Twits

I'm really interested in Twitter. I don't know how to make it work for me, but I'm not giving up. I just subscribed to Downing Street's (British Prime Minster's residence) and got this:

"At the Embassy Residence, Rabbi Schneier gives PM a silver honey pot in the shape of an apple in thanks for work tackling poverty."

Yes. Praise a leader for helping the hungry by giving the guy a useless piece of shiny silver shaped like food. That's either diplomatic studity or a magical working.

Favorite Present

My favorite Yule present this year is "The Lump of Coal" by Lemony Snicket. From the back cover:

"Miracles can happen, even to those who are small, flammable, and dressed all in black."

Thunder Snow

I just got back from St. Louis. I'm from the Bay Area. What do I know of weather. Weather.com said that there would be "freezing rain" when I landed.

Freezing rain.

Snow sounds soft and fluffy. Sleet sounds kinda neat. Freezing rain just sounds miserable. And it is. You get immediately wet. The stuff comes pre-melted and wastes no time powdering the new down coat you hoped would be enough. Freezing rain slaps you in the face like a wet towel before burrowing in at the wrists and neck and *then* it freezes.

As I parked at the hotel, the radio guy warned that later that night we might get some thunder snow.

Fortunately, I was asleep by then.

A Spell for Electoral Madlibness

First you draw the __[noun]__ then you say
__[expletive]____ ___[proper noun]_____ .

Hold the ___[noun]___ and ____[verb]____
Stand on your ___[body part]__
Say ____[magic words]___

lawsuit
jeezy-creezy
Mr. President
constitution
actually read it
habeus corpus
There's no place like 1/21/09.

Your turn.

Why I'm not an Olympic athlete

If I were to hear the theme from Jaws when I got into the pool, I'd look around for the fin signaling the approach of my death. When Heather Petri, a member of the US water polo team, hears this music, she feels like a shark.

The Chinese Olympic organizers thought it would be a kick to play the theme song at the beginning of each polo match.*  Petri rather likes the touch:

“It kind of fires me up. I feel like a shark.”

And that's why she's an Olympian and I'm not.

*They also have an old lady who goes around the beach volleyball courts to catch the moths that gather at the night games.  She is called Ms. Bug Catcher.

Triple Expedite

There's a theory in some circles that you insure the gods will come through on a request by withholding the offering until after the goods are delivered. This is more true in Christianity and Hoodoo than general modern paganism. Go to Italy and you may see an old woman spitting and cursing a statue of Mary. The local priest will pass this off. "Of course she curses the statue. Her daughter still is not pregnant." A friend of mine once gave a prayer to Saint Expedite, but she made the mistake of giving him the flowers and pound cake before she got the really cool job. When the job went to someone else, the local hoodoo expert asked her, "Why would Expedite work for the job when he already has his cake?" Magical prayer can be a lot like high-school sex.

***

Last week I lost my bank card. I only lost it for an hour, but that was enough time for me to call the bank and cancel the card. I had to write checks and go without online book purchases for a week. And did you know that Whole Foods does not take checks? I only found that out after I'd unloaded my cart onto the checkout conveyor belt. I let the clerks reshelve my organic golden beets and gluten-free pasta.

Life was going to be a bit rougher for the next few days.

But then I had a brilliant idea. On Friday as I said my morning prayer to Hermes, I realized I could ask him to help. Hermes is a god of business transactions. He makes sure things move. In the divine commerce of gods and men, Hermes delivers the smoke of incense and offerings to Olympus along with praises, prayers and the list of victorious athletes and playwrights. Hermes made the jump to Christianity as Saint Expedite, the patron saint of express mail. My request for a timely arrival for my debit card seemed right up his alley.

I'm not very good at asking for help, and indeed this request seemed a little frivolous. I believe that if you have food, shelter and basic health, the gods figure you are doing just fine. Asking for my new debit card to arrive in a timely fashion so that I could return to my heightened American level of consumption seemed, well, let's just say I would understand if Hermes just rolled his eyes when he heard my prayer.

I told the King of the Rustlers that I understood my request was small, but that it was also a simple thing for a god as great as Hermes. This sounds sycophantic written out in a modern context, but in prayer it's just fact. I told the Many Twisting One that if I got my card that day, I'd pour him a libation and sing his praises at the upcoming theoxenia, a public Hellenic ritual. This second offering was given with a fair amount of dread as I'd been hoping to avoid attending this particular ritual based on past experience.

The card did not arrive.

Well, I thought, I dodged that one. I may not have my bank card, but I also don't have to go to that ritual.

By Saturday morning, however, I decided to try the prayer thing again. There were these really tasty gluten-free protein bars I wanted and the only place that carried them was an online site that charged $4.95 for processing check payments.

I made the same offering to sing the Whisperer's praises at the theoxenia and then remembered that the date of the ritual conflicted with something I really wanted to do. I was torn. If the card showed up on Saturday, rather than having dinner with friends I rarely see, I'd be stuck sitting in someone's living room eating bad potluck and trying to block out the screams of the high priest's hyperactive children.

Thinking quickly (praise Wingfooted Hermes) I amended my prayer. Scratch that earlier offer, I told the god. Instead of singing your praises at the theoxenia, I'll write a piece about you on my blog.

The private libation was still in play. That means I'll have to buy some honey and perhaps a nice Cabernet with the bank card that came in the mail later that day.

I also have to write this blog. The bad ritual would have been torture for an evening, but having to write something carries a higher price. You'll note I haven't written a blog entry in quite a while. It's hard for a writer when the act of writing makes the brain switch into depressed mode. I can journal everyday, but when I write something at all creative, especially something I want people to read, I have a tendency to spend the next few days hating on myself. I have to watch myself for health reasons. This high-risk writer's block is also something I want to overcome so that I can write again. Hermes held out for the more significant offer using the small thing--for him such an easy, simple bit of work--to garner the more difficult offering. More difficult, but also exactly what I needed.

So here's to you, Thrice Great Hermes, Glad-hearted and Glorious. Thank you.

Samuel Johnson to Bush and Hastert

Clive Wilmer is celebrating the poet Samuel Johnson over at Carcanet Press. I find it both strangely disturbing and reassuring to know that great minds of the past have struggled with the same trends and issues that we do today. Here's something for the lesser minds in government today from Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes

LET Observation with extensive View,
Survey Mankind, from China to Peru;
Remark each anxious Toil, each eager Strife,
And watch the busy Scenes of crowded Life;
Then say how Hope and Fear, Desire and Hate,
O'erspread with Snares the clouded Maze of Fate,
Where wav'ring Man, betray'd by vent'rous Pride,
To tread the dreary Paths without a Guide;
As treach'rous Phantoms in the Mist delude,
Shuns fancied Ills, or chases airy Good.
How rarely Reason guides the stubborn Choice,
Rules the bold Hand, or prompts the suppliant Voice,
How Nations sink, by darling Schemes oppress'd,
When Vengeance listens to the Fool's Request.
Fate wings with ev'ry Wish th'afflictive Dart,
Each Gift of Nature, and each Grace of Art,
With fatal Heat impetuous Courage glows,
With fatal Sweetness Elocution flows,
Impeachment stops the Speaker's pow'rful Breath,
And restless Fire precipitates on Death.

Oompa Loompa Pygmy Hippies

When I was a young child I was told three things about hippies by my rather conservavtive grandfather: 1) they had long hair, 2) they said "peace" a lot while waving their fingers in the peace sign formation, 3) they wanted to steal your money and make you one of them.

This was enough to make me fear hippies. In my 4 year old mind, I was convinced for some reason that hippies could seep up through the corner between the floor and the wall. With the iron clad logic of that age, I determined my best course of action was to make my older sister sleep on that side of the bed. Me, I wanted to be able to run right into my mom's rooms to escape the evil hippies.

Roald Dahl didn't seem to have a fixation on hippies. His original oompa loompas were African pygmies. These were changed to hippies by his publisher seeking to avoid controversy:
http://www.mrbalihai.com/goof/literature/

Japanese Hooters and Toilets

My good friend, Tree Cat, tells me the Japanese know their toilets. They've gone beyond the bidet to include massage seats and a bunch of other stuff. Now they've added MP3 players. http://www.popgadget.net/2006/08/mp3_toilet.php

The Japanese also know how to do Hooters with style:
http://anenglishmaninosaka.blogspot.com/

I'd like the melons, the coconuts and a cup of tea, please.

Pidget

This is what I live with...

Andre Cypriano

Amazing photographs of Brazil. Black and white, etherial, haunting, editorial, heart rending, breath taking.
http://www.andrecypriano.com

Ghost Stations

I went to Europe a long time ago, right before the fall of the Wall. Got to go through Checkpoint Charlie and have a bunch of my hard earned money turned into valueless East German dollars. The Berlin underground was built before the wall went up with some of the stations ending up on the wrong side. These became ghost stations. Unused and cobwebby with a single armed guard stationed at the information booth. Trains didn't stop. Since the Wall came down, these stations are being used again. Eventually I'll go back to Berlin and get off at one just because it's possible again.

The London Underground is a marvel. It's a world unto itself. If you ever go to London buy an A-Z (pronounced "A to Zed") and a day pass. There are ghost stations here too, but for other reasons. Here's a site about those:

http://underground-history.co.uk/front.php

Oh Superman

The thing about gods is that they can look cruel no matter how "good" they are. I just saw Superman Returns last night. It made me so sad. It's one of the most personal portrayals of Superman I've ever encountered. He's definately a Christ figure, but not because he's a god or the Son of God. Simply because he has this tremendous ability to help others. In the movie you see him flying up to the stratosphere where he can hear the cries of all the people who are suffering at the moment. He must chose the one act out of all the possibilities to fix. Lois Lane at one point tells him that humans don't need a savior and he brings her up there and says, "but so many are calling for one". Ultimately, we find out that he understands his mission in life to that of inspiring others to work out their problems on their own.

This mission is contrasted to a few quick scenes that show us Superman as a boy first gaining some of his abilities. He's leaping over the cornfields of Kansas and you can just see how much fun this would be. Imagine being 10 years old and being able to leap hundreds of feet in the air. What fun! What innocent fun! Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could all just stay in that joyful moment.

But of course, we can't. At some point we recognize the pain around us and within us and we have to make choices about it. Do we ignore it and keep jumping for our own joy? Do we become twisted and hateful, seeing other people as the problem - as Lex Luthor sees Superman? Oh, there's a wonderful scene near the end where dashing, civilized Lex shows us exactly what he learned in prison. Ah, life is prison, how do we let that shape us?

Or do we decide to act, knowing that by doing so, we are denying all the other possibilities in that moment?

And for most people, the first two options are the most understandable. The child is equally denying everyone of help. The villian is expressing our most shameful feelings. But Superman is actively denying help to the suffering because he chooses to help at all. And to all those he didn't swoop down and save in the nick of time, he appears very cruel indeed.

Where the Sun goes

Archaeologists have found an prehistoric earthwork in Wales they believe was the inspiration of Stonehenge. http://dsc.discovery.com/news/2006/06/22/tomb_arc.html

From the article:
"It’s as if the builders of Stonehenge were translating an interest in the sunrise from a centuries-old burial tradition to a new religious tradition," said Burrow. "I think (the mound) tells us something about where the builders of Stonehenge got their inspiration. Bryn Celli Ddu is the only other monument in Britain to have a midsummer sunrise alignment."

Isle of Avalon

As a practicing Pagan with an academic background, one of my greatest laments is that there are so few good books out there on Paganism. So when I find a well-researched book on a Pagan topic, I like to tell people about it.

Nicholas R. Mann's "Isle of Avalon" [Green Magic Press] is a spiritual exploration of the area around Glastonbury Tor, one of the sites considered to be a forerunner of the mythical Avalon of Arthurian legend. Mann grounds his work in modern archeology and historical understanding, but he interprets things with an eye to the religious and spiritual practices of nature-based worship. He is careful to note when he is speculating and lets the merit of his conclusions rest in the reader.

It is quite a task to integrate the Matter of Britain, the collection of legends and history that form what Mann calls "a charter for [British] nature, unity, spirituality, sovereignty, and ultimately for their destiny." That's a big job, but as Mann shows, the Matter of Britain is up to the task. And not just for the British either, but for everyone who has read the tales of the Mabinogi and King Arthur and felt a pull to something deeper than mere tales. Through the history of Glastonbury, from its beginnings in prehistory through its Christianization, Mann integrates the huge range of time and practice showing an approach to the material that allows modern readers to use this history to move forward.

This book is well written, well researched, and exhaustive in its coverage of the history and myth of the Tor.

Monks on the rampage

Libanius was a Classical orator who lived before, during and after the reign of Emperor, the last Pagan Emperor of Late Antiquity. In his Oration XXX, For The Temples, he writes to Emperor Theodosius regarding bands of monks who coursed through the countryside “like rivers in spate.” Their destruction was not only of the physical temples and shrines that dotted the countryside, but also of the people's relationship with the land.

“…by ravaging the temples, they ravage the estates, for wherever they tear out a temple from an estate, that estate is blinded and lies murdered.”

The kinds of practices we see in peoples who have maintained their contacts with the gods of their land are sustainable. I can only imagine that the kind of terror Libanius describes was the start of the Western way of dealing with the environment.

Bonnie Rideout

I read somewhere, I think in Patricia Monoghan's beautiful book Red Haired Girl From The Bog, that Irish music expresses two feelings, grief and joy. Regardless of where I got this idea from, you should do two things, read Pat's book and know that this is true.

And if you don't believe me, check out Bonnie Rideout. She's a fiddler. In one song of hers, she will break your heart and make you dance with happiness. And all you have to do is listen.

X-Men so sad

I used to be a buyer for a comic book store, which is why I hate comics. I love the medium, in fact, it is my favorite storytelling medium. It allows for all the unmarked story elements of prose, many of film, plus there are some really amazing thing you can do with the sequential art. It is a highly compact medium, being able to tell a complex story is a fraction of the length of prose, much less film (consider that it took a mere 4 comics to tell the story of the first X-Men movie and there are 100's of X-Men comics.)

For the most part, the X-Men movies have been an exercise for me in seeing what can and cannot be converted from comics to film. Jackman's Wolverine was a nice surprise that made the whole thing bearable. By far my favorite parts of all three films has been seeing the mutants, whose powers I am embarrassingly familiar with, in motion. Wolverine claws moving under his skin, Colossus' armor flowing over his body. This had been balanced by the ridiculous, a sequence showing first Storm and then Jean Grey using their powers indicated by their blank stares at the out of scene blue screen.

It's an understatement to say the plot of X-Men 3 meanders. If properly treated in comic book form, I estimate it would take at least 20 if not 30 issues. (At 3.50 a pop, the price they were at the last time I stepped foot in a comic book store, that's $70-105 or a handful of movie tickets.) And there is absolutely no reason given for why two of the bad guys were given different solutions at the end. No reason for much of any of it.

Except for Kitty Pryde and Juggernaut. Not really worth the price of admission, but like Nightcrawler's power aria in the second movie, seeing Kitty use her powers against the musclebound, mysteriously Australian Juggernaut was cool.

Cabell the lost

I finally found James Branch Cabell.

From Figures of Earth:

“Yes, but,” asked Manuel, slowly, “what is success?”
“In your deep mind, I think, that question is already answered.”
“Undoubtedly I have my notion, but it was about your notion I was asking.”
Horvendile looked grave, and yet whimsical too.
“Why, I have heard somewhere,” says he, “that at its uttermost
this success is but the strivings of an ape reft of his tail, and grown rusty at
climbing, who yet feels himself to be a symbol and the frail representative of
Omnipotence in a place that is not home.”

I love it.

There's a reason for that ritual

I'm reading "Celtic Sacred Landscapes" by Nigel Pennick. Pennick is a great author for the modern Pagan. He's a scholar. He knows his sources. But where other scholars see a bunch of superstitious beastmen or wannabe Christians when they look at the fragmentary and inconclusive historical record, Pennick sees thoughtful, religious people. It's a nice change.

In chapter 1 he makes a statement about sacred landscape and the rituals that emerge from them in human consciousness: "[Rituals] ensure harmonious conformity of the visible world with the invisible."

This got me thinking about the Oracle of Delphi. Some of you may know that recent studies seem to indicate she was huffin' ethylene, a sweet smelling narcotic vapor, similar to what has been used at times in the last century for anesthesia.

At Delphi, the Pythia would go through some ritual steps before sitting over the sacred vent. This included things like fasting for a certain period of time. But at least once in recorded history, the Pythia was forced at sword point to give oracles immediately without ritual preparation. In the story, the Pythia goes into violent convulsions, freaks out, and sends the soldiers running in fear before she dies. (May she rest in the arms of the gods.) To modern scholars, this whole incident looks like ethylene overdose.

What is striking to me is how the ancient rituals of fasting and the practices around how the Pythia did her job, how far she was from the vent, how long she stayed, what time of day she inhaled, all seem to guard against ethylene overdose. This is certainly a case of ritual ensuring a harmonious conformity between the visible and the invisible.