Labor Day 2021

 Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" I'm Anne Johnson, a school teacher in the Time of COVID-19. If you can do this job, under these circumstances, without resort to magic, you are a better person than me.

But La Di Dah! I got two shots, and I've got a copper bracelet, and I have hung vulture feathers at my front door! COVID can't touch me!

Well, okay, it can. I just hope that when it does, it flicks me lightly, rather than walloping me with a blunt instrument.

Never mind that. Last Monday was Labor Day! And you know what that means, right? Philadelphia's annual Communist, Socialist, Godless, Corrupt and Overpaid Union Get-Together!

Just kidding with all those adjectives. Big Business wants people to hate unions so that the businessmen can go on being rich on the backs of their workers. And that would be a nope. Public sentiment for unions is actually improving. Hooray!

So, without further sermon, here are some photos I snapped at the AFL-CIO Labor Day Parade in Philadelphia on September 6. Here is the float that got things started.

You see that blue sky? The weather was gorgeous. 

Here is a card-carrying Socialist in the crowd.

The red shirt is a coincidence, because the Philadelphia Federation of Teachers (plus that one pesky blogger from New Jersey) also wear red.

My shirt says #redfored, which is our teacher motto.

Every year the union puts up a big banner at Penn's Landing.

And then all the various unions -- identified by their shirts, enjoy the use of Penn's Landing (with free burgers and fries) for four hours. I think these are Boilermakers.

Every union has its own matching t-shirts, often with meaningful slogans on the back.

Here's the Communications Workers of America. That's the union Mr. J belonged to.

This year the AFL-CIO gave out beach towels.  That's what the dude is holding.

And you will never guess who I ran into there. The Monkey Man! He rode to the parade on his bike, with Monkey in tow, and we enjoyed a nice chat by the Delaware River. It's always good to see him!

The sunlight made it hard to get a good shot, but you get the picture.

It was great to get out into the sun with my union brothers and sisters. Needless to say this didn't happen last year. But we're back!

And guess what else is back? The Mummers Parade! In some form. I put down a deposit on a dress.

Malcolm Kenyatta Is Amazing

 Hello there! You may have Googled Malcolm Kenyatta's name and come to my page as a newcomer. If so, welcome aboard! I am a resident of New Jersey, progressive as get-out, and I believe in a future that is epitomized by Malcolm Kenyatta.

Now, my three regulars. I know you have never heard of him, so I'll give you some back story on Malcolm Kenyatta.

My daughter The Fair lives in Center City, Philadelphia. When the pandemic began and her hours were cut, she couldn't get unemployment because there was an unresolved issue with a social security number that she had gotten wrong once, on a long ago job. Fair was so upset, crying, certain she would never get things straightened out, and I told her to call her State Representative. I even looked up his name in the Pennsylvania legislature. His name: Malcolm Kenyatta.

Finally I persuaded Fair to call Malcolm Kenyatta's office, and his staff quickly fixed her issues with Pennsylvania and got her that unemployment pay.

It's kind of sad that no one knows their State Representatives can do such things. People are way too used to the idea that the government doesn't care about them at all, except at election time. But long story short, Representative Kenyatta has an efficient staff, and they are quite helpful.

Then one day I was driving to work, and the local news station played a clip about a State Representative who was giving Republicans some kinda sass in a committee meeting. The clip they played was hysterical. Bunch of old white men telling Malcolm he was out of order, and Malcolm not having it. I thought, "That's the guy who helped Fair! I think I have a new hero!"

It was about this time that MSNBC discovered Malcolm Kenyatta, and he started appearing on the various evening shows. That's where I was able to put a face to the name. The odd thing is that now, I can't even remember the issue that got him on national t.v. There are so many that could qualify.

If you want to see him standing up for voting rights, here he is.

Earlier this year, Malcolm Kenyatta announced that he is seeking the position of Senator in the state of Pennsylvania. It didn't take me two seconds to sign up to support his campaign, even though I'm across the river. I'm doing it for my daughters.

Malcolm Kenyatta is young, gay, progressive, and passionate. He reflects the America I would like to see, where people of all races and persuasions have a seat at the table where big decisions are made. I like the way this young man doesn't suffer fools. I flat-out love his platform.

So imagine my surprise and delight, when I went to this year's Philadelphia Labor Day Parade, that I turned around and nearly smacked into Malcolm Kenyatta! I did a little squeee, of course, and before I could say ICANTWAITUNTILYOUARESENATOR, we were hugging for a photograph.

Readers, I do truly want to see this fine man advance in the halls of government. If you live in Pennsylvania, vote for him. If you don't, invoke the help of your deities on his behalf. He is the America we need to see.

More about Labor Day soon!

The News from Texas

 I know you've heard all about it. Texas has a new law that forbids abortion after six weeks of pregnancy. Oh, shucks, let's dispense with the formalities. Texas has made abortion illegal, and the Supreme Court has wink wink nod nod approved of it in the middle of the night.

This is a tricky little dodge that the Texas state legislature has passed. It's not the long arm of the law that's gonna enforce the abortion ban, it's ordinary Texans. They can report anyone who is getting an abortion, or anyone who helps in any way. Maybe what we would call a "citizen's arrest." And there's a nice bounty of $10,000 for any tip that leads to prosecution.

The law is so draconian that you practically have to reach back to Stalin and Mao to find precedent. But pish tosh! It's fine with the Supreme Court!

It's fine with me too, mainly because this kind of shit reminds me what a blessing it is to live in New Jersey, the Garden State, may the Gods guard and keep it!

You know why else it's fine? I'm all for this whole citizen cop thing. After all, the Supreme Court has approved, right? So let's get some good out of this.

I am contacting my state legislature. I think they should pass a bill that makes gun ownership against the law, except for active duty military. Any citizen of New Jersey can report a gun owner, or anyone who drives the gun owner to buy a gun, or anyone who operates a firing range, or golly, anyone who sells ammunition and camouflage clothing! I'm really cool with that $10k reporting fee, too. I will be really vigilant about turning in all those criminal gun owners out there.

Tell me how this is differs from the Texas law? Guns kill. Let's get them out of the hands of potential killers. And get paid to do it. Supreme Court will have to help us, because, you know, quid pro quo.

I'll bet I could think of a dozen laws for citizen vigilantes to handle. Take leaf blowers, for instance. What we need is a good stiff law that prevents people from using leaf blowers except for Saturday afternoons in October and November. Pollution! Noise! Where are my citizen crime fighters?

In all seriousness, I truly hope this abortion ban is the tipping point that turns Texas blue. How can a majority of citizens approve of ending abortions? (Legal and safe ones, anyway ... there will never be an end to abortions.) Come on, Texas! Vote the bums out. Start with the guy who flew to Cancun when the whole state was frozen solid and people were dying of hypothermia.

Texas gals, if you can make your way to New Jersey to "visit the historic Stone Pony," you can stay at my house for free. Wink wink, nod nod.

Scary

 The remnants of Hurricane Ida passed through New Jersey last night. A tornado spawned in South Jersey and stayed on the ground through fully half of the state -- about 90 miles. It came within five miles of my house.

We get hurricanes all the time, and they wreak havoc. But this was different. Some areas got 10 inches of rain. Houses were demolished, tornado-style. This was not a typical New Jersey hurricane.

Such weather events used to be quite rare, but this is the second year in a row that we have had a damaging hurricane during season. Both names began with "I."

When I was growing up, I don't think I ever saw a hurricane that began with "I."

I also didn't think I would see Roe v. Wade overturned and Jim Crow voting practices reinstated. America is moving backwards in everything but overall temperature.

Gods help us all.

Die on the Hill, Just Don't Take Me Along

 Ah, summer is almost over, and a new school year beckons. Even though COVID-19 is almost worse than ever, we are back to full enrollment in our schools.

In the meantime, I know three fully vaccinated adults who caught COVID-19 and were sick for weeks. Granted, they survived. But sick for weeks. All younger than me.

Pandemic does not be over. How silly of me to think so! This is 'Murica, Land of the Idiot and Home of the Moron.

Why are people who have been vaccinated for a half dozen deadly and infectious diseases suddenly unwilling to get a shot? That was a rhetorical question. I know the answer. The answer (no matter what other answer they give) is that Joe Biden encourages everyone to get a shot. If Joe Biden promoted breathing, they would all turn blue and suffocate.

If it was just the anti-shot morons infecting each other, I wouldn't care a bit. Go ahead and die on the hill of your "freedom." But I don't want to go with you. I have done everything -- everything -- the public health experts have told me to do. Everything. A 45-minute visit on Christmas, on the front porch of my daughter's rental? Did it. Quarantine for weeks and weeks? Did it. Wearing a mask everywhere? Did it. Doing it. Will do it. Hand sanitizer? Use it. Avoiding crowded indoor events? Did it. Doing it. Will do it.

I fought to get a date for my vaccination. Now I will need to fight for a booster ... and in the meantime spend my days with a room full of teenagers. There are 100 students on my roster this year. Even if half of them are vaccinated, that'll be a lot of COVID-19 floating in the stagnant classroom air. And I will have to wear a mask all day long, every day. I'll be afraid to take it off any time I'm in the room, including when I'm alone. Shit can hang in the air.

Most of this suffering could have been avoided if we had a citizenry that is less evenly divided between reasonable and ridiculous.

Getting sick from COVID when you've done everything to prevent it is like dying of tobacco-induced lung cancer without ever having smoked a cigarette. I don't want to be that victim!

Yes, I have practiced magic to keep myself safe. But no matter. I'm predicting with confidence that I'll contract this damn plague sometime this fall. Oh, morons. Thank you so much.

Hope Is a Thing with Oak Trees

You know that even in the Wild, Wild West there were people who planted apple trees and built schools, right? That's kind of how I feel about Facebook.

The platform is a dung heap of buzzard-gagging proportions, but how else would I be able to keep up with the Southampton Township Historical Society? (They have a page.)

You see, the Southampton Township Historical Society is the historical body responsible for the area that my ancestors called home from the earliest 1700s. The president of the Society posts all kinds of stuff about that area. One day I clicked in, and there was the obituary for my great-great grandmother, who died in 1947. All kinds of stuff like that. And there are a lot of people following that page ... 939 to be exact. I'm probably related to 938 of them.

It was on this page that I saw an offer, by owner, for a small property in Southampton Township. The property is a quarter mile from the churchyard where my great-grandparents and great-great grandparents are buried.

Earlier this week, I went up to see the property in question. It's small. But I am in love.

EXHIBIT A: NOT JUST GENERIC FOREST

I was expecting a steep, rocky thicket of scrub pine trees with no place to even set up a pup tent. Instead the land is a growing hardwood forest that has achieved enough maturity that the floor is springy with leaf mold and there's ample space for a cozy campsite.

This picture doesn't really capture it. The trees are tall. They're hardwood. No invasive species, no poison ivy, no place for rattlesnakes to hide.

I love it. I want to buy it. I want to be a citizen of Southampton Township again.

Working on it. Wish me well!

The Plant of Doom

 It's happened twice this summer. I have gotten poison ivy without even seeing it.

I know what this pestilential plant looks like. I've known since I was a kid. "Leaves of three, let it be." Yeah yeah yeah. I know, I KNOW.

I let it be, I promise. But it finds me. It slinks through the underbrush and catches me unawares.

The first time I got it this summer, I kind of understood. The Fair and I went to Cattus Island County Park and took a hike. I stepped off the path for 15 seconds to pick some wild blueberries. I think that's when the Plant of Doom attacked. The next evening I started feeling that classic unbearable itch at two places on my leg. 24 hours later I had blisters the size of dimes.

Okay, that was weeks ago. This past Monday I did a little light yard work in my sandals. Did I mention that I know what the damn stuff looks like???? I did not see it. Nor did I touch it, because it's not on my hands. There are, once again, two blisters on my ankle, right above where the sandal hits my foot.

I. Did. Not. See. The. Plant.

I feel that poison ivy has become sentient. It is now following me around and attacking me by stealth. It does this because it knows it's the only native flora I will not abide in my yard.

Have any of you ever gotten poison ivy without setting eyes on it? I have literally not been anywhere outside of my yard since last Saturday. And I know I didn't get it at the LARP, because I wore boots, socks, and leggings while I was there.

Why, readers, why? I didn't see it! How can you get slapped by the Plant of Doom without noticing it? I'm on my way to two more  #$#S%#@$#  blisters!

Yes, I Went LARPing with a Bunch of 20-somethings in the Woods

 This post begins with a definition. LARP is Live Action Role Play.

What this means is, you go to a wooded area, arm yourself with foam weapons that look real, and fight scary monsters and zombies and other bad, weird things. I tell my students that it's basically a video game in real life.

I have a few Fairie Festival friends who recommended that I try out the whole LARP thing. They go to this event in Williamstown, NJ once a month for a weekend. I went a few times before the pandemic, but I hadn't been back to Williamstown until last weekend.

And I had a blast.

The property where the LARP is held is really swell. It's wooded in places, meadow in places, and a Christmas tree farm. The people who go to this regularly have built structures in the woods. There are so many it really looks like a little magical town. I would say there are at least five acres in all. So, if nothing else, it's fun to just stroll around.

LARP is pretty complicated, especially if you've never played a D&D type role-play game. Which I haven't. So I don't really know how to defend myself from the monsters. My only strategy is to run, but now that I'm better known as the token geezer, the monsters just let me escape. It's called "noncom," and it saves my graying keister.

"Graying" is the operative word here. I could be the parent of almost all the other players. There aren't any others in my generation. The participants are mostly 20-somethings, maybe early 30s. Some of them have tots.

On my previous visits to this adventure, I was pretty awkward. This time I kind of found a niche as a Non-Player Character (NPC). I helped to hang shiny things in the woods, I helped to determine where the magical land-shifting was occurring, and I did the muscle-memory church lady thing--helped to prepare dinner for everyone. In between I watched battles from a safe distance and caught up with my festival friends.

I was warmly welcomed in Williamstown. It felt good, sort of like a festival but not.

I'm going to the next event, Labor Day weekend.

No photos, alas. It's hard to run from monsters with an IPhone in your hand.

In Which Fox News Robs Me of Another Valuable Friendship

 We have all been there, right? Someone we have known forever, loved forever, looked forward to seeing, goes down the worm hole and becomes lost to us. But not without a parting salvo.

There is a business in my community that I have loved and supported for 17 years or more. It's family-owned and run by a mom, pop, and son. It stocks items I would much rather buy in person than from an online source.

Now, these owners. I'm not going to say they weren't eccentric (or Republicans) before they tripped and fell into the Fox News wormhole. I knew that small business owners frequently vote Republican because of tax issues. But 10 years ago, these people would not have displayed the xenophobic, racist anxieties that they are displaying today.

I didn't even have to go to the store to discover the sea change. Today I was reading on my porch when the mom of the business called me. I have her in my phone as "Mom."

She wanted me to be her co-author, and she sketched an idea that she thought would make a great t.v. series. It was so loathsome that I have no doubt it would be a fantastic hit with the people out there who refuse to be vaccinated because "freedom."

When I asked her where she got her idea for the series, she said, "The news." Note that she knows me well enough that she didn't say the "F" word. But I already knew the answer before I posed the question.

A fellow customer just told me that this business now has Fox News running in the back room all day every day. This would do wonders for the store if it wasn't located smack dab in the bleeding heart of Liberal Land. As it is, I don't think many customers will agree with the sentiments.

I counted this family as best friends and visited their emporium frequently, up until four years ago, when my visits fell off sharply. Now the visits will end. I would rather not see them at all than see them parroting the Fox News hard-liners. This makes me very, very sad.

But OH WELL. Tomorrow, while the business celebrates its 40th anniversary with a lawn party, I will be 30 miles away, doing a LARP with people I don't even know!

Shedding a shell, growing a new one, knowing that a lot of good will be left behind.

Gettin It Done without Amazon

 Howdy again, and welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where patience is a virtue and the small business rules! I'm Anne Johnson, and I'm not paying for frivolous space travel for billionaires. Period, end of sentence.

This post begins with my fear of Coronavirus as the school year loomed last fall. I was lucky enough to discover a book called Backwoods Witchcraft by Jake Richards. This excellent work has all kinds of spells and conjures and amulets in it, and from the author's expertise I learned that copper items help to guard from illness. So I bought a beautiful copper bracelet with mountains on it, which I received a few weeks before school began. 

I've been wearing the bracelet constantly, and it has protected me from Covid. I know because my supervisor at school caught the virus and got terribly ill. This was before the vaccine.

If you have ever owned anything made of copper, you know it's hard keeping that shiny, minty fresh exterior. It's also such a bendable metal that it can lose its shape. So here I am, 12 months in with this bracelet, and it needed to be adjusted.

I took it to my splendid friend of long standing, Muin, who works with metal in fantastic ways. It was the work, literally, of 20 seconds for him to knock the shape back into my bracelet. And then he gave me tips on how to polish it and keep it minty fresh. Turns out I need Wright's copper polish, which I can pick up at the local hardware store. I also need stuff called Renaissance Wax. (One can also use beeswax, but who can resist a product called "Renaissance Wax?") Muin applied some polish, and then some of this magical Ren Wax, and my bracelet looks better than it did when it arrived in the mail.

You might think that something so esoteric as Renaissance Wax would be hard to find outside the evil Amazon Empire. But no! I clicked into the first web site that wasn't Amazon and found a real he-man's paradise of a small business down in Texas.

If you had asked me four weeks ago, I would have said, "Pandemic be over" (famous words of a friend of The Fair). But it's not, and even if I'm vaccinated, I still see a chance of serious illness. So I am going to continue to wear my amulet bracelet. It's just going to look and fit better.

All the links in this post lead to the products described at web sites that are not Amazon. Full disclosure, I did buy Backwoods Witchcraft from Amazon, but I could have done my due diligence. Honestly I would like to drive to Tennessee and purchase Jake Richards's books right from his hands, but that's not possible.

"Renaissance Wax." What a great product to put through the "Anywhere but Amazon" test! Got it, gettin' it, thanks Texas!

Keep the author of "The Gods Are Bored" in your magic the next few weeks. Big events are on the horizon. I will tell all as things unfold.

A New "Gods Are Bored" Series: Anywhere But Amazon

 Did you see this?

"I want to thank every Amazon employee and every Amazon customer because you guys paid for all of this," Bezos said during a post-flight press conference. "Seriously, for every Amazon customer out there and every Amazon employee, thank you from the bottom of my heart very much. It's very appreciated."

Yeah, Jeff. Fuck you, and your dick spaceship! "I just want to thank all the little people who got me on this nice trip to outer space. Everyone who works long hours, breaking their backs in my warehouses (and pissing in bottles), and all of you customers who get your socket wrenches and yoga pants from me, rather than shopping locally or even searching a little bit online."

For the love of red-eyed fruit flies! Is this demon spawn for real?

Got to assume so, I guess. So, what can I, Anne Johnson, do to thwart this King Louis XVI wannabe (short, of course, of following the same fate that met ol' Louie)?

Announcing a new "Gods Are Bored" series, ANYWHERE BUT AMAZON!

In this occasional series, I will choose a random item that could easily be purchased on Amazon, and I will direct you to another outlet. And please, I would like some reader participation here! If you are thinking of buying something on Amazon, let me help you find an alternate vendor!

Today's item to not buy on Amazon: a shower curtain.

Simplest thing in the world, right? I mean, you can pick up a vinyl shower curtain in a lot of supermarkets. But suppose you can't? And suppose you want a stylish one?

Annie's advice? Target.com

Target ships as fast as Amazon, costs the same, and sometimes they give you a deal for free shipping if you spend a certain amount. The last time I ordered an item from Target.com, I obtained six pairs of cotton cuff socks for the same price I would have paid to ship the item I originally bought. I needed socks and basically got them for free.

Now, if you really want to go the ANYWHERE BUT AMAZON route, you could search up a shower curtain on Etsy. I just looked, out of curiosity, and there are 55,470 shower curtains on Etsy! If you can't find one from a small vendor on there, you are the most discriminating shopper of all time -- and in that case you sure aren't using Amazon.

Readers, I am at the point where I wouldn't buy from Amazon if it was the only place selling air. Bezos is not only a spoiled-ass billionaire, he is clearly so tone deaf he couldn't carry a tune across the room.

What are you tempted to buy on Amazon? Ask Annie ... she'll help you find it somewhere else!

Links are directly to shower curtains.

Interview with a Bored God: Tezcatlipoca

 Hello out there in the Google-space, it's time for another installment of "The Gods Are Bored!" I'm just back from a little week-long visit to the Chesapeake Bay. It was hot. There were crabs.

So I got home last night, steaming and exhausted, and I turned on CNN in time to see this bearded Branson billionaire being interviewed about his trip into space. He was so damn effervescent about seeing the Earth from that height. Until the CNN interviewer asked him if the experience gave him an increased sense of what he might do to save said Earth. Then he hemmed and hawed, because, like, should he care?

Next up, Jeff Bezos. Going into space in his craft week after next.

Enough of this, already! Let's get a Bored God to put a stop to it. Please give a warm, wonderful, "Gods Are Bored" welcome to Tezcatlipoca, sacred Sky Deity to the Aztec people!

Anne: All glory, laud, and honor, great God! Must say, Your people had the right idea about how a deity should look.

Tezcatlipoca: You called, white woman. I answered. Get to the point.

Anne: Yes, Sir. Well, I just have a simple petition, and since You are a Sky God, I thought I might put it to you.

Tezcatlipoca: Don't tell Me what I am! I know what I am! What's your petition?

Anne: I was just wondering if You could kick these space travelers to the curb. I mean, they are getting right there in the sweet zone, basically Your living room. Can't You give them the boot with Your onyx foot?

Tezcatlipoca: You mean, like I should have done with those conquistadors?

Anne: Yes! You've got the gist!

Tezcatlipoca: And you think that would be the end of it. I mean, I could crush these assholes like bugs, but just turn over another rock, you're going to find more bugs.

Anne: One certainly understands Your cynicism. But with all due respect, the conquistadors never soiled your carpeting. These rich fucks building their own spaceships are leaving tracks of dirt everywhere they go. Now it's landing right on Your stoop. I don't know, that would bother me.

Tezcatlipoca: Are you talking about that "Aguirre the Wrath of God" wannabe that disturbed My nap the other day?

Anne: Yes! Exactly! Blonde guy, conquistador to the bone! He woke You up? Mmmm. I mean, I'm not You, but I wouldn't have that.

Tezcatlipoca: I just didn't see the point of flicking My wrist at that gnat.

Anne: Trouble is, there are more gnats on the way. They may start making a habit of it. 

Tezcatlipoca: That won't do. I just re-did my stoop.

Anne: There's another one planning to invade Your space in just eight days. And let me just tell you, this man has no respect for stoops. He flings stuff at stoops millions and millions of times a day! Thinks like a conquistador in every respect.

Tezcatlipoca: He'd better not fling something at My stoop!

Anne: He will, great God, and it's likely to be something useless like a shoe horn or a pair of yoga pants.

Tezcatlipoca: How many days until this man dares to invade My home? It will be his last dare.

Anne: Eight. And if I might add, now You're showing the right spirit.

Tezcatlipoca: Thank you for the alert. I will unleash the Serpents and Jaguars. He'll rue the day he soiled anyone's stoop!

Anne: All glory, laud, and honor.

Paganism for Profit

 Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," school-is-out edition! I'm your sweltering host, Anne Johnson. It's 98 degrees outside. Real feel temperature is 2,680.

For some years I beat heat waves like this by attending a Fourth of July event at an "Interfaith Church" (quotes are mine) out in the cool mountains. But that was then. I haven't gone to the event in four years. The reason is simple: The place may be a nonprofit, but the bottom line is still the most important line on the document. Some things just raise red flags, you know? The place is skeevy, and it doesn't take a psychic to pick up the vibe.

 Today's sermon is a cautionary tale about Paganism for Profit.

*Paganism for Profit Rule #1: If the leadership seems always to need money to fight lawsuits or to buy the next shiny thing, beware! Chances are the leader has his or her own agenda and will use your money to pursue it. This holds true for campgrounds and "Cons" and even local covens. Be especially suspicious of the leadership that humble brags about their own sacrifices to obtain the shiny thing. This is merely a ruse to get you to want the shiny thing enough to invest in it.

*Paganism for Profit Rule #2: If the leadership attracts "interns" and then works them like draft horses, beware! Interns are notoriously underpaid and overworked, but this should not be the case at a church.  This isn't the Middle Ages. People who enter into work arrangements as interns may be doing it to learn skills or simply out of religious zeal, and in both cases they are done wrong if they wind up sweeping barracks and mowing lawns from can-see-to-can't-see.

Paganism for Profit Rule #3: If volunteers are working so hard they can't enjoy the religious festivities, there's something amiss. Like the interns, the volunteers are being taken advantage of, either because there aren't enough of them or because they are so dedicated that they do way too much for way too little recognition from the leadership. If you go to a religious rite and some people there seem to be doing all the work, steer clear of that. (I have seen this at several different Pagan events.)

Paganism for Profit Rule #4: If your festival has absolutely no connection whatsoever to any established rite or ritual on any religious calendar, it's not a church event. It's a party. So don't promote it as something spiritual, even if it has speakers or meditations or whatnot. Likewise, if you go to an event expecting it to be spiritual, and it turns out to be a bunch of stoners setting off fireworks, don't go back! You won't find what you're looking for there.

Paganism for Profit Rule #5: If there's an "in crowd" and an "out crowd," partially or mostly based on how much money individuals donate, you do not need that foolishness. Isn't this partly why you left the Christian church? Don't be surprised that it happens in the Pagan community too. But don't buy into it. Literally.

Paganism for Profit Rule #6: If you feel like the whole thing is skeevy, if you're just getting uncomfortable vibes even though you're having a good time, proceed with caution. I have been at several events where excessive imbibing of alcohol was part of the rite. Whiskey isn't ayahuasca, okay? That person who is "channeling" by slurping spirits -- is she even 21? Ick.

So yes, I'm feeling a little sour grapey that I'm not sitting in a swimming hole with a whole evening of drumming ahead of me at a bucolic campground that nonetheless always skeeved me solid. But today I'm concentrating on the skeevy and not the sweet. I can't support a place that is baldly profit-driven and badly run. Nobody will miss me anyway. I was never an elite donor, or any kind of donor for that matter.

The moral of this sermon is simple: When you go to an event or a place that purports to be New Age spiritual, take a good look and listen before you commit. If it seems like there's one person in charge that everyone else defers to passionately, or if it seems like profit is a motive, move on. Build yourself a shrine in your back yard and drum on your porch. It's safer that way.

Mackenzie Scott Should Read the Bible, or Be Eaten. I Don't Care Which.

 Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we don't comfort the afflicted ... we afflict the comfortable. Today's comfortable person is Mackenzie Scott, formerly Mrs. Jeff Bezos.

In case you haven't heard, this chewy and nutritious plutocrat has been giving billions of dollars to the charities of her choice.

I found out about this by seeing a Facebook page called "YOU Are Now RBG." This article was posted, followed by dozens of ordinary women, applauding dear Mackenzie's generosity.

When I dared to suggest that someone who has $60 billion giving away $4 billion is laughable, insulting, and grounds to be chopped up for soup, I got scolded. I was (in no specific order):

*anti-feminist

*hard-hearted

* cynical

* a danger to woke society

Several clearly intelligent women seemed to have a complete inability to grasp the fact that giving four dollars away when you have 60 dollars is nice, but giving $4 billion away when you have $60 billion is LAUGHABLE.

"But she has plans to give away half her fortune!" one Karen exclaimed.

Half of 60 dollars is a lot. Half of $60 billion is NOTHING.

This person could give away 99.9 percent of her wealth and still live large. She would still have millions!

Next question: How much did she pay last year in taxes to the government of her native land? The answer is not available, but my guess is, not much. Certainly nowhere near the percentage we common middle class scum pay. And why give money to the U.S. government when you can fund theater projects and colleges? Well, let's start with public fucking schools. And go from there. Did you know that America's senior citizens have to pay the entire cost of hearing aids? And there sits Mackenzie, on a fortune that would buy hearing aids for every damn senior citizen in America.

Final question: How did Mackenzie Scott acquire $60 billion (with a b) dollars? Well, for those of you who do your shopping in stores, there's a company called Amazon that has practically monopolized the purchase and delivery of every item you could ever want. Amazon has done that by creating inhumane conditions for their workforce and by strenuously blocking efforts at unionization of said workforce. It's basically the 21st century's answer to coal mines and shirtwaist factories.

So, to the dear feminists at "YOU are now RBG," I've got to say: This is not about a woman. It's about an owner who exploits workers. Who does Mackenzie Scott think she is? To me she seems like some emperor of old, flinging ducats into the crowds of starving subjects on Festival Day.

EXHIBIT A: FEED HER TO GRITTY

Speaking of Festival Day, this is Juneteenth! Now a federal holiday! I had 12 years of public schooling, then four years of college, then a lifetime of reading and watching the news, and I never heard of Juneteenth until last year. So please allow me to catch up and learn how to celebrate this holiday before I begin to comment on it.

This sermon will end with that rarest of recommendations from "The Gods Are Bored." Mackenzie Scott should read Jesus Christ's advice to the rich man, and then follow it. Same goes for anyone who has more money than they could spend in 100 lifetimes.

Heartbroken Hillbilly ISO a Little Piece of Land

 I have never gotten over the sale of my grandfather's property on Polish Mountain. I couldn't afford to buy my cousins out. And the house would have needed upkeep. I'm no starry-eyed romantic when it comes to unattended homes in the middle of nowhere.

Still I have grieved. That's the Land of My People -- seven, eight generations -- and I've felt adrift since the property passed out of my life.

I've been looking at the real estate listings in that neck of the woods, and the prices are astonishing. I had pretty much given up ever buying even a little shard of ground in the zip code where I grew up. (It's about 100 miles from DC and Baltimore, which explains everything.)

But now I spy a glimmer of hope. It is just a glimmer.

There's a slip of land for sale by owner. Sitting right smack dab in Land of My People Central. A really small lot covered with rock and hardwood saplings, bordered by a wildlife refuge.

If I am able to acquire this land, I don't plan to build on it. I'll just take a folding chair and go sit in the woods there. It'll be the largest ancestor shrine in the region, but no one will know because I don't intend to disturb one single rock. I'm not going to hang one shiny bauble from a tree limb. I'm not going to pester the bears or the rattlesnakes. It's woods now, it'll stay woods. But it will be my woods.

Well, y'all know that buying and selling even the simplest piece of ground is a mammoth undertaking. So I'm not putting a lot of emotional investment in this. I'll go up and see it this summer, if it's still available, and then I'll decide.

Did you know that one cannot build a good ol' outhouse in PA anymore? What is the world coming to?

I'm not a huge or even medium Woody Allen fan, but this clip is short and apropos of the situation.

Say a little prayer for me to the deity of your choice. It would be wonderful to be a card-carrying hillbilly again.

Red-Eyed Menaces

 My dear ol' dad taught me to respect and appreciate insects. I'm pretty tolerant of most bugs, with the usual exceptions for cockroaches and biting flies. It's never been part of my playbook to be disconcerted by harmless insects, no matter how large they are.

That tolerance was tested to the max over the weekend when I went to Maryland for my nephew's high school graduation.

The state of Maryland is experiencing a brood year for 17-year cicadas. I took some photos that are better than others online, but my technology isn't working for me tonight. I will have to paint a picture with words.

These HUGE, LOOMING MENACES have beady red eyes, transparent wings, and the vocal prowess of 100,000 HEAVY METAL BANDS. They consider all parts of the human body to be swell perches. They collide with windshields with resounding splats. And YOU CANNOT HEAR ABOVE THEIR DIN.

The worst of it was on the Baltimore Beltway, a place where one doesn't want to be distracted by SWARMS OF SIZABLE BUGS. It felt like they were raining from the sky. Glancing at the trees beside the highway revealed packs and packs of them. And then ... SPLAT. SPLAT. SPLAT. Windshield wipe-out.

At first I thought the Red-Eyed Menaces weren't as numerous in Western Maryland. But then my sister and I took a kayak paddle down a local waterway, and WE HAD TO SHOUT TO BE HEARD OVER THE CICADAS. They were flailing in the stream, zooming through the air, and using the kayaks (and our shoulders, and our heads) as helpful landing zones.

Oh, I wish my photos would load! Then I could subject you to the trauma!

17-year cicadas are about the length and size of a thumb. That's a little bit more insect than I want to find on my kneecap, glaring at me from beady red eyes.

Well, reader. I did survive. I'm back in New Jersey, which is remarkably free of the scourge. I don't know how I have gotten to the ripe age I am without ever having been confronted with a 17-year cicada brood, but it happened. Now my education on the subject of Red-Eyed Menaces is complete, and I'll know to take a pass on Maryland in 2038.

I Must Admit, It Stings

Here I was, all full of vigor and great ideas. Time to move on, time to join the deluge of podcasts just the way I leapt into blogging in 2005!  Time to stay edgy and relevant and young.

What's a girl to do? I hatched the idea to interview bored deities for a podcast! Sounds great, right?

I put out a call to all the bored Gods and Goddesses who so graciously enjoyed my hospitality over the past decade and a half, here at "The Gods Are Bored." I figured they would be all keen to do the latest, greatest social experiment.

Monday afternoon as I was tearing into my Memorial Day hamburger, a ... what shall I call it? ... delegation of Goddesses knocked politely at the front door. They wouldn't come inside, preferring to sit on the porch. At first I found this a hopeful sign, as it was an exceedingly temperate day.

Hel did the talking, which was surprising as I had never interviewed Her before. But the others sat primly nodding their heads in agreement.

Long story short, there will be no interviews with deities from Anne. I am relegated to that special realm of disdain reserved for women over 60 and under 102.

Hel did not mince words: Obsolete. Washed up. No longer relevant. Like, when was the last time you wielded a sword? Can you even lift one?

This is the kind of harsh shit you would expect from a Goddess like Hel, but the oh-so-polite pursing of lips and gentle nods of Her companions hurt more. I'm not gonna name names here. But it was a thorough inventory of Goddesses who have dipped my scones in their tea for years.

Well, then, what about the bored Gods -- as in, the male deities? Hel flicked her wrist and had me understand that the only deity who agreed to sit for a podcast interview was Zeus. And He only wants to "explain the whole swan thing."

Needless to say, this visitation from the Exulted Ones was brief. I watched Them go, the ingrates, and was sorely tempted to tell them this is how Yahweh got His stranglehold on the praise and worship racket.

Nobody in Johnsonia noticed that I was blue and distracted the rest of the day. If you're over 60, you know the feeling.

Now please excuse me while I go wallow in atheist snark on social media.

And fuck podcasts. They're boring.

An Open Letter to the White Boomer Singers at the Farmer's Market

 Dear White Boomer Singers at the Haterfield Farmer's Market:

What in the name of red-eyed fruit flies are you thinking, daring to cover "What's Goin On?" For the love of all that's holy! Just because you're Boomers with guitars (acoustic), that sure doesn't make you worthy to sing Marvin Gaye! Sweet Jesus in the manger. Here I am, on my first maskless outing since March 13, 2020, and I have to hear some gray-bearded white guy mangle "What's Goin On?" What a buzz kill.

Music is an infrequent topic here at "The Gods Are Bored." I'm not a rock snob. But I do know a bit about music, having written for an American Music reference book for five years. Point of fact, one of the entries I did was on Marvin Gaye.

You can search far and wide through the canon of mid-century American music and not find a more soulful song than "What's Goin On." Or its sister "Mercy Mercy Me." Marvin Gaye went way out on a limb putting together that album. The people at Motown were against it, but he persisted. And thank all the bored Gods he did, because his velvety voice questioning war and brutality and pleading for brotherhood was unparalleled. That is some deeply moving music, there.

I remember when that song first came on the radio. It turned my head. I was always a Motown fan, but this was different. And what made it different in a groundbreaking way was the actual presentation of the song. Marvin owned that music. His voice was like a warm pool he had built himself, and he was swimming around in it.

Maybe he should have taken those songs to the grave with him.

The effrontery of two saggy white people covering that at a farmer's market in a damn near segregated suburb! You cannot sing that well, chumps. Even if you could sing, you couldn't sing that. You can't sing "What's Goin On." Stop. Stop. Stop.

One Saturday morning before the pandemic, I found myself at the Berlin Flea Market, which is quite a different vibe from Haterfield. That market had hired a similarly craggy Boomer dude to provide some music. He sat down on a stool and gave up some high quality Bob Seeger. It was sublime. Then he did a little Gordon Lightfoot, a little Chicago. The man was on safe turf. He was where he should be. No Motown! Dude had some respect.

White people singing at farmer's markets should stick to any damn country song about losing your girl, your dog, your pickup, and your gun. No white person has any business covering Marvin Gaye. Don't do it again, unless and until you wake up some morning and you actually are Marvin Gaye.

Brother brother brother.

About the Podcast/Moron Sighting

 You can blame my school district.

They blocked Blogger.

I can see my blog but can't write new posts.

I guess I should write them in Google and then copy and paste them here, but there's something comforting about composing on this platform. Blogger and I go way back. Blogger is basically my blankie.

It occurred to me that I could do a podcast and put it up here.

Nowadays there are now thousands of podcasts out there. It's ridiculous, really. And when things get ridiculous, it's time to spoof them! You didn't expect "The Gods Are Bored" to go straight, did you? BAMP. No! If you're gonna spend time with me, I want you to have fun!

My first podcast was serious. If I do a serious one, I'll give you a head's up that it's serious or informational. If it's a spoof, I'll tell you that, too.

I'll also tell you how long the recording is. It won't ever exceed 10 minutes, because the platform I use maxes out at 10 minutes.

I'm not gonna switch completely to podcasting. That would make me snobby.

In today's news, Maximum Moron on the loose! Story below.

I joined a New Jersey hiking group on Facebook. Last night I saw a post, and I only wish I could find it to include the compelling photo here. Alas, it might have been axed from the feed. The post featured one of those morons that you stroke your chin and wonder: How the hell did this person live to adulthood?

The picture was of a young bro in his early 20s, out in the woods, holding up a snake. The bro was grinning ear to ear.

The photo caption: "I'm from Idaho, so I don't know much about the wildlife in New Jersey. What kind of snake is this?"

For the love of fruit flies!

The comments had been disabled, needless to say. But not before people informed the young idiot that he was holding a Nope Rope, a Danger Noodle, a Savage String. And someone else said, "We don't go pulling your damn potatoes out of the ground, do we?"

It's been quite a while since I saw a classic moron. Trump had the moron market cornered for so long, it's actually refreshing to see one outside of politics.

The Gods Are Bored Premiere Podcast!

 Blogging is so 2008, you know? So here's the first episode of The Gods Are Bored Podcast!

Let me know what you think! It's 4 and a half minutes.

The Gods Are Bored Epic Podcast #1