"Did I say that?" Jackal replied. "I don't remember."

"You said it," Elephant answered. "I remember everything."

Next thing you know, the zebras went to cross the river. The lions were waiting.

It wasn't pretty.

The other zebras went to Jackal and complained. Jackal said he couldn't recall the exact details of his deal with the zebras.

But once again, Elephant chimed in: "You promised the zebras they would be safe crossing the river."

Jackal was furious. "I'm tired of these elephants!" he shouted. "As of this minute, all elephants are fired!" He sent the elephants away, one and all.

As time passed, Jackal continued to rule, but all of the animals were sullen, if not outright contemptuous. This didn't sit well with Jackal, since he'd gone into the scheme for approval. So after a few months, he went back to Anansi.

"You didn't tell me the job of ruling the savanna would be so hard!" he told Anansi.

"You didn't ask me," the wily Spider replied.

"I didn't know I couldn't make both the lions and the wildebeest happy," Jackal whined.

"Jackal," Anansi said, "you have lived on the savanna all your life. Have you ever seen a time when lions and wildebeest got along, or when zebras could always cross the river safely?"

"I can't remember," Jackal said, feeling exceedingly sorry for himself.

"It's too bad your memory is so poor," Anansi said, clicking His legs together. "The elephants could have helped you with that, but you sent them away."

"All I wanted was universal admiration!" Jackal wailed. Then he got an idea. "Say, Anansi, could you just put things back the way they were ... as I recall, if I'm right ... so I at least have a little band of followers? The rest of them, lions, zebras, one and all, can go rot."

"I can do that for you," Anansi said. "But you'll have to give me another possession."

Jackal couldn't remember his possessions at all. So he said, "Go ahead and just take one. Whichever one you want."

Next thing he knew, Jackal found himself on the savanna with the other jackals he used to hang out with. They all burst into gales of laughter. "Look at you!" they howled. "You are one old, butt-ugly Jackal!"

Jackal ran to the watering hole and looked into the water. At that moment, Anansi gave him his memory back.

It wasn't pretty.

In the end, the elephants and the hyenas returned to the savanna, and everything fell into its old, natural routine. Except for poor old, ugly, Jackal, who could not buy a best friend no matter how much he lied, manipulated, or remembered the past.



Anne: Wow, Anansi, you are amazing! Here, have both pies! And that dusty corner of my attic? It's all yours, whenever you want a bunk.

Anansi: Thanks, Anne, but I'm due back on set in a week. I'm a big star now.

Anne: Justly deserved, Anansi. Justly deserved.

Blogging Is Weird

This Tiki...

Appeared in my neighborhood in 2008, stayed about three months, and moved on. One of my friends says it's a free-range Tiki.

It didn't look like a particularly friendly Tiki, so I gave it an offering of a fifth of hard liquor. You can't be too careful with a fierce Tiki.

About a week ago, the numbers on my blog skyrocketed. People are looking at this Tiki in droves. I don't know whether It has made Its way into a meme, or what. However, I am glad that I took the photo myself. Anyone who wants to use it can use it.

The Internet is a very peculiar entity. Sometimes I forget that everything I write goes out there and stays out there as long as there is an Internet.

I have written over 2100 posts for "The Gods Are Bored." If it was a newspaper column, they would have wrapped up fish and gone to the landfill. Here they are immortal, unless I delete them -- and even then I wouldn't be sure ...

And so the free-range Tiki begins a new life roaming around the Internet. I hope the people using the image have some hard liquor on hand that they can pour onto their keyboard or pad. Just saying, I found this Tiki to be bad ass.

Snow Day!

The words, the text, the phone call every school teacher wants to hear: "School is canceled due to inclement weather."

Remember when you were a kid, and you got a snow day? Off you went to sled, or build a snowman, and at least one parent had to stay home to take care of you ... so it was a win/win.

I'm a weather nutcase. I inherited it from my grandfather. I check the weather forecast at least twice a day, even when it's sunny. I watch the local news forecast, because that's the only place where the announcers give a more scientific explanation of the weather.

But everyone got this one wrong.

On Saturday, each and every forecast for my region called for a scant slushy coating of wintry mix, followed by a Noah's flood of rain. So when it started snowing on Sunday, no one thought it would last more than an hour.

It snowed like batshit all afternoon. By dinnertime we had seven inches and counting. The Philadelphia Eagles football game was highly entertaining when viewed from an armchair. Wouldn't have wanted to be in the stadium. Couldn't have seen the action from the nosebleed seats.

I'm glad I had the foresight to haul in a ton of firewood. But I didn't go to the grocery store.The cupboard was interesting ... challenging ... and I'm not a great cook in the best of times.

Of course, there are many, many weather geeks out there who took the forecast seriously. Therefore, when the real weather event arrived, these fine people were out in their cars, on the highway, going places. There were traffic accidents, and lots of them, jam-ups everywhere.

You would think that the world that has given us computers, cutting-edge health care, nuclear power plants and moon landings, would have made significant strides in weather forecasting. Just hasn't happened. Either they call for a blizzard and we get a scant coating, or they call for a scant coating and we get buried.

This time it was personal. I was ready with firewood but not with groceries. The infamy!

Cernunnos just popped by and tipped His helmet. He says that the bored gods have so little to amuse themselves with these days that They deliberately fuck up the weather forecast. He says to pay no mind to the vapid talking heads on the Weather Channel. The white stuff is in the hands of the bored gods. They dump it where They will.

And today I'm home, it's a snow day, and that's like a gift ...I never stopped being ten years old. Thanks be to the bored gods!

Now I'm off to check the weather forecast, in defiance of Cernunnos. Not a wise thing to defy that deity, as I have well learned. Maybe He'll give me a pass this time.

Interview with a Bored God: Cupid

There's nothing quite like a high school on Valentine's Day. You can practically feel the hormones buzzing in the corridors.

But you know what? I think this holiday sucks. Seriously!

As early as the age of poor Charley Brown, kids start building their self-esteem on the number of Valentines they get and the quality of those Valentines. By the time high school rolls around, all the bright balloons, gifts, teddy bears the size of real bears, and roses, go to the popular girls from the cutest boys ... and the other boys and girls just suffer.

I was one of those sufferers in high school. I know.

What about the rest of us? The older folks who have seen many, many Valentine's Days? It's all too tempting to dismiss this holiday as a shameless ploy for ducats from the candy, flower, and card companies. Don't you feel sorry for the person whose loved one only tells them once a year that they're loved? Once again, how about all the single people ... the widowed ... the divorced. No wonder some people call this "Forever Single" day!

With that in mind, I've cornered the culprit for all this rosy madness. Please give a warm, wonderful "Gods Are Bored" welcome to Cupid, bored god of senseless love!

Anne: Cupid, you are a little kid. A baby, in fact. If not for the bow and arrows, you would look like that tot on the Gerber jars.

Cupid: Tee hee!

Anne: You encourage otherwise thoughtful people to act like babies. Love is blind! And if not blind, then seriously blinkered.

Cupid: *burp*

Anne: Okay, so call me cynical. It's easy for me to fling your arrows back at you. I'm set in my ways, older and wiser. If I happen to see a happy couple somewhere, I don't give you credit. You seem more bent on mischief than meaning.

Cupid: Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!

Anne: Oh, now, there's just what I mean! That boy is so wrong for that girl! They have nothing in common. He will want her to wear high heels all the time, and she will resent him sitting in the sports bar with his bros. Do you give any thought to what you do?

Cupid: Tee hee! Nope!

Anne: I can't believe you have been around since ancient times. Was there ever an era where people had sense? Like, did people ever choose lifetime companions based on compatibility and sensibility, leaving erotic love out of the equation?

Cupid: *snort*

Anne: Oh yes. Of course. That would be any era where you marry someone and then get the hots for someone else. Because frankly, Cupid, that's all you're about. Giving people the hots for each other.

Cupid: SsssssSSSSSSSSSssssssssSSSSSSSSS!

Anne: I guess it perpetuates the species.

Cupid: Party pooper!

Anne: You know something, Cupid? You are so right! I am a party pooper! I'm not going to change this silly species. So, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Off to the card shop to scour the nearly-empty shelves!

I know this for sure. When I get to those empty shelves, the rest of the people scouring them will be male.

As for Cupid, He's the ultimate irony, isn't he? Sweet little baby, causing a world of trouble everywhere He turns. Note that he's red. Just another foe for the anxious lovelorn out there.

No! Cupid! For the love of fruit flies! Don't shoot an arrow at that cat lady and the guy with the allergy! Stop! For all that is holy, please!

At the Seashore with Mannanan Mac Lir

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Do you need a God or Goddess? Like, a different One that will actually have time to help you through your thorny thickets? You have come to the right place! Let us set you up with deities who need praise and worship. Bored deities who will have plenty of time to devote just to you.

One of my patron bored Gods is Mannanan Mac Lir. I like Him because apparently the early Christians had a really tough time ousting him from Ireland and Scotland. The ousting was so incomplete that Manannan kept a really nice piece of real estate for Himself, the Isle of Man.

I'm not much of an intrepid traveler, but I would love to go to the Isle of Man some day.

Manannan, being a deity of maritime regions, is a great lover of the sea. Often He goes with me on my quick jaunts to the fabulous Jersey Shore. He has never complained about the place -- even about Atlantic City, which (for my money) is one of the premiere sinkholes of America.

Manannan and I have had some real heart-to-heart conversations about life over the past few years. We get along because He is tenacious like me.

Tenacity is not the same as stubbornness. A stubborn person doesn't give up, even when they are wrong. A tenacious person holds on to the right. A tenacious person will sit and wait for other people to catch up to his or her point of view. Manannan is counseling me to do this. And I'm listening, because doggone -- He got an island, at the very least. That's a lot better than some sickly sainthood that covers up His true identity.

This is a true story that follows:

I went to the seashore to look for sea glass. It's a very calming occupation, and I usually find something that's worth the trip. Sunday was no exception.

There's a particularly rocky stretch of beach, totally off-limits to swimming, where the water comes up under the boardwalk. I was looking for gold doubloons sea glass under the boardwalk. It was a beautiful day. Manannan stretched out on a barnacle-encrusted boulder and stared out at the vista, which is pretty much water.

Something caught my eye. What a sight! I could not see the fisherman. I could not see the line. What I did see was a bright silver fish, a pretty big one, emerging from the drink and slowly ascending skyward. Very, very cool.

Okay, so I'm a mountain girl, remember? All this beach stuff is new to me, and a taste that I'm still in the process of acquiring. So this whole caught-fish thing was awesome.

Sometimes Manannan laughs at how little I know about the beach. I hope He keeps me safe there, because I declare I don't know what I'm doing half the time.

Determined to learn, though. It's called tenacity.

Of Poppets and Sea Glass

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," coming to you in chapters today:

CHAPTER 1
BEACH GLASS BINGO

Earlier in this epic year, I began collecting beach glass in earnest. Before 2012, I was a casual beachcomber, but lately I've been trying to bond with the dark Atlantic. Sea glass seemed to be a good way to do it, because it's very special: the sharp edges have been worn dull, and the glass is frosted -- consequence of rolling around in the surf for who knows how long.

I dredged up some old jars from the ancestral lands in Appalachia and began a very odd project: filling glass jars from the mountains with sea glass from the beach. There's a hedge-witchiness to this that appeals to me.

Then I discovered something. The jars were filling up (well, not the "good stuff" jar, but the others). What would I do when I had the jars filled? Would I still go? What would be the point? Greed to have more and more sea glass? Not how I roll.
 
Turns out there's an artist in Philadelphia named Isaiah Zagar. He does immense mosaics using discarded glass and mirrors. If you visit Philly and walk along South Street, you will see Isaiah's work both large and small, including his amazing, faerie-friendly, bored-god-approved artistic playground, the Magic Gardens.

EXHIBIT A: THE MAGIC GARDENS, PHILADELPHIA (Photos don't do it justice.)

I spoke to Isaiah's staff, and they spoke to him and the upshot is that most of my beach glass will go into mosaics in Philadelphia! I took in a big bag on Saturday. Spare and I walked down to the Magic Gardens and handed it over. If he likes it, I'll give him more.

I am living the Pagan Purpose-Driven Life.

CHAPTER TWO
A POPPET FOR DECIBEL

You three readers of mine have been very generous helping me out with Decibel the Parrot's astronomical bird bills since she hurt her wing earlier in the summer. The good news is that, so long as she doesn't peck at it, her "ouch" is mending nicely. She's in a parrot collar that we call the "cone of shame." (I posted a picture a week or so ago.)

In August I went to a Pagan Pride event in central Jersey, and there I met the amazing and fabulous Mrs.B. She has a blog on Patheos.com where she writes about raising children by good Pagan principles.

On the day of the Pride event, Mrs. B gave a talk about poppets. Maybe you've heard the word, but the long and short is that the idea of sticking pins in a doll in hopes of hurting someone from afar is mostly just a stupid thing made up for t.v. On the other hand, people have been using poppets for centuries. Poppets are small dolls filled with stuffing and herbs. They can be decorated in any way. If you have a poppet, it will hold some of your energy within it and provide you with healing, strength, and safety when you need it.

Mrs. B makes and sells poppets, so I commissioned one for Decibel. It arrived over the weekend and is now near, but not too near, Decibel's cage.

I'll let Mrs. B describe this magickal dolly:

"This custom made Voodude (tm) was created for healing and for added protection. It's stuffed with poly fil stuffing and contains herbs of healing, including lavender, plantain, eucalyptus, bay, and comfrey.

"The wings have been stitched with the following runes: Ken (healing), Thorn (protection), Ur (protection, health, and strength), and Rad (safety during traveling).

"This poppet has also been infused with Reiki healing and serves as a proxy for distant Reiki healings."

Mrs. B has never met Decibel, but nonetheless the poppet is a ringer for the bird. It's like having two Decibels, only one of them doesn't mouth off all the time.

EXHIBIT B: DECIBEL'S POPPET

If you want a poppet, or an herbal infusion for an ailment, you should visit Mrs. B's store. And for those of you who haven't gotten to meet her in person, let me just say that Mrs. B is as wonderful as her blog would lead you to believe!

Here's the link to her store:


 http://www.patheos.com/blogs/confessionsofapagansoccermom/shop/

Catch you next time on the Big, Broad, Flexible Portal of the Bored Gods!

Good Friday

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," celebrating the very-widely-observed seasonal festival of Eostre!

Here's an important philosophical question that I hope to pose to Eostre after the holy day. Is she bored (because her holy day has been usurped by another religion), or is she busy (because people dress up and celebrate Her holy day each year on the appropriate day)?

It's way past time for another "Gods Are Bored" interview, so hopefully we can get Eostre here next week.

In the meantime: Good Friday.

When you are a public school teacher who hasn't had a break since President's Day, Good Friday takes on a whole new meaning. Sorry for your suffering, Jesus ... really ... but having today off was WAY PAST FABULOUS.

No Stations of the Cross, no hours of mournful Bach cantatas. We at "The Gods Are Bored" slept until 9:00, prepared a simple breakfast, read Time magazine (Santorum: The First Amendment's best friend), and browsed the thrift store for candles and tablecloths. Accompanied by daughter, The Spare.

The sole black cloud on this day was a literal one, from a forest fire in the New Jersey Pinelands. Otherwise, again with apologies to the busy god, this day was good.

I've got my desktop computer back, it's purring like a kitten, and next week I'm OFF EVERY DAY!

Good, Good Friday! My Friday is like a red, red rose that newly blooms in April...

(Sorry, Shakespeare, but global climate change is upon us.)

Happy Eostre! Gods Are Bored busy blogging next week! LUV IT!

So nice to have the computer and the fabulous, wonderful artwork of Thalia Took!

The Company You Keep

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," dedicated silly Paganism since 2005! Some people only think they hear the Horned One whispering in their ears. I'm taking it to a whole new level, people. Here I am, taking His advice on how best to proceed in this and every other dimension!

Today's sermon: Is it bad to be bad?

The trouble with many people is that they can't distinguish between bad and evil. Any rule broken, any convention challenged, it's evil. Having a great time in a very rowdy way? Evil! Saying what's on your mind, even if it's an inconvenient truth? Evil! We should be serious. Uphold all standards of social respectability. And to whom do we look for those standards of respectability? Why, nice, church-going middle class white people, of course!

BAMP! Wrong.

Suppose we stop the clock for a day or two and allow The Horned One to call the shots. See, I know this Guy. He's a misunderstood bored god. Yes, He is going to encourage you to be bad. But no, most emphatically no, He is not going to want you to be evil. He wants you to have the time of your life, without harming yourself or anyone else. Yes, sadly, he wants you to overlook what might happen to the quality of the upholstery on your favorite ottoman. Stains happen. But they're stains, not sins.

People think the Horned One likes to lead young innocents astray. In my experience, there's no need of a deity to do the pushing when it comes to lust, especially in May. On the other hand, it's convenient to have Someone to blame it on when you creep off into the woods with a cutie. Devil made me do it, dontcha know.

Truth is, the Horned One doesn't make you do anything. He encourages you to enjoy yourself. My friends, our time of life is short. Let us all have fun being bad! And heck, if we stay outdoors we won't even threaten the purity of the chintz!

Bored God of the Boiler Room

Welcome to ... pant pant pant ... "The Gods Are Bored!" pant .. pant. I'm your scorched hostess, Anne Johnson. Hot! Hot! Hot!

The school building I work in is 80 years old and counting. It has an old-fashioned boiler room.

When I arrived in my classroom after Christmas break on Monday morning, the temperature hovered ... I kid you not ... at least in the 80s if not nearing 90. It was like walking into a sauna.

Our New Jersey governor is all for firing teachers and busting our union, but I wonder how much moolah the state could save if it upgraded old boiler rooms.

In an effort to lower the output of hot air (in my classroom, not from the governor's mouth -- latter being impossible), I took a hike downstairs to the boiler room to see what was up.

And here's just the problem that arises when there are bored gods around with no meaningful employment. Lounging in the boiler room I found Vulcan. He was staring vacantly at the furnace, occasionally adjusting the intake valves.

Granted, there are some bored gods who we can live without, and Vulcan certainly is one of them. Who needs a volcano erupting all over the place? Just ask those poor folks in Pompeii what they think of Vulcan. All the same, this Dude is out of place in a public school.

I'm frankly afraid to do a praise and worship for Vulcan, to get him out of the boiler room and on to bigger, better things. I didn't even say howdy to him. For all I know, I could offer him an interview here at TGAB, and he would respond by blowing my house sky-high so my humble belongings will make the lunar eclipses red. On the other hand, I have to spend 10 hours a day, sometimes more, in a room where it's becoming impossible not to sweat the small stuff.

I guess I'll have to approach Vulcan and, picking my words carefully, offer Him some sort of olive branch. Somehow I feel like He won't be any more enthusiastic about turning down the heat than the school janitor. More capable, yes. More willing, no.

Perhaps I'll send Vulcan an anonymous note gently suggesting He may wish to visit the Mid-Atlantic Trench until March or April. I could even pass myself off as one of the World Cultures teachers, in case Vulcan gets pissed. Something's gotta change, though. In this era of energy conservation, I hate having to open windows on the coldest day of the year.

Look! Up in the Sky!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Are you ready for some praise and worship? You are? Well, WOOT!

(WOOT is the new Hallelujah. Change with the times, already!)

It's high time ... and I mean high time ... that we had a friendly interview with a bored god. Honestly, you'd think we'd forgotten our mission statement or something.

The bored god we've invited today can get out of hand sometimes and be quite destructive. But you know what? Life and death being what they are, if you get killed by this God's work, it won't be the worst way to go.

The God in question is Catequil, sacred to the Inca peoples. Please give a warm, wonderful "Gods Are Bored" welcome to Catequil! WOOT!

Anne: Catequil, you were busy here in New Jersey yesterday. Your thunderclouds flooded every major artery that I needed to travel in order to pick The Heir up from her job.

Catequil: Hey. Wait a minute. I thought this was "praise and worship!" Are you complaining?

Anne: Not on Your eternal life, I'm not! I swear I could hear the plants in my back yard drinking up the water. We needed every drop of that inch-and-a-half rainstorm.

Catequil: Thank you. I endeavor to give satisfactory deluges.

Anne: Job well done, Mighty God! But you know, Catequil, I think all the NORADS and Dopplers and such have taken some of the magic out of sky-gazing. People still get all steamed up over stars and eclipses and meteor showers (I'm guilty as charged on that), but I think the fine mystical experience of cloud-watching has not gotten its share of press.

Catequil: Here's what I have to say to that!

Anne: Now, now. This is not how to win friends and influence people! I'm trying to interest my readers in the finer arts of cloud appreciation. In order for me to do that, you need to be less confrontational and more "with the flow."

Catequil: Oh, no one understands cloud-gazing anymore! In the eons before barometers, radar, and telegraphs, wise men and women interpreted the clouds and could thereby predict the weather. Nowadays even the school children don't learn about Cumulonimbus and Stratus clouds!

Anne: I learned them.

Catequil: In an elective high school science class.

Anne: That was a chippin class, Catequil. You see? I don't remember much about the 1970s, but I do remember Mr. Brown teaching us about cloud types. Combine that with all the afternoons spent lying on a blanket on Polish Mountain, staring up at the ....

Catequil: Don't you dare say clouds! I know you were buzzard-watching!

Anne: It's a big sky. Clouds, buzzards ... all is good. If I may be serious for a moment...

Catequil: Go ahead and try. I'd like to be in on this "first."

Anne: I just want to praise You and thank You, O holy Catequil, for the dramatic pre-thunderclouds and fully-formed thunderclouds, and shift-shaping Nimbus clouds, and puffy soft Cumulus clouds that you blew across the horizons of my life this week. I absolutely marveled at Your creations. Yes, modern science can explain every little twist and turn of colliding pressure systems, but the human eye -- and the human heart -- can still thrill to the miracle of clouds.

Catequil (scornful): Now your airplanes fly right through them.

Anne: Yes, but to me this does not diminish their greatness. It only provides humble humans with a different perspective on a holy creation.

Catequil: I'm starting to like you.

Anne: Well, I've always loved You, and I always will. Let me bore You with one little naval gaze before you head over to Africa.

Catequil: I've got time.

Anne: Glad to hear it. Okay, so here's the story:

Our house on Polish Mountain looked out to the west, and so did Uncle Earl's. Uncle Earl had a better view, but basically we all knew when a thunderstorm was coming ... We could literally watch it cross over Warrior's Ridge and advance up the valley and overtop the houses.

One evening, a whopper of a thunderstorm came roaring through just minutes before sundown. As it passed over, the sun came out on the far side of it. The setting sun turned everything -- everything -- magenta. Then crimson. Then lilac. Then violet. The clouds were magenta, and the weeds in the pasture were magenta!

We were all bustling around. Grandma and I were clearing the dinner dishes, Granddad had gone to the shed. But when those colors started turning the world into a natural Purple Haze, everything just ground to a halt, and we stood there admiring Your work, O mighty Catequil!

As soon as the magic sunset passed, and the thunder roared off to the east, Uncle Earl and Aunt Belle walked over from their house. Uncle Earl was the oldest of Granddad's family, and he said he'd never seen a sunset like that in his life.

Uncle Earl looked at me and said, "Anne Janette, you may never see another sunset that magnificent as long as you live."

So far he is correct, and almost 40 years have passed since that evening.

Catequil, I know the science behind cloud formations, but I still see Your work in them. Clouds are sacred things, mighty things, holy things. We who cannot be You must salute You. Thanks be to You, again, for the beauty and nourishment of Your holy clouds this past week!

Catequil: You're welcome. But you might want to go back and edit that anecdote. Little more of your name in there than you usually allow.

Anne: It's okay. I'm not going to change my uncle Earl's words. He was a Titan among men, and that's what he called me.

Catequil: Suit yourself. Oh say. Can I get a glass of water for the road? I'm parched.

Anne: How about if I fill the bathtub?

Catequil: If it's not too much trouble.

All glory, laud, and honor to Catequil, God of clouds! Next time you see the sky, blow a kiss to this fabulous deity. That's not moisture up there, it's mystery.

Another Interview

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" New Year's resolution: blog more, not less. It sucks being too busy to entertain bored deities with marzipan and petits fours! They go for that stuff like nobody's business.

Did you ever wonder why Christmas is celebrated on December 25? Some people think it's because the date is associated with Mithras, a truly bored god of post-Jesus Rome.

As for me, I don't buy into the Mithras thing. If you're a careful observer of the cosmos, which at least some learned people must have been in the Old Times, you begin to notice, right on or about December 25, that the days are indeed getting longer. This definitely calls for a celebration! I think this holy day must have been far wider spread than the followers of Mithras.

Speaking of the followers of Mithras, I have a treat for those of you who are. He agreed to drop by this morning, having nothing else in particular to do. And how nice! He brought some fine-looking steaks! Say what you will about Mithras, he can butcher like only a God can butcher.

Please give a wild, warm, wonderful "Gods Are Bored" welcome to Mithras, ancient deity of male soldiers and statesmen!

Anne: Thanks for the steaks, Mithras!

Mithras: They aren't for you. They're for your husband.

Anne: But there are enough to share, not only with my husband, but also with ...

Mithras: Your two female children. Forget it. Give your husband the steaks he can eat, and freeze the rest for him to eat later.

Anne: Whoa. It's not only politically incorrect and environmentally unfriendly to eat steaks in the first place, it's also discriminatory not to give them to women.

Mithras: Women don't matter. Except for breeding. Male children.

Anne: Lovely. I could be wrapping gifts, I'm talking to a sexist God with a bloody dagger. Hey! You get that thing near my upholstery, and I'll show you what I know about butchering!

Mithras: Don't threaten me. I'll have my followers squash you like a bug.

Anne: Do you even have any? Seems to me like all the sexist meat-eaters drifted away from you about 1600 years ago. Look, I don't know much about your praise and worship team, but I do know it was only open to men, and the rituals were conducted underground. When you were designing your agenda, did you ever think your team would work better if you admitted the gals too? And maybe had some nice, airy, user-friendly worship spaces?

Mithras: Women don't matter. Except for breeding. Male children.

Anne: (to her readers) Sheesh. You wonder why this one is bored? Some of them ought to be bored! (to Mithras) Your name always pops up around this time of year. Like, December 25 was your birthday, and you had disciples, and all that.

Mithras: Male disciples.

Anne: Male disciples are popular in many praise and worship teams. Here at "The Gods Are Bored," we have a big, broad, flexible outlook that includes women in the practice of Divine Mysteries.

Mithras: Sacrilege! (brandishes dagger perilously close to Anne's pristine wing chair) WOMEN DO NOT MATTER!

Anne: Sez you, Chump. Here's an idea. Why don't you buy yourself an all-terrain vehicle, drink a couple of six-packs, and go hunting?

Mithras: I don't have the money for an all-terrain vehicle.

Anne: Imagine that! And who do you think is to blame for your obscurity and its attendant financial woes?

Mithras: Women! Damn all women! No women allowed!

Anne: I'm a woman. So please don't let the door hit your butt as you leave. Take your steaks with you. I don't know whether this date has anything to do with you or not, but any deity who excludes half the population from his praise and worship team doesn't stand a chance against deities with more decency. Steer clear of my furniture, too! I'm not spending my holiday scrubbing chintz because of a sloppy macho deity!

(Exit Mithras in a huff.)

Readers, if you take anything away from today's interview, it's that some deities are born to be bored, some achieve boredom, and some have boredom thrust upon them. Mithras seems to be to have achieved boredom in spades. They say his remaining temples are interesting, but if I ever have money to travel, I think I'll seek out some cheery spa town instead.

Enjoy some days off, remember the poor (of both genders and all ages), and go in peace.

FROM ANNE
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

My Philosophical Difficulties with the Marcellus Shale Deposit

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," hosted by an expatriate Appalachian named Anne Johnson. Anne Johnson is my real name. What it lacks in originality is more than compensated for by its fabulous properties of anonymity. I am me, and we are many, and go ahead and Google, try to pick me out from the crowd!

It has long been known that a supply of natural gas exists deep beneath the mountains of Pennsylvania, Maryland, and northern West Virginia. This gas is trapped in a kind of rock layer called Marcellus shale. Recently, engineers have perfected a means of extracting the gas by blasting water through horizontal drills that are somehow plunged deep beneath the mountains' surfaces.

Several things have happened as a result of this little jump in drilling technology:

1. People who own piece-a-nothin' farms overtop the Marcellus Shale Deposit could be potential Jed Clampitts and are already being lured by big-money energy companies.

2. Those big-money energy companies (think Dick Cheney) are trying to do what they do best -- circumvent paying out dough to property owners and low-balling what they do give in compensation.

3. Environmentalists are debating the pros and cons of getting clean energy (natural gas) by doing more mountain-rape, which brings us to the debate that...

4. Drilling for gas beats mountaintop removal mining for coal and brings a similar payoff: energy from a domestic source.

My granddad had a natural gas lease on our 75-acre farm. The farm sits on top of Marcellus shale.

My uncle, who has lived on the farm for the past 25 years, canceled the gas lease long ago.

The farm could go up for sale shortly. I own a share of it, but so do several cousins who are strapped for cash. My sister also has a share in the place, and she wants to sell. I would like to keep the farm, but with two kids to educate and a house in New Jersey, I can't afford to buy a second property -- even though I would only have to pay 5/6 of the agreed-upon price.

Usually I can get a grip on issues pretty quickly, but this Marcellus shale thing has me all at sixes and sevens. Does the gas beneath my mountain make the property more valuable? How would I feel if the Cheney trucks came roaring in and started to drill, baby, drill? Would I rather keep the farm in the family, and reap the potential Clampitt windfall, or sell to some speculator? How much respect do I have for the beauty and purity of my mountain? What happens if my neighbors have differing opinions and open their properties to the Cheney drillers?

It's times like this when one needs a bored god's advice. And who knows the underworld better than Hades? So today I put in a call, and it happened that He wasn't too busy (imagine that!). Here he comes now, trailing a little fire-and-brimstone that smells like Retsina. Please give a wild, warm, wonderful TGAB welcome to Hades, Greek God of the Underworld!

Anne: Welcome, God of the Underworld! How are things down below?

Hades: Oh, man, I'm stoked. Stoked! Yowsa! I've got Tiger Woods!

Anne: You mean Tiger Woods is dead? I didn't see that on the news.

Hades: Not yet. But when he dies, I get him! Turns out he's a cheetah, not a tiger! (Laughs)

Anne: Oh, for the love of fruit flies! I didn't invite you hear to listen to bad puns. I have a serious philosophical issue to discuss with Someone who knows the inside of the Earth.

Hades: I'll show him a thing or two about golf.

Anne: Now. Let's go over this whole Marcellus Shale Deposit thing. Where does the deposit lie in relation to Your kingdom?

Hades: Every time he tees up, I'll melt his irons right out from under him.

Anne: Could we please not talk about Tiger Woods?

Hades: Hey. This is a big catch for me. I've never gotten over missing out on Lou Gehrig.

Anne: You've gotta have a hundred thousand top-quality athletes in your collection, Hades. Not to stereotype or anything, but they're kind of a randy lot.

Hades: Yes, and golfers are no exception. But Tiger. Tiger! Huge acquisition. Huge.

Anne: Just for a moment can You give me some insight on the Marcellus Shale Deposit?

Hades: This also gives me all his concubines. More cuties to keep me warm in the wintertime!

Anne: You know what, Hades? You're not the first bored god I've interviewed from the ancient Greek and Roman pantheons. And to be quite blunt, I can see why it was easy for Christianity to get a toehold in those cultures. You Greek deities all seem to have such flagrant human failings. Try to be serious for two seconds! Please!

Hades: I am serious. I'm a collector. Don't you get excited when you get a valuable new item for your collection?

Anne: I don't collect anything except memories.

Hades: Boooorrrrring! You should collect something! I suggest stamps. You don't have to be rich to own a first-class stamp collection.

Anne: You know what, Hades? I just remembered. I'm alive. And I have a lot to do today.  Look! Watch me move around, shoving the socks into the sock drawer! La di dah. Oh, it's great to be alive, with a wonderful new memory of dancing in the snow with the Spare, in the parking lot of the thrift store in Pennsauken...

Hades: I'll be back for you some day.

Anne: No you won't. I'm booked with another carrier. Thank goodness. Because it truly would be hell to spend eternity watching Tiger Woods try to play golf with molten putters.

Hades: Speak for yourself! I've got Tiger! I've got Tiger! (Dances into the storm drain and disappears.)


Well, readers, you never know what you'll get when you ask a bored god for an interview. Sometimes they help, sometimes they advise you to start a stamp collection. As always I'm open to your suggestions for a serious bored deity to which I can pose my ethical questions on the Marcellus Shale Deposit conundrum. Also, if you are reading this, and you have a personal opinion on the issue, I sure would like to hear that too. Even if you can spell "shale" and do nothing else, you'll offer me more than Hades just did.

Have a great day, and don't forget to look alive!

Why I Love Peter Pan

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," merry faeries and chocolate covered cherries, and mistletoe with waxy berries!

Please don't mind me. I rhyme to please the fae.

Hecate has a post up about Peter Pan. Who exactly is Peter Pan? Do we understand him?

It would be easy to dismiss Peter Pan as a figment of J.M. Barrie's imagination, a hero who appeals to kids because they're kids and to adults who remember childhood with nostalgia. It's equally simple to scorn Peter Pan because he's so blythe, so inconsiderate of the females who swoon over him, so wrapped up in being the leader of a gang of boys who refuse to accept adult responsibility.

There's a forgotten component to all of this. Peter Pan is immortal.

Peter Pan refuses to grow up. He is therefore unlikely to die of age-related issues. He lives in the suggestively-titled Neverland. Never gonna die. Nope, not me.

It's a tragic fact that many youngsters have horrible childhoods, marked by terror and abuse, by over-work or neglect. But in an ideal situation, where they are loved, human children enjoy a period of ecstatic happiness in their early years. They play with their peers, they snuggle under the covers with beloved toys, they run to Mom when something goes wrong ... and she fixes it. Dad takes them sledding, and to the ballpark to see the Orioles, or to the marsh to see the herons. They've got dogs and cats who love them and grandparents who spoil them.

If you consider that immortality will contain vestiges of the human to it, and not consist of some amorphous otherworldy positive energy, how would you like to live forever? Is it a coincidence that so many depictions of angels and faeries are of children?

To me, Peter Pan is not a bad little boy who's mean to girls and just likes to fight and take charge. He's immortality idealized. As a kid I loved Peter Pan, even went through a phase where I wouldn't answer to any other name. It never occurred to me that I couldn't be Peter Pan because he was a boy. I didn't even think of him as a boy. I just thought of him as a kid.

Now I know, of course, that Peter Pan exists in the ethereal world, that many cultures have met him and befriended him, and that he's ancient as the universe but still playing, playing like a happy child, mothered by Goddesses when necessary. Always his band of Lost Boys grows larger, because you see, they aren't lost at all. They're saved.

Our operators are standing by to take your call.

Every Religion Needs a Trickster

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," calling upon various bored deities when the need demands!

Today my daughter The Heir was performing her final pep rally as a high school senior in her Fighting Wombat mascot costume. The entire senior class decided to follow behind her into the gymnasium after all the other classes were seated.

Like a dutiful parent, I arrived at the school's front office and asked for a pass to go watch the rally. I was denied. I was told that no parents were allowed at the pep rally. When I said, "My daughter's the Fighting Wombat mascot, for the love of fruit flies!" I was told disdainfully that a cheerleader's mom was also turned away.

So I left the office and went back outside. That's when I asked myself, "WWTD?"

What Would Trickster Do?

Many religions have a trickster deity. Here's Loki, he's fun to hang out with, so long as someone else has the car keys. Coyote and Anansi are also Tricksters of note.

Any Trickster knows the difference between a law that mustn't be broken and a stupid idiotic moronic rule that someone made up and that no one enforces.

To make a long story short, with Loki as my guide, I proceeded to the A Gym and watched the pep rally until the exhausted Heir asked me to take the Wombat suit home. Right now the Wombat costume (sans Heir) is seat-buckled into the passenger side of my car, looking out the window.

If the cheerleader's mom is reading this and feeling that she was cheated, well, honey, maybe you need a Trickster deity in your life. Tricksters give you the freedom to question all the answers and decide for yourself whether or not you will harm yourself or anyone else by attending a high school pep rally.

There were plenty of bleacher seats available for any parent who might have wanted to attend. Loki and I had a swell time, and I'd like to thank the Asatru people for lending Him to me. (Hope I spelled it right that time!)

Likeness of Loki the incomparable artwork of Thalia Took!

If it's already Black Friday and you're here at TGAB, read below for helpful hints on surviving the upcoming holidays.

Tepeyollotl Explains the Creation of Caves

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," raving about caving since 1976!

That was the year I went into a wild cave and crawled through a passage 12 inches high, and got to thinking about what would happen if the rocks moved just a little bit.

Haven't been caving since.

But today I find myself thinking about caves. Have you ever been in an active cave? You find these stalactites that have itty bitty drops of water on them, which means they're growing at the astonishing rate of ... wait a minute, I'll have to look it up ...

Hard to find the answer to that. Predictably, the folks at the Creation Museum say that stalactites can grow as fast as Rapunzel's hair.

Conversely, the folks that have taken mathematical measurements and extrapolated from known rates of cave formation growth say that stalactites lengthen about an inch every 100 years.

If I'm wrong about that, correct me. I couldn't even find the answer to that in a geology textbook on my desk!

Were all the thousands of the world's caverns, known and unknown, created mostly in a fell swoop by that big old Noah's flood?

Damn, that was one busy-ass flood, huh? Canyons, mountains, caves. Sheesh. I'll bet that flood's been napping ever since.

We at "The Gods Are Bored" have invited a God of caves to comment on this. Please give a warm, wonderful welcome to Tepeyollotl, awesome Aztec God of caves!

Anne: (to herself) By my soul, these Aztecs had a god for every occasion! I wish they used easier spelling! (to Tepeyollotl) Welcome, honored God! Caves are magnificent spectacles of Nature at its finest.

Tepeyollotl: Thank you. I am very proud of my work.

Anne: Do you mean to tell me you have created all the caves in the world?

Tepeyollotl: Absolutely. What, do you think only Yahweh can create? He and I once had a cave-off, and his cave caved. You see, I'm a specialist. He's a generalist. Take your world-obliterating floods. I couldn't do that in a month of trying.

Anne: Glad to hear it. And I really must toddle. Sorry to keep this interview so short.

Tepeyollotl: Perfectly all right. I have a bridge game tonight.

Anne: So, readers. There you have it. Science proves beyond any doubt that Tepeyollotl, Aztec specialist god of caves, created all the caves in the world. And he's the god of earthquakes too, so you'd better not send any mathematician or scientist to contradict him!

Beannachd leat,

Anne

Interview with a Salmon

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," deep into the bowels of Lent!

This is no time to be a fish. You have heard the fishies' Lenten Lullabye, haven't you?

Now I lay me

Down to sleep,

I hope I wake

Within the deep.

If I should fry

Before I wake

I'll know it's Lent,

for pity's sake.

We at "The Gods Are Bored" therefore salute the bravery of tonight's guest, who has come here in all his amino-acid-rich glory and on a Friday to boot! Please give a wild, warm, wonderful "Gods Are Bored" welcome to Fintan, the Salmon of Wisdom, sacred to the Celtic pantheon!

Anne: Welcome, blessed Fintan, holder of all the knowledge in the universe!

Fintan: I wish you had told me you live up the street from a fish market, Anne. A customer tried to grab me. I had to eat his BlackBerry and cough it out without the memory chip.

Anne: Oh, sorry! I was afraid you wouldn't come if I mentioned the local shoppes.

Fintan: No problem. But perhaps you should give some background on me, for your readers who think humans are the be-all and end-all in the brain game.

Anne: Okay, well, Fintan's story varies from location to location, as all good fish stories do, but here it is in a Hazelnut of Wisdom shell. The great Finn Mac Cool (awesome Celt) wanted to gain all the knowledge he could in order to rule wisely.

Fintan: Unlike today, when your leadership vies to be stupidest on the planet.

Anne: See, folks? I told you he was one smart fish. Anyway, Finn Mac Cool's travels took him to a sacred well. Into the well dropped nuts from the Tree of Knowledge ... say. Wait a minute, Fintan. I thought the Tree of Knowledge had apples on it!

Fintan: Wrong tree, wrong pantheon. Stay with the hazelnuts.

Anne: Okay. The hazelnuts dropped into the sacred pool, and you, Fintan, ate them. You thus became stuffed to the plimsol line with wisdom and smarts.

Fintan: Precisely.

Anne: So Finn Mac Cool found you at your Phi Beta Kappa banquet, but there was a sage named Finegas living by the pool who kept trying to catch and eat you because that sage had divined that someone named "Finn" would catch and eat you and thus become a geek of first stripe.

Fintan: Poor Finegas. He was an old dude when Finn Mac Cool came along. Finn just snapped his fingers, and up I flopped onto the land. You'd think that would be a tip-off to Finegas that he was a fin short of a ten-spot. But no. Finegas asked Finn to cook me but not eat me.

Anne: And Finn did just that, except that he burned his thumb during cooking and had to suck on it to cool the burn. I know this has nothing to do with the story, but have you ever seen a man trying to barbecue anything? They don't fool me with their macho outdoor spatulas and lighter fluid.

Fintan: Finn was no exception. He rather botched the cookout, but he came away sadder and wiser for it. Sad because his thumb hurt. Wise because his thumb hurt. And whenever he wanted to use his far-ranging knowledge to solve some conundrum, he would just bite his thumb.

Anne: If old Finn Mac Cool hadn't flown off to Sidhe with the rest of the bored Celtic gods and goddesses, he'd be gnawing his thumb to the bone today. Does Finn really have a solution to tough stuff like global warming, wars of empire, and misguided use of taxpayer largesse?

Fintan: Of course! But he knows these One God people won't listen, so he's biding his time, along with all the Gentry of Sidhe.

Anne: Speaking of the One God people, they are just one of many praise and worship teams who feel that knowledge is the source of all evil. One thinks also of Prometheus and Pandora. I'm getting from you that the Celts thought their heroes ought to have knowledge. In fact, it seems like a significant prize.

Fintan: So significant, indeed, that Druids still include me by name in their rituals.

Anne: Yes, that's how I found you. By looking in the Druid Yellow Pages under "wisdom." Psyche! I knew about you already. I'm big into bored gods that ought to get better-paying gigs and more respect.

Fintan: And this does not surprise me. Is that not a Phi Beta Kappa certificate with your name on it, hanging on the wall?

Anne: I've always been a Druid. I just didn't know it until a few years ago.

Fintan: I knew it all along. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's nearing the supper hour, and I noted that big Roman Catholic family across the street...

Anne: Oh yes! We've got to take you to the river. Drop you in the water.

Fintan: You geezer. We're waiting for you in Sidhe.

Anne: I'm glad to hear it. Could I take just one picture of you? No one is going to believe how big you are!

Fintan: They all want a snapshot.

FROM ANNE

THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS, WV

Summer residence of Fintan, the Salmon of Wisdom