Harry Potter Smackdown

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where today the heroic Harry Potter meets his real destiny!

Go get a Vanilla Bean Frappachino from Starbucks, Voldemort. Anne is on the scene. And she doesn't need a damn wand and a bunch of Star Wars-quality henchmen. Yo, Potter's goin down, dawg.

Let me preface this much-needed rational assessment of Harry Potter by saying that I have enjoyed all of the books (now reading Vol. 7) and I have adored putting money into the pocket of J.K. Rowling, whose struggling artist story really touched my heart. I'm glad Ms. Rowling is richer than the Queen of England, okay? This is not jealousy.

Stop reading HERE if you think Harry Potter is destined to be the "next Huckleberry Finn."

I heard Harry labeled thus by a dewey-eyed Meredith Viera in a segment shown on Countdown with Keith Friday night.

Hey, Meredith! Go clean my basement, you moron!

Anne Presents: Ten Children's Classic Characters Who So Completely Beat Harry That He Should Really Be Dead

Arranged in importance from least to greatest:

10. Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Okay, I picked Laura mostly because she too has a set of seven volumes. Don't think you know her if you watched that sappy T.V. show. Laura's true adventures with her pioneer family are better written than Potter, far, far better illustrated than Potter, and present a plucky character whose parents enable her by ... duhhhhhhh ... teaching her everything she needs to know in a plain, straightforward way. No American girl should rise to adulthood without reading the "Little House" series.

9. Tiny Tim.

Oooooooooohhhhh, a character with one dimension! No facets to that sweet little personality! Spare me. Tim will be shivering by the scant Cratchet fire for centuries to come. Show me where Ron and Hermione have more dimension!

8. Frodo.

When enjoyment of quality fantasy literature shifts back to an older teen audience, Frodo will outlast Harry. Better story, and at three long volumes much more approachable for the bookish kid of the future. Also, frankly, a far more compelling examination of magic, wizards, etc. etc. etc.

(I told you to stop reading if you weren't prepared for my sermon!)

7. The Little Mermaid.

Did you not love this rebellious darling in the Disney movie? Pretty songs, great brave lil' gal, right? You'll like her even better if you seek out the original Hans Christian Andersen tale, written in ... oh dearie me ... 1836. Find the link yourself, cuz as you might have detected, I'm past pissed today.

6. Peter Pan.

An author with a firm grasp of childhood and a deep respect for faeries. Case closed.

5. Dorothy.

If ever oh ever a character there was, Dorothy of Oz is one because .... Let me count the ways. OHHHHHH! I'm melting, I'm melting, oh what a world, what a world! To the ten readers who are still with me: Did you know this immense and immortal children's classic was written as a political tract? No matter. Dorothy v. Harry? Shoes crush wand.

4. Tom Sawyer.

Krikey, Harry, your competition is getting tougher all the time! You might blunder past Laura Ingalls, but get real. Try scooping humor and magic by the fistfuls from a dirty little Missouri town. Tom don't need no stinkin wand. He's got a fertile brain! In a superstitious backwater community! Who needs an Invisibility Cloak when they've got a nice, stiff dead cat?

3. Alice in Wonderland.

Try though I might, I just cannot imagine a doctoral candidate at Yale penning a thesis about Death Eaters. Alice works on every level, and subtly at that. I'm being tempted to quit writing and go spend the afternoon with her! Alice is what happens when a genius decides to entertain the cute little neighbor girl. She will not be moved. Ever.

2. Huckleberry Finn.

Sorry, Meredith. Harry Potter is not now, nor will he ever be, Huckleberry Finn. You are not now, nor will you ever be, Edward R. Murrow. Do you get the analogy?

And yes, fans! Even Huck doesn't win ANNE'S AWESOME POLL OF BEST EVER CLASSIC CHILDREN'S CHARACTER!

Are you ready for this?

1. King Arthur.

He starts out as a boy, remember? On your knees, Harry, and don't expect a place at the Round Table until you've been rockin' on for ... oh ... 1000 years minimum?

Those of you kind readers who aren't wishing to fix me with some hex or curse might have a few favorite classic characters of your own that I've missed. I just go a little bit George Carlin when dewey-eyed witless reporters start comparing second-rate Charlies (or, in this case, Harries) to really, truly, eternally, classically great literature.

Come on, Toto. It's time to go back to Kansas.

Water v. Water v. Water

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," thirsting for the big, broad, flexible outlook since 2005!

It's so hot outside I'm glad I'm not a Christian. But today seems like a good day to talk about water.

This is a contentious issue. Not on par with the president's performance, of course, but a good argument-starter nonetheless.

So, is it tap or bottle?

Some people say that ordinary tap water is great to drink. I see their point. It's subjected to strict sanitary standards, it's cheap, and it doesn't leave behind a stupid empty plastic container. However, having said that, I must add that the quality and taste of tap water differs substantially depending upon where you live. It's like air quality. Does everyone in America breathe the same air? Hack, cough cough! Yer askin somone who lives in Joisy?

If your tap water comes from underground aquifers, or you live in a region that lies atop sand (for example, Daytona Beach), you need never in your life buy a bottle of water. Better yet, buy one high end bottle of water and keep filling it from your tap. You'll be treated like a Republican without actually having to be one.

Steer clear of this stuff. It's tap water, the same tap water used in soft drinks. Yeah, it's safe and filtered, but gulp gulp, and you've got an empty plastic bottle.

Don't be fooled into thinking that all water is the same. Sadly, the best water in the world comes from Macedonia, Bosnia, Tasmania, and New Zealand. If you don't live near those places, go right ahead and boil up that water from the pond behind your house. It is better never to have tried Antipodes than to have tasted it and now have to be without it. Trust me. It tastes better than any other water. Really.

Finally, steer way clear of this stuff. It is bogus, bogus, bogus! If you want to taste it without shelling out $50 bucks a bottle, buy a portion of Stone Clear Springs water, chug it, and bling bling! (That's where Bling gets its water. The bottle must have been designed by Ann Coulter.)

Anne Johnson's last piece of free advice: That 8 glasses of water a day rot? OH PLEEEEZE! Drink when you're thirsty. Drink until you feel less thirsty. Stop drinking.

Aren't you glad you read this blog? Shouldn't everybody? Tee hee.

Beannachd leat,

THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

The Intelligent Designer's New World Order

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," all you nonindigenous biological replants! Here's a steaming-hot plate of zebra mussels for you! What, you don't like them? They're small and tough? Get used to it. They're here to stay!

You can't blame the snake in the Garden of Eden for this one. Our Intelligent Designer knew that we were going to take a dive. It was all part of the plan, right? Because we had to spread out from that Garden and take our One God religion with us all over the world!

Off we go to make the whole planet one great, united rock! We grab up the seeds and stuff that have fed us wherever we began, pack them into the handy rucksack, and tote them with us. No cannabis or sugar in the Western Hemisphere? Hey, we'll transplant it! No pumpkins or cocaine in the Eastern Hemisphere? Hang on a second, we'll get you some! What's this animal? Why, a horse, of course! How now, a cow! And oh, say. Could we take a few of those pretty parrots over the sea for the queen and her chums? She can send us a few house sparrows in return. And you know what we really need in Australia? Bunnies!

Mercy mercy me. Things ain't what they used to be, no.

This charming creature is a Chinese mitten crab. From China. Duh. Scientists and commercial crabbers are now pulling these things out of the Chesapeake Bay, where they're competing with the indigenous blue crabs. Ah, no worries, though! There are now blue crabs in the Red Sea! Are you confused yet? Don't be! It's our Intelligently Designed Global Ecology!

Sadly, there's no going back to living off the land the way we find it to be, wherever we are. Can't shove those zebra mussels back into the ship ballast from whence they came. Can't box up the Aussie bunnies and FedEx 'em to Ukraine.

You know what we could do, though? We could thumb our noses at that Intelligent Designer and go find the gods and goddesses who really belong in our backyards. Just like the native wildlife, they've been shoved out to make way for a nonindigenous deity.

No matter what religion you profess, give some thought to clearing a little area in your living space, outside or inside. Research the ancient history of your surroundings. Invite into your life the deities who once guarded your little piece of ground. Make them a yearly offering of their native foodstuffs. They will appreciate it.

Think of it as a thousand points of light rising in rebellion against the Great Bad One-ness infecting our world.

FROM ANNE

Hail Manito!

Skinny Dipping in the Briny Deep

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we promise on our honor that this will be the last Chesapeake Bay adventure of the year!

Have you ever gone skinny dipping? I have. It's fun. Tee hee.

Having gone skinny dipping in the past prepares you to do it at any time. It's like riding a bike, you never forget how.

Last Friday morning the mighty Chesapeake was churning like a water park, whitecaps on the waves from a stiff northerly breeze. Family Johnson set out for a little walk along the shore line. All four of us, just as happy as ... well ... as two stressed out parents and a couple of nutty kids can be.

It was high tide, and the waves were crashing against the swimming pier fit to bust the boards right off it.

So, what possesses The Spare, my younger daughter? She climbs part way down the ladder on the swimming pier. Far enough that the furious waters snatch her flip flop and fling it seaward.

Family Johnson stands watching Spare's last usable footwear being tossed like Captain Ahab's boat. Papa Johnson is not amused. Every wave sends the bobbing shoe farther from shore.

Anne tells Papa Johnson and The Heir to walk on. They do, slowly. When they're out of earshot, it's Anne to the rescue!

Off with the garments, down into the briny deep! Tourists and fundie Christians watching? Phooey, who cares? It's impossible to find flip flops for sale after the Fourth of July. Spare needs that shoe.

Down the ladder Anne descends, shedding the final layer as she goes. Into the drink she ventures, jellyfish be damned. Shoe is grabbed, flung to Spare. Anne regains ladder, asks for certain garments, gets them, deftly returns them to her girlish figure.

Out of earshot, Mr. Johnson is predicting a speedy divorce. But he softens when Spare gives him a mockingbird feather as a peace offering.

Moral of the story: If you haven't yet learned to skinny dip, you'd better do it soon. You never know when you might need this essential skill.

More Battles with the Briny Deep

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we've lived through another vacation on the Chesapeake Bay! Whew! And I'd like to thank everyone for the nice comments about my battle with the horrible monster ... uhhhh ... truthfully, just a jellyfish. They sting, you know.

My Appalachian grandpa invented a drill that could nose out five holes side by side in a human hair (top, not side). No matter. He grew up a farm boy in Appalachia, and that means he was obsessed with the weather.

He passed that obsession along to me, thank goodness.

My daughter The Spare and I went for a kayak trip on the mighty Chesapeake. About a mile from where we stay there's a little strip of sand where, at low tide, the water's only about a foot deep. In other words, it's easy to spot jellyfish there. Which I was keen to do.

Spare and I were lounging in our foot-deep bath, maintaining a 360 degree view of our surroundings in case a jellyfish floated into our midst. (I was facing inland, where there's a radio tower popular to the local buzzards.)

I looked to the west, and there was no mistaking it. A frontal boundary appeared on the horizon, moving fast. It looked something like this.

The Heir just could not understand why I hustled her into the kayak so quickly she couldn't even get her shorts back on. I mean, I was nearly frantic, and above us was only blue skies.

We got started, paddling westward into the approaching storm. At first Spare thought I was nuts. Then a gust of serious wind and a little rain got her attention. Then we heard thunder.

"Dig in and paddle," I said.

Damn if she didn't ply that paddle with the strength of a sea monster. And The Spare is a slight lil' girl. She's well shy of 100 pounds.

To make a long story short, we beached back at our home port just as the wind gusts hit 40 and the thunder and lightning got serious.

I thank my hillbilly grandpa for watching the skies, because that frontal boundary was moving so fast, only a dedicated sky-watcher would have seen it coming. Hat tip too to the Spare for tucking in and rowing with all her might.

Tomorrow: More hillbilly resourcefulness in the land of tides.

FROM ANNE

THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

A Duel to the Death with the Kraken

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," deep in the heart of Maryland's Eastern Shore, i.e., One God Country! It's 95 in the shade, so hot that the region's legions of buzzards are sticking close to their radio towers.

Never bring faeries into One God Country.

Mine are pissed to the max. They're so angry they won't come out of the dresser drawer. They have cursed us with weather fit to fry an egg the entire week. But oh, that wasn't enough!

Yesterday, in a fit of heat-induced madness, I threw myself off a dock into the mighty Chesapeake. This was the moment my faeries were waiting for.

Pip pip! They summoned the largest jellyfish ever seen in the bay, a creature so monstrous that when it stung me they could still see its tentacles 10 miles away in Tilghman Island!

You should have seen that thing. It was thisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss long, with extra potent stingers. I actually lifted my arm out of the water and it roared as it gnawed away at the tender flesh.

In the background I could hear the snickers of Puck, Princess, and Aine, my resident faeries who just don't appreciate reading magazines about the evils of masturbation.

You know, it's bad enough that I'm from Appalachia and now have to live in New Jersey. Couldn't I at least take my vacations where the water doesn't run uphill? Because damn, those high tides bring in Krakens that gladly take orders from faeries and leave me swathed in Desityn, that stuff they put on diaper rash!

This Eastern Shore stuff is Mr. Johnson's idea. We're both from Maryland, but that's like saying we're both from America. I grew up a healthy spit from West Virginia, and he spent his happy summers on a doggone houseboat. The minute he sees a vast expanse of shimmering bay, his eyes go all moist and gooey. Then they throw a dozen steamed crabs in front of him, and he swoons with joy.

Moist and gooey. Kind of like a Kraken with the power to decimate even the strongest amongst us. And do you think Johnny Depp was around to help me? Oh no, of course not! Heir and Spare standing on dock saying, "Mommy Dearest, are you okay?"

Don't get this kind of crap in a swimmin hole.

FROM ANNE
HOMESICK IN ONE GOD COUNTRY

Can't Beat Dick

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," waiting for our invitation to open a session of the U.S. Senate with a prayer to Chonganda!

Chonganda has a praise and worship team of ONE (that being me), but I'm an American, and I have the right to hear my deity get his day in Congress. Fair is fair, as long as we're praying in ... PRAYING IN THE SENATE????? For the love of fruit flies, when did they start doing that? Was the ink dry on the Establishment Clause?

Tomorrow the Johnson family leaves for its annual vacation, an ambitious trek to St. Michaels, Maryland (less than 3 hour drive). None of this jetting off to Namibia to see Griffon Vultures or anything like that for us! Oh no. We just lick our chops over breathing the same air as Dick Cheney, Donnie Rumsfeld, and the newest neighbor in search of quality waterfront ... Michael Jackson.

The Spare lobbied relentlessly for this vacation destination because there are two cute dudes living near the B&B where we stay. That would be the B&B with all of Bill O'Reilly's books in its reading room and the Washington Times in the breakfast nook. And the photo of Dubya in the kitchen. Bibles on every nightstand.

It gets worse. I thought the new Harry Potter came out today. Nope, it's next week, when I'll be back from vacation! I've already slurped up this year's Carl Hiaasen novel. So this throws me back on yet another dreary Dan Brown rip-off that I bought at the flea market today.

The good news is that there's so little to do in St. Michaels that I'll beg to spend an hour every day at the local library, blogging my lungs out. So tune in, because you'll want to know what flavor of pie I heave at Dickie or Mikey or Rummy if my kayak strays into their protected waters.

There's also bound to be a few copies of Christian Male (or whatever that magazine was called), lying scattered around the breakfast nook. Those things are cotton candy to "The Gods Are Bored" when it comes to blog topics. Brings a whole new meaning to "Can't Beat Dick," if you get my drift.

Imagine a vacation where the high point is reading stuff you hate so you can blog about it. Actually I am just weird enough to be cool with that.

My Second Press Briefing as Surgeon General

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we're relishing our brand-new job as Surgeon General of the USA! That makes us the top dog when it comes to health issues in this great, grand Republican ... err ... Republic. (I always get those two mixed up.)

Oh, these pesky Democommunist senators! They're probing my past the way a proctologist plumbs for piles!

Okay, I'll admit it. In 1991 I was a Grand Poobah in the United Methodist Church. You know, a nice, middle-of-the-road kind of denomination that appeals to everyone and anyone. Even though they've dropped their "Open Hearts, Open Minds, Open Doors" television commercials, the United Methodists are mostly welcoming to anyone who's straight and who doesn't believe in evolution. Of course it helps if you've got deep pockets and can help finance church expansions.

And yes, I did write a scientific paper called "The Nasty, Evil, Pestilential Diseases Homosexuals Get Because Their Sex Is Not Complementary." In the paper I wrote that straight sex is complementary, meaning normal, and gay sex is a quicksand of degeneracy that leads to deathly illnesses, rather in the manner that masturbation leads to blindness.

This paper was meant in part to bolster the United Methodist Church's position that gay people could come to their church if they sit in the back and provide all the flower arrangements. But forget about gay people being in the clergy. Ain't gonna happen. Who wants a pastor who's prone to every contagion on the planet?

Can you believe the stupid senators taking me to task on this? I told them I don't feel that way anymore. Why isn't that good enough for them?

I have totally changed my mind about masturbation. It doesn't lead to blindness. Except sometimes, especially amongst Mormons.

And as for that other little thing, the homo thing, well, I've changed my mind that homosexual relations can lead to bursitis, which is one of the illnesses I listed in my paper as being directly tied to an unnatural lifestyle. There is also no conclusive evidence at this time that homosexuality leads to athlete's foot.

So cut me a break, for the love of God Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth! I'll be a great Surgeon General, a loyal soldier in the righteous team of Bush, Cheney, and the Skull and Bones!

Hey, I know all about skulls and bones. I'm Surgeon General!

Source: Philadelphia Inquirer, July 13, 2007.

My First Press Conference as Surgeon General

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" What a spot of luck! I've been out of work for awhile, and it's been tough. But today, our Fearless Leader appointed me, yes moi, Surgeon General of the United States!

Good morning, Gods and Goddesses, and welcome to my first statement as Surgeon General of the United States. Today I would like to talk about the serious public health problem of rosacea. Rosacea is an inflammation of the skin, manifesting itself in red pimples that resemble acne...

Aphrodite: Excuse me, Madam Surgeon General. Can you please address the far more pressing problem of teenage pregnancy?

Anne: Ah, yes. Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder. And faithfulness in marriage makes you ... ineligible to be a U.S. Senator ... emmmm.... wait! Sorry! I mean, Sorry. All mention of human reproductive issues has been stricken from my talking points. Back to rosacea...

Chonganda: Rosacea affects a handful of middle aged white people. Can we discuss the 47 million Americans who have no health insurance?

Anne: Sorry again. I'm a Surgeon General, not an insurance executive. I only care that you are sick, not how you're going to get treatment for it. But, if I can digress from my prepared notes for a second, I would like to say that Michael Moore is a big, fat, really really really fat liar. All those statistics he used about America ranking last in all industrial countries in health care for its citizens were provided to him by Al Qaeda.

Gitche-Manitou: On behalf of Big Tobacc.... err .... the Sacred Cultivar That Has Never Ever Been Shown to Hurt People, Really and Truly, I am appalled at that torrent of falsehoods your predecessor released about second-hand smoke. I wish to have it stricken from the permanent record immediately.

Anne: Done! Have I mentioned yet what a wonderful leader George W. Bush is? I'm supposed to do so every 20 seconds.

Gitche-Manitou: And how can people enjoy an expensive meal without their dessert cigars? Return smoking to all public places at once!

Anne: Done, without question! This is the Bush/Cheney era, we don't need to explain ourselves! Back to rosacea. This administration plans an aggressive campaign to combat the scourge of rosacea...

Brighid: And what does this administration plan to do about Parkinson's Disease, Madam Surgeon General? Your own father died of it. Stem cell research...

Anne: Don't even say those words. The S-C-R words are not allowed. You have to get the S and the C from innocent unborn babies, and we don't kill babies here in God's own U.S.A.

Danu: If we don't kill babies, how come the United States has the worst infant mortality rating of any industrialized country?

Anne: What are you, another Michael Moore operative? I'm here to talk about important health issues, not silly statistics. Look at this long list of topics our great leader, George W. Bush, gave me to cover today: rosacea, pellagra, lazy eye, tennis elbow, irregularity, and dust mite allergies. I've got four pages on irregularity alone, each of them duly mentioning George W. Bush twice, as per mandate by the fine, upstanding people who work for him whose names I won't reveal.

Bacchus: I'm glad to hear that obesity-related illnesses aren't on that list.

Anne: Oh, dear God in Heaven, no! Over-eating is good for the economy! It's good for the farmers, it's good for the fast food franchises, it's good for peoples' mental health. Supersize me! Or maybe I should say, supersize Michael Moore! (Tee hee!)

Lord Voldemort: Personally I think we have found a wonderful new Surgeon General, a woman whose philosophy fits perfectly into the New World Order being instituted by the fine and illustrious Dick Cheney ... err ... George W. Bush ... and his excellent helpers.

Anne: Thank you, Mr. Voldemort, Sir. I'll see you tomorrow at Camp David. Now. I've had enough of this fractious question-posing. You gods and goddesses (with the exception of Bacchus and Gitche-Manitou) are disturbing the peace. The officers moving into place will arrest you now, so that I can go on talking about rosacea without being disturbed any more. That's "more" as in "yes, I'll have some more Freedom fries," not "Moore," as in Michael Moore. Where was I? Oh yes. Rosacea is an inflammation of the skin, manifesting itself in red pimples that resemble acne...

Source: Philadelphia Inquirer, July 11, 2007.

Why I Am Not Divine


Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we're having trouble with our headline machine. If anyone knows how to fix it so we can title these things again, please advise.


There are any number of religions out there, and not a few atheists, who think each of us has a spark of divinity within. Do you feel god and/or goddess impulses flowing around inside of you?


Conversely, there are many pantheons that are brimming to the plimsol line with gods and/or goddesses with human traits. Pulling one out of the hat here, I get "I am a jealous God." A jealous God? Aren't gods supposed to be above and beyond jealousy?


We at "The Gods Are Bored" decided to take a poll. First we present ourselves as Exhibit A, and the bored gods/goddesses as Exhibit B. Let's see what we have in common:


EXHIBIT A: ANNE



Athlete's foot? YES

Flatulence? YES

Depression? YES

Suspicion? YES

Bad Hair Days? YES

Inflamed Gums? YES

Constantly Living with the Good of Humankind at Heart? NO

Fairly Nice, but Not Perfect YES

Good Parent? NOT CONSISTENTLY

Jealous? NO (pretend to be sometimes to make Mr. Johnson feel good.)



Okay, that's Anne. Now I pose the same questions to a random sampling of bored gods and goddesses from multiple pantheons across the globe. (They were thrilled to be asked to fill out a questionnaire. It was a welcome break from finding needles in the amber waves of grain.)



Athlete's Foot? NO

Flatulence? NO

Depression? NO

Suspicion? NO

Bad Hair Days? NO

Inflamed Gums? NO

Constantly Living with the Good of Humankind at Heart? YES

Fairly Nice, but Not Perfect? NO

Good Parent? YES

Jealous? NO


Time did not permit us to conduct a statistically significant survey, so the only conclusion we can draw from this little experiment is that Anne is human and the bored gods don't experience flatulence or inflamed gums.

Sunday Cat Blogging

It's hell being a foster kitten mother. You've gotta be made of steel. That's why it pisses me off so much when ignorant moron fundies accuse Pagans of slaughtering kittens.

See these three? I nursed them through roundworms and kitten digestive disorders. I bottle fed them and rubbed their cute little ears until they did their cute little kitten purrs. They got a little bigger, I let them run and wrestle around my feet. I let them climb my leg and sleep in my lap.

I took them back to the animal shelter on Memorial Day weekend. They're still there.

To all who would insist that my religion sanctions cat murder, I say, go adopt those kittens and bring them up in a nice Christian home!

Fabulous Dry T-Shirt Contest!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Struggling to keep labor unions alive and healthy in America since the days of Ronnie "bust 'em" Reagan!

Mr. Johnson brought a brand-new t-shirt home from his union meeting last night.

Details:

Gorgeous deep purple color

First line: THE BEST THINGS IN LIFE ARE

Second line: Negotiable (bright red, cursive)

Third line: UNION (blue)

Fourth line: YES (stars n stripes)

Size: XL

This shirt can be yours, yes, yours! (It's too big for my girlish figure.)

All you have to do is:

1. Leave a comment

2. Send me an email (address in profile)

On Sunday I'll put all the names in a hat and draw one. In time for Labor Day, you could have the most bitchin, righteous union shirt on your block!

Oh, I forgot: The bottom of the shirt says

TNG-CWA LOCAL 38010 PHILADELPHIA, PA

This added line will get you safely through any neighborhood in Philly. Any neighborhood in Philly. Any neighborhood in Philly.

And free beer if you wander into the right bar.

ENTER NOW! YOU SNOOZE, YOU LOSE!

Image: Union workers, Labor Day, Philadelphia, 2006

Should've Skipped Straight to the Family Barbecue

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," sniveling cowards since ... emm ... since ... emmm ... oh hell, since Eisenhower was president!

My daughters The Heir and The Spare are in a national organization called Children of the American Revolution. C.A.R. for short. Like 99.9 percent of all the youngsters in C.A.R., they absolutely hate it. Yet The Spare persists because she wants to be able to put it on her college applications as community service.

Here in our bucolic New Jersey borough, we have a mom somewhat younger than me who is a stage mother for C.A.R. Her daughter, The Heir's age, is the state president. So, wanting to put on a nice show for the daughter, Stage Mom engineered a modest Fourth of July float, recruited a few kids from the neighborhood to wave flags, sat her daughter in a different vehicle (posh convertible) with an equally posh D.A.R. member, and a very posh banner identifying the two of them as poobahs, and off we went to the local Fourth of July parade!

Recall, folks, that if you're in a parade, you don't get to see it. You sit on your float for 45 minutes until it's your turn to float down Main Street. Which can get a tad boring for a bevvy of 5-year-olds.

I'll give it to The Spare. She spent three days making signs for the kids to carry. C.A.R. Stage Mom didn't like them, but we used them anyway. (Adults carried them.) The signs all had to do with an incident that happened in the bucolic borough in 1777. You know, the usual heroic bloodshed and all that rot.

Except someone had written something on the back of each of The Spare's signs. Just a little light something in thin ballpoint pen.

The back of the signs said:

IMPEACH

WHERE'S OSAMA?

PARDON MY FRIENDS

OUT OF IRAQ NOW

Gee, I wonder who pimped those signs?

Okay, I'm a closet Freeway Blogger without the guts and the savvy to do interstate highways. Told you I'm a craven coward.

So we march in the parade. Spare is pouting as only a 13-year-old can because she hurt her foot and Stage Mom (rightly) would not let her march barefoot. Spare had to sit in the float with the tots. Heir is lugging a sign with a significant lack of enthusiasm, especially given that the only other young woman her age in the group is sitting in a convertible, perfectly coiffed, waving like Miss America.

We get to the end of the parade route, and I'm toddling around collecting The Spare's signs before anyone can spy the subliminal messages. Lo and behold, Stage Mom shouts: "Oh, give me those! We can use them at the state picnic!"

I won't be able to herd The Heir and The Spare to the state picnic with a cattle prod, but I'll betcha those signs don't make it there either. I know Stage Mom's politics.

FROM ANNE

Will this Mercury Retrograde ever end?

Blogging Against Theocracy: Who Let the Moths Out?

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" One abomination, under Gawd, indigestible, with Libby free and justice in thrall!

I don't know about you, but I think our American flag is sort of like the picture of Dorian Gray. If it could show its true colors, it might look something like this:

Someone unleashed the Four Gypsy Moths of the Apocalypse. And they are: Greed, Corruption, Injustice, and Hypocrisy.

America. We create a wasteland and call it progress.

Blog Against Theocracy

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," separating church and state with a crowbar if necessary!

We proudly join the July 1-4 Blog Against Theocracy, and we encourage our readers to do the same.

Our founding fathers were mostly Christians, but they were enlightened enough to see a day when this nation would include people of many different faiths and many different sects. And so, in the very first Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, they included the following words:

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof."

Okay, boys and girls, let's say it again, and maybe we'll know it by memory.

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof."

Sweet land of liberty. So mote it be.

FROM ANNE

EXERCISING DRUIDRY AS PER CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHTS

Thalia Took: Artist to the Bored Gods

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," restoring dignity and grandeur to pantheons far and wide! This One God thing has gone far enough, don't you think?

Awhile back I did a well-received interview with Manannan Mac Lir, a Celtic bored god who really took a barb from the One God people. I used this terrific picture:

Twice, I think, I've interviewed Sedna, bored goddess of the Inuit people. I used this picture:

Both are the creation of an artist named Thalia Took.

Thalia's done way more for the bored gods than I have. Her site is spectacular. The best part is, you can get god/goddess t-shirts from her!

So, link on over to Thalia's awesome site and prepare for an eye feast.

FROM ANNE

THE MERLIN OF BERKELY SPRINGS

The Polyphonic Spree: A Druid Tabernacle Choir

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," riding out a bumpy Mercury retrograde! All good faeries on deck! Full speed ahead!

Last night my daughter The Heir and I went to a rock concert. Except when you think of rock concerts you don't exactly think of Druid happenings. Which is what it really turned out to be.

The Heir is notable for her extremely eclectic taste in modern music. Her tastes are so extraordinary that she can't drag her friends to see the bands she wants to see. And that's great, because she drags moi, and that makes me feel like I'm vibrant and young!

Last night's band was The Polyphonic Spree. Their latest CD is called The Fragile Army.

Heir and I each paid $23 plus tax to see The Polyphonic Spree. In all my life I've never had so much fun for such a modest fee. Not even on the night the 1979 Baltimore Orioles clinched the AL Pennant.

During their first frantic and well-received set, the band wore identical navy blue Red Cross uniforms. They performed in this attire for over an hour. Then, coaxing a litany from their well-behavied Philly audience, namely:

All in good time

Raise our voices

They left the stage one by one while we continued to chant. And cheer.

Puck was along for the concert, and when he heard this chant, he charged off to alert the bored gods. And all in good time too, because this extraordinary band came strolling through the audience dressed like this...

And led us in a round of "Awens!"

After that I couldn't keep Puck around my neck like a good little faerie. He wanted to fly above the crowd, so I let him.

The bored gods quit their game of hopscotch and came flooding into the concert hall, where they just became part of the happy mayhem.

I'm in a small Druid grove, and we always chant our Awens. All 12 of us, if we get that many. I've wondered for awhile what the chant would sound like coming from 100 or 1000 voices. It draws down cascades of positive energy!

So, with much excitement, we at "The Gods Are Bored" choose The Polyphonic Spree as our official band (actually, orchestra with choir). This choice is endorsed by the Celtic pantheon, because even though they have their traditional music, they like to feel up-to-date.

Awen. Awen. Awen.

FROM ANNE

All's Well, It's Just Hell: Navel Gazing

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," navigating between a rock and a hard place and being buffetted by both! Yo, Odysseus! How'd you do it, dawg?

I once saw this tear-jerking Christmas special about a little boy in the ghetto who started feeding a stray cat secretly. His mom said they couldn't have a cat in their apartment. So the kid develops this sweet relationship with the cat, and what do you think happens? Cat gets flattened by a semi.

Then the kid can't cry about it because his mom told him not to feed the cat in the first place.

It's kind of the same thing when your beloved first born wrecks your beloved bumper-sticker-plastered jalopy. Can't take on too hard about the car that's enshrined in your heart, because of course the daughter is enshrined even deeper.

But damn, my dear little car!

This was, I'm sure, the only car I'll ever have that I chose entirely by myself. I got her from a church lady who'd used her solely to commute to work and back (about 12 miles a day). The car was an economy Ford, immaculately maintained, with no deep secrets buried under the hood. Because she was old, she didn't mind liberal embellishment with bumper stickers.

Say what you want about American cars, but I drove my Ford five years with just routine maintenance. Pretty solid for a $3000 investment.

For my own fading memory, I hereby list "Trusty's" bumper sticker collection, because the bored gods know that any replacement auto (chosen with Mr. Johnson's emphatic feedback) will be too classy for such stuff.

R.I.P. TRUSTY

Ford 1994 Escort hatchback LX
65,329 miles

Interior: gray fabric

Exterior: faded white

Embellishments (i.e. bumper stickers)

Sprawl-Mart: Always Low Wages
The Labor Movement: The People Who Brought You the Weekend
Fourth Amendment to the Constitution (illegal search and seizure)
Tinker Bell: What are YOU looking at? (next to 4th Amendment)
First Amendment to the Constitution (Establishment Clause)
My Karma Ran Over My Dogma
I (heart) Turkey Vultures
It's a Druid Thing
Create the World You Want To See
Appalachia
APL (also Appalachia)

The turkey vulture one had a buzzard inside the heart.

Okay. My daughter's fine, and I'm so happy about that. But can I still mourn my car?

FROM ANNE
THE MERLIN OF TURKEY VULTURES

Will the U.S. Constitution Buy an Indulgence?

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," looking for a federal grant for our faith-based initiative since 2000!

What? A Druid with a faith-based initiative? Yeppers, it's called Save Terrapin Run. I don't see why the federal government won't give us money to preserve a clean little stream and all its innocent critters from an evil developer. Shouldn't Right to Life extend to crawdads?

Federal funding for faith-based initiatives. Hey, Librarian of Congress! Give me that copy of the U.S. Constitution so I can take my scissors to the First Amendment!

I do have a super-duper suggestion for the Roman Catholic Church. They will be issuing indulgences this summer to their members who don't crave long, boring eons in Purgatory. Quite nice of them, don't you think? Now you really can buy the stairway to heaven.

So let's get a federal grant for all the Roman Catholics who want to take advantage of the indulgence initiative. Because, you know, the priests say there's no money involved, but the indulgee has to go to a shrine. You think when the indulgee gets to the shrine, no one's gonna ask for a donation?

Here's my solution. The Catholic Church should apply for a federal grant that will give poor Catholics bus fare and spending money for their indulgences. It's a win-win situation. Indulged Catholics make better voters, and clearly the government doesn't need the money for anything else or it wouldn't be dumping largesse on religious organizations.

As usual, this advice is offered free of charge.

Now I've got to go finish my grant proposal. It's called "Application by Order of Bards, Ovates, and Druids for Ecological Research and Non-Development of Dry Branch Stream Beds in Appalachia and Other Mountainous Regions."

Beannachd leat,

THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Some Things You Just Don't Joke About

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," thanking every pantheon that our daughter The Heir is safe and sound!

Ah, well, The Heir navigated the trusty 1994 Ford Escort home from a Monkey Man-led puppet show and poetry reading last night. Mom had sipped a few.

Today The Heir drove alone to her summer job, and on the way home she blundered, and the trusty Ford is ... well.

But that doesn't matter, because The Heir didn't even get a scratch.

Some people drive their cars. We at "The Gods Are Bored" have relationships with cars. We've driven our 1994 Escort for five years with nothing more than routine maintenance. We've plastered her with Pagan and Appalachian bumper stickers -- and amendments to the U.S. Constitution. We adore that car!

But an accident was overdue. This is New Jersey.

Yes, this is New Jersey, where a novice teen driver can make a blunder, get broadsided, and the wronged driver gets out, looks at his car, tells her (in thick foreign English) that she should be more careful, and drives away.

Right now The Heir is upstairs sleeping. The mom is trying desperately not to contemplate life without The Heir. The Escort is in the driveway.

Does anyone know if 1994 Ford Escorts are made of good American steel? Because if they are, a body shop might be able to knock everything but the passenger door back into place.

C'mon all you guys out there. Leave a comment before the New Jersey body shop guy tries to fleece the fleas off my hide.

My daughter is safe. My car still runs. Thank you, guardian Goddess Queen Brighid the Bright!

Beannachd leat to all,

THE MERLIN WHO MISSES COUNTRY DRIVING

Tagged: I'm It!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we've always been the one who gets tagged and then can't tag anybody back! Year after dreary year, from K right through 12, Anne was always chosen dead last for any game, from the sandlot to phys ed class.


Hecate has tagged me to list eight random facts about myself.


1. I love to write.


2. I started this blog because I read in the newspaper that a lady with a blog got enough money from her readers to get surgery for her sick dog. Funny thing is, I don't have a dog.


3. I've had the same pair of prescription sunglasses for five years. The faeries have hidden them from me 1, 826 times.


4. I have impure thoughts but I don't act on them. It's against my religion.


5. If I could go back in time for one day, I'd choose the evening when my grandpa had all his brothers and sisters over, and we watched slides of Uncle Walter's milk cows for two hours. (He said he was bringing slides of his trip to the Grand Canyon.) Every time a new cow picture came up on the screen we all hooted. Never had so much fun.


6. I love to watch snow fall.


7. My daemon's name is Buzzy.


8. Last week I was leafing through a copy of Brian Froud's Sketchbook, and I saw the faerie I used to play with when I was a kid, before Buzzy came along. The faerie's name is Oot (pronounced "ewt").


Thank you for visiting me at "The Gods Are Bored!" I look forward to entertaining you every day. It's not work, it's play.


Following my usual path, I now tag half Appalachians and half Pagans. Appalachians: Rosie, Wandering Hillbilly, Elvis, and Kayak Dave.


Pagans: Scott, Athana, and Nettle.


Beannachd leat,
THE MERLIN, etc.etc.

Chick Tracts; Or, Moron Alert!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," slaughtering kittens in pentagrams since ...

Wait a minute. We've never slaughtered kittens in pentagrams!

Remember those little Christian tracts you always see crumpled up in trash cans? Now you can read them online. Elvis Drinkmo alerted me on his new blog DCComitician. (It's a great site. Where else can you ponder What Would Starfleet Command Do?)

The site is called Chick Publications. And the fare hasn't changed since I was a kid and earnest-looking church ladies passed them out at carnivals.

Of course I was eager to see how Chick Lit portrays Druids, and I was not disappointed. I do hope these pictures copy in a readable way, but if they don't, go to the site and click on "BOO."

Wow. No wonder Dogson ... err ... Dobson rails against us! We're spooky! And forget about kittens! We want virgins! Human sacrifice! Especially on our spookiest day, Halloween!

Oh, pleeeeeze. What moron's lively imagination conjured up this wackadoo horse piffle?

I pity the trees that got pulped for this garbage.

Can I speak for Druids everywhere? I think so. We are peace-loving and highly moral people. As for Satan, he belongs to their pantheon, not ours. Stop passing him off on us.

I close with

EXHIBIT A: CREEPY DRUIDS

No, can't resist an EXHIBIT B:

Casey Jones, Foster Kitten NOT SLAUGHTERED

Beannachd leat,

ANNE, THE EVER-SO-NOT-CREEPY MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Summer Vacation

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where Summer Solstice and stomach flu co-mingle in disappointing ways! Life is never dull around here.

Where are you going on summer vacation?

We at "The Gods Are Bored" have taken some long, strange summer vacations. As a teenager, we spent three whole summers in Tudor England with King Henry VII and his six wives, and his daughter, Queen Elizabeth.

Today, just for instance, we took yet another little trip to Dayton, Tennessee, for another walk-through of the Scopes Monkey Trial. (We can tell the heat is really getting to William Jennings Bryan.)

Many many times over the last 15 years, we at "The Gods Are Bored" have spent the summer in the Middle Ages, agonizing with the Knights Templar through their little adventure in illegal search and seizure, denial of habeus corpus, confessions under torture, and interminable prison sentences without benefit of trial.

Heck, we don't have to go back to the Middle Ages for that stuff anymore, do we? We at "The Gods Are Bored" will save a fortune in time machine fares!

Every summer we at "The Gods Are Bored" take a pleasant romp through Florida with extreme environmentalists and their enemies, the gutless power brokers who want to pave everything with asphalt. We can thank the peerless Carl Hiaasen for booking these trips.

This summer we're also vowing to rejoin W. Y. Evans-Wentz on his mission of exploration of The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries. We've gotten as far as Brittany.

If you don't get what we're getting at here, it's this: Why drag your tired ass onto a plane? Find a recliner, grab the book in one hand and an ice tea in the other, and you're in the Everglades at the discount price of $18.95!

Carl Hiiasen, Nature Girl, Knopf, 2006.
W. Y. Evans-Wentz, The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries, Citadel Press, 1994.
Anne Johnson, Gray Magic, coming soon to a blog near you.

Beannachd leat
FROM ANNE
MOM FIRST, THEN DRUID

What You Hear on the Radio

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored" on Summer Solstice 2007! Get out your drum, light your bonfire, and have a TaB and a smile!

I'm driving home from the last day of school, and it's getting close to 2:06, the official beginning of summer. Lo and behold I hear on the radio:

"More than 20,000 Druids greeted the Summer Solstice at Stonehenge, even though the sun didn't cooperate. Through clouds and fog the crowd celebrated: Druids, hippies, and Pagans..."

This coming from a news radio four time zones from Stonehenge.

I don't know about you, reader, but I count that as a fine bit of publicity for the Old Time Religions!

As for the hippies, well, all hail hippies! We at "The Gods Are Bored" never argue with sex, drugs, and rock n roll.

Summer's here and the time is right for dancin in the street!

For my good friends in the other hemisphere, get ready, your sun's a-comin' home.

Beannachd leat,

ANNE

THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Puck on the Last Day of School

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," gainfully underemployed since 2004! Did you ever have a great job you loved, only to turn on your computer one morning and find an e-pink slip? Yeah, me too.

But what luck! Here's Puck to roil the muck!

Puck: Anne, you fool. It's the last day of school! Break every rule! Bend every tool!

Anne: Puck, I'm stuck. No job, out of luck. School's the fort of last resort.

Puck: Oh, that's dreary. Makes me weary. Now now, Annie, don't get teary.

Anne: Sorry, Puck. I've lost my pluck. And still I've got to make a buck.

Puck: O may the fae come save the day! We just must find another way!

Anne: Lead on, o sprites, be guiding lights, send wishes on these shortest nights.

Puck: O, would you look? Anne wrote a book! And what a long, long time it took.

Anne: Puck, it's fiction with no friction. Publishers rejected it, agents have ejected it.

Puck: So you gave in? Now that's a sin. Please try again, you will well win.

Anne: Alert the fae, I'm in the fray. I'll put the novel back in play.

Puck: Either way you will go gray. So live a bit. What do you say?

Anne: I say it's Miller time.

Beannachd leat,

THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Odd Thing

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," all you bright and beautiful people! Are you having a nice day? Me neither.

Something odd is happening to me. Namely, I'm starting to like living in New Jersey.

Go ahead, call the guys in the white coats, because I don't believe it either.

I've lived in New Jersey for 23 years. That makes this state my place of residence for the bulk of my life. Yougoddaproblem widdat?

See? I don't even talk Appalachian anymore. I pick it up again when I visit home, but I used to carry my accent with me allatime.

"Home." Ahhh, that word! New Jersey, home? Ick!

Except when I go home, it's no longer there. The farmlands are covered with McMansions, the highways are tangled bumper-to-bumper nightmares, all of my kin except my sister and a handful of cousins are gone. My uncle resides at the family farm so stubbornly that I can't even go there unless I want to hear him praise Rush Limbaugh to the skies.

So I don't go to the family farm.

Even the beautiful courthouse in Berkeley Springs burned down.

Now, you take your Jersey. What does it matter if they plow under another field for a shopping center? Can't get any uglier. Already crowded. It's not like I'm going to wander out some day and see my high school friend's big ol' dairy farm covered with ticky tack.

In Jersey you expect leaf blowers at 7 a.m. on weekends, gridlocked traffic, a flat-assed landmass, and sand in the soil. The water runs uphill. (You figure that one out.)

I've finally gotten used to it. Just don't bury me here, yous goddat?

FROM ANNE
THE MERLIN OF JERSEY CITY

The First International Faerie Convention!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Confound all conventional wisdom!

In the next few months we may become a tad repetitive. That's because we're mounting a full court press for The First International Faerie Convention, to be held in Philadelphia, PA on October 14 and 15, 2007.

EXHIBIT A: BRIAN FROUD WILL BE A CONTRIBUTOR TO THE CON!

Now coming into vogue are "cons," or conventions, like Otakon, a gathering of manga fans. A huge gathering of manga fans.

"Con" may very well be the operative word, because these events are rather costly.

However, if you happen to like the concept of the con, and you're content to converse with congenial conspirators, you configure your conviviality and find much pro in the con!

We at "The Gods Are Bored" find faeries fascinating. We are consumed by contemplating this conclave as a confirmation of Celtic congregationalism!

Mark your calendar now, save money by purchasing your tickets early, and by all means let us know if you plan to converge on the con! We'll convene as a conspicuous confederacy ... the more the merrier!

FROM ANNE

CONGO AND CONDOR CONTRARIAN

Another mile post -- maybe a few more

Emmmm! Watch out! Yikes! Stay in your lane, for the love of fruit flies!

Now, turn here. Turn here. Turn here. Turn here. You're not turning. You're not turning. You didn't turn. You didn't turn!

I don't know where we are. Look out!

No. No. No. Don't take that exit. You don't want a bridge. No bridges. Stay on this road. Left! Left! That's right! No, I don't mean right, I mean left!


My daughter The Heir just got her driver's license and is trying to learn how to drive in the New Jersey suburbs. It's kind of like learning how to swim by diving into Niagra Falls.

Where's my Soma?

THE MERLIN OF LESS-TRAVELED BERKELEY SPRINGS

If Thor Allows

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where you can find a god or goddess for your every need in our handy Classified Ads. If you go to the sidebar and click "deity of the day," you'll see what we mean!

Thor is meandering past as I write this. I hope he doesn't get mad that I'm not an Asratu. Hey, I'm all for Asratus, Thor. Any pantheon is a good pantheon to me.

On Memorial Day I always go to a graveyard in an African American community where they have more than 100 black Civil War soldiers buried. You see, the community accepted any unknown or unclaimed Union soldier, because the federal graveyards would not bury black soldiers with white soldiers. (Yeah, this has always been a sucky country.)

There's one grave of a Civil War soldier there that recently got a new marker because the mortal remains beneath represent a soldier who won the Congressional Medal of Honor for bravery in the Navy. It has been my practice to leave a little patriotic arrangement on this man's grave in honor of him, and the other soldiers there, and my own hillbilly ancestors who ran to the Grand Army of the Republic recruiters as soon as the first shot was fired.

No one ever takes off what I put there, so this year there were three years' worth of beat-up flowers around the stone.

I found a pretty little red-white-n-blue leftover from Mem Day at the flea market yesterday. Having exhausted my brain with deep thinking, I decided to drive over and freshen the Union soldier's grave site.

While I was there I saluted Chonganda, awesome bored god of the Congolese people. I swear the ground moved underneath me.

So, as far as science and deep thinking and all that goes, I'm in the Robert Anton Wilson camp. We only use 10 percent of our brains. If we ever get the other 90 percent up and running, maybe all this other dimension stuff, and spirit movements, and bored gods, will be old hat.

Chonganda and I are getting to be very good friends. He's so bored he doesn't even have a Google image. I think he was doggone tickled to find a graveyard that he can protect.

Beannachd leat,
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS
Tomorrow: Fundie sis amongst the faeries!

Theatre Review: Inherit the Wind

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," deep thinking and steep drinking since 2005! If you're a newcomer, help yourself to one of our plush seats. They all recline. Someone will take your order shortly.

Mr. Johnson had to be in New York on business Friday evening. That meant his plant paid for mileage, hotel room, and his meals. I never want to go to Manhattan. It's a bloody overcrowded island. However, I recalled that the play Inherit the Wind was in a limited Broadway run with Christopher Plummer and Brian Dennehey in the leads.

Free advice from Anne: It's hardly ever impossible to get a seat to a show or a concert if you only want one seat. This does not hold true, of course, if the venue has been filled to standing room only. But if there's no one craning their necks in the aisles, trust me, there's a seat to be had.

Off I toddle to New York City, holding in my paw an online-purchased ticket to Inherit the Wind.

We at "The Gods Are Bored" don't just wander into Inherit the Wind because we liked Christopher Plummer in The Sound of Music. (Gag.) Happens that we wrote a book called Defining Moments: The Scopes Monkey Trial in 2006. Inherit the Wind is about the Scopes Monkey Trial.

Of course, a two-hour play and a six-day trial can be two entirely different species of monkey. This is certainly the case with Scopes and Inherit.

The Scopes trial was dominated by two equally vehement ego-maniacs: Clarence Darrow and William Jennings Bryan. Yes, Darrow put Bryan on the stand and humiliated him by asking him questions about the Bible. (At one point Bryan became so flustered that he said, "I don't think about the things I don't think about." To which Darrow replied, "Well, do you think about the things you do think about?")

That particular exchange remains in Inherit the Wind, but the Clarence Darrow character, played with distinction by Plummer, has been ennobled by a set of playwrights with Cold War-era concerns. In other words, the fictitious "Henry Drummond" is a better Clarence Darrow than the real one was. The ficitious "Henry Drummond" never balls up his fist and shouts: "I am examining you on your fool ideas that no intelligent Christian on earth believes!"

Even the intelligent Christians thought Darrow overstepped himself by pelting Bryan with questions about where Cain got his wife and how the snake walked in the Garden of Eden before God set the creature on its belly. Bryan kept taking the sucker punches because he thought he'd get a chance to turn the tables and question Darrow. It didn't happen because after wiping the floor with Bryan, Darrow instructed the jury to find his client guilty.

In the play Inherit the Wind, the Bryant character is left, stricken and humiliated, as his former supporters desert him, laughing at his foolishness. In reality, Darrow's relentless questioning, and the subsequent letdown of not being able to reply in kind, outright killed Bryan and added considerable grease to the wheels of the anti-evolution movement. If anything, Bryan left the Scopes trial like Joe Frazier left Manila -- damaged, perhaps, but still with more than enough fans.

"Drummond," in Inherit the Wind, is unmasked in the end as a religious man with noble convictions. Everything I read by and about Clarence Darrow in preparation for writing a book about the Scopes trial leads me to believe that he was indeed an atheist, terrified of death. He was also aghast at the nation's drift back toward the Middle Ages, as represented by laws against teaching evolution in public school classrooms. These two components of his character did not make him an ideal attorney for the defense of John T. Scopes.

Scopes did have an ideal attorney at his table, but Dudley Field Malone is not a character in Inherit the Wind.

So, the play Inherit the Wind simplifies and magnifies the Scopes trial to make a point about irrational mob rule, more related to the McCarthy era than to the 1920s. But the play does pose a philosophical question, also posed at the trial.

The question is this: Is thinking a good thing?

On the surface, this is a simple concept. Of course thinking is a good thing! Look at that moron in the White House! If he actually thought about what he was doing, maybe he wouldn't do it!

Soft, o reader. Ponder this a moment. Does your religious faith hold up to scientific scrutiny?

It was my dad's opinion -- and Clarence Darrow's -- that no religion in which the soul survived the body could stand up to critical thinking, because science has never been able to prove that the soul survives death.

You know what? I think I'm going to go outside, have a beer, and watch the grass grow. I'm through with thinking for today.

Beannachd leat,

ANNE

THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS

Broadway Bound!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" We'll take Manhattan, the Bronx and Staten Island too. It's lovely going through ... the zooooo.

Off to Broadway to see ... oh, readers and bored gods everywhere, I'm so thrilled ...

Inherit the Wind, starring Christopher Plummer and Brian Dennehey!

Dont hate me cuz u aint me.

In the meantime, in all seriousness, I re-posted my Great, Grand, Griffon Grab below for any of you who want to win a deluxe vulture package.

William Jennings Bryan: I don't think about things I don't think about.

Clarence Darrow: Well, do you think about the things you do think about?

Do you think? Keep at it!

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 the Goddess of Sewers

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," waiting to win the lottery since ... when did they start having legal lotteries?

Yesterday I erred. I said that Faerie Con, an international faerie gathering to be held in my backyard, was the big ticket item on my wish list.

Not so. Something else makes me far happier.

A significant population of the endangered species Harperella, a frail relative of Queen Anne's Lace, lives along Fifteen Mile Creek. Terrapin Run is a tributary of Fifteen Mile Creek. If the ecosystem of Terrapin Run changes, then the ecosystem of Fifteen Mile Creek will change as well.

EXHIBIT A: HARPERELLA

I'm sure you want to miss that evening commuter train home and read all about Harperella.

And who knows? An intrepid biologist might find some Harperella growing along Terrapin Run. It could happen. The conditions there are ideal.

To celebrate this news, we have a visiting Goddess! Please give a warm, wonderful, nurturing "The Gods Are Bored" welcome to Cloacina, Goddess of Sewers!

Cloacina: I prefer some political correctness, please. Cloacina, Goddess of Cleanliness and Sanitation.

Anne: Sorry. I should have known better. You are from the Roman pantheon. How are they doing?

Cloacina: They're so bored they volunteered to assemble My Scene dolls.

Anne: Alas, alack! We'll do everything we can for Zeus, et. al., here at TGAB. Cloacina, you already knew, didn't you, that Michael Carnock and his shadowy PDC Corporation (no known website) plan to use Terrapin Run, a gorgeous little mountain stream, as the runoff conduit for treated sewage from a town of 11,000 people that doesn't exist at all today?

Cloacina: By Zeus and Hera, the ancient Romans had better sense than that. "Treated," indeed! As if removing E coli was the only thing that matters to an intermittent-running tiny little crick!

Anne: Oh, you called it a crick! How precious! That's what we call creeks where I come from!

Cloacina: Can't you see I'm angling for an open position here?

Anne: OMG&G! Of course! Geez, I'm a ditz. Cloacina, awesome Goddess of Cleanliness and Sanitation, will you accept my prayers and offerings and take the open position of Official Goddess of Terrapin Run? PLEEEEEEEEEZE?

Cloacina: I can start tomorrow. Let me just put a few things in a bag. I'll need directions.

Anne: Little Orleans exit from I-68 in Maryland. If traveling west, turn left off exit, follow Scenic Route 40 to the bottom of Town Hill. Old concrete bridge on right. No sign. Well, there are a few "No Trespassing" signs. We know who they belong to.

Cloacina: I'm right on it, my daughter. You can count on me. Oh my, a real job for a deity! I'm so excited!

Anne: It doesn't offer much in the way of offerings. I don't get to Terrapin Run very often.

Cloacina: No worries, my daughter. Visit when you can. I'll be there. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go cancel my electric and telephone.

Somehow it seems fitting that a person who worships vultures would offer meaningful work to the Goddess of Cleanliness and Sanitation.

Please, readers, don't call the men in white coats. They already know about me.

Beannachd leat,

Anne

My Jaw Dropped to the Floor

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where there is no room for gloom and doom!

All it takes is one magickal Blue Moon get-together, and the blessings start pouring in.

There's a federally-designated endangered plant called Harperella living along Terrapin Run.

But that's not the best news. THIS is the best news:

http://www.faeriecon.com

Bibi, I sure hope you see this one! You too, Hecate.

Hat tip to awesome Nettle on the con. And if you visit Nettle's site, please be advised that the picture at the top is her family farm.

Beannachd leat!

Quick Question

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," etc.

Big family gathering today.

A quick question.

What do you do about a beloved mother-in-law who spends all her time at yard sales and then brings you ugly furniture and paintings?

Desperately seeking advice.

Birthday Party Run Amok!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," practical parenting for those who are longing to throttle Dr. Laura!

Maybe I shouldn't compare myself favorably to Dr. Laura, because there's mayhem downstairs, total mayhem.

It's The Heir's 18th birthday party.

Damn if they haven't raided the stash of TaB.

Yes, readers, I'm a total failure as The Mother of My Children! At this very moment, tender youngsters are toasting with TaB, tasting TaB for the first time, while my reckless, TaB-addicted daughter looks on!

This is a disaster waiting to happen. One of those sweet, innocent kids down there might develop a TaB habit, start drinking 350 cans every day, and wind up with cancer! Just ask the poor lab rats who were plied with the equivalent of 350 cans of TaB a day, and they'll tell you it's quite easy to injest that much carbonated soft drink.

I hang my head in shame. I'm a disgrace to this community, where all the normal parents allow their kids to drink beer.

Once in a Blue Moon

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Buy one god, get one free! limited time offer, act now!

Our eldest daughter, The Heir, came of age today. She is old enough to vote, thank goodness! One more lever pulled for the Blue.

More about blue moons, bored gods, baby dinosaurs, and even the Goddess of the Sewer, coming to you next week, only at "The Gods Are Bored!"

Y'all come back now, hear?