BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

On any given day my life could be a sitcom. Or a soap opera. I guess it just depends on the day. Personally, I prefer the sitcom days because I don’t do drama. I laugh at drama. I shoot spitwads at the llama. But I don’t do drama. I even send friends packing when they bring their drama to my home.

Rule number 1437.5 – If you bring drama to my house, leave it in the car with your llama.

But, sometimes drama sneaks in the back door when someone leaves it open, and you have to chase it out with a broom. Been there, done that. But let’s run around a different block. As I said, I prefer the sitcom days, and I have way more of them than I have accidental soap opera days.

Now, if you follow me on Facebook (there we go with The Zuckman’s social network again… talk about drama…whewww…) Anywho, if you follow me over there you hear me mention E S. No, not E K… E S. No, E S is not Evil Stephanie, EKay’s heretofore unknown half-sister just announced on national TV. (How’s that for a gratuitous Oprah reference?)… But back to the story – E S stands for Ethical Society.

Yes Virginia (Fred, Joe, Sandy, Arlene, Bob, Carol, Ted, Alice, etc…) I am a Secular Humanist. Thought I was Pagan didn’t you? Not for quite a long, long time now… I have my reasons, but that’s another blog. Suffice it to say, I’m not anti-pagan, just like I’m NOT anti-Christian, anti-Semitic, anti-Muslim, etc. I’m good with all of ’em, but I’m not any of them either.

But, like I said, different blog.

So, anyway, the O-spring has friends at E S, as do Her Supreme Evilness and I. And we hang out at E S on Sunday’s, and even at other times. Like recently. Right after that foot of snow dropped on us. We even had some more falling from the sky to top it off a bit. Get where I’m heading? Good, because I don’t either.

Wait… Maybe I do. You see, after E S this past Sunday, the O-spring went home with one of her friends so they could hang out and do tween o-spring stuff. What with all the snow they did sledding and all that general wintry fun crap we used to do when we were young enough to be able to get back up off the ground after slamming into a snowbank at the bottom of the hill. Anyhow, as will happen they ended up snow covered, and as the snow melts the coat, etc ends up wet.

Fast forward to that evening. This is actually where the sitcom moment comes in. The Redhead and I hop into the Evil Mobile and head over to retrieve our kid. We arrive, business as usual, our friend – we’ll call her Alison because I promised I wouldn’t use her real name –  invites us in and calls the girls down from upstairs. While we wait for the kids to actually make it to the main floor, what with them being tweens and all, we stood around in the sitting room – yeah, I know – chit chatting.

Alison eventually says, “I’d better get o-spring’s boots. They were wet so I’ve been drying them out over here.”

The Hottest Thing In Kids Shoes

She takes a step over to the fireplace and when she turns back around she is holding a suede girls boot. Nothing terribly odd about this, except that smoke is rolling out of and off of it. Literally. In fact, it looks just like one of those smoking shoes that is left behind after Larry, Moe, Curly, or Shemp is blown out of his socks…

We all looked at it. No drama. No excitement. No nothing.

After a moment of us all staring at the smoking boot, in a calm, even voice Alison said, “I think I burned it.”

I replied, just as calmly, “Burned? Actually I think it’s still burning.”

It was. Smoke was still rolling off of it. Out of it. Around it. There even appeared to be some glowing embers spreading along the side around what used to be a buckle. And the rubberized sole was looking just a bit drippy.

The smell of a tire fire was beginning to permeate the room.

We all looked at it again. Calmly. No exclamations. No hurry. Just standing there staring at the hottest thing in fashion footwear for kids, so to speak.

“Yep,” E K finally said with a nod. “It’s definitely on fire.”

Alison said, “I think I’d better put it out.”

“Well, at least the kid’s feet will be warm on the way home,” I offered.

“Well, the other one didn’t burn,” Alison said as she headed out of the room with the smoking shoe with no more urgency than if she were just going to  grab a drink. Over her should she added, “Just this one.”

I shrugged. “I guess we need to move it closer to the fire then.”

I guess that makes me a bad parent.

Moral of the story? There isn’t one really. The kid ended up with a new pair of boots, and I ended up with a story. Of course, I guess I need to remember to ask Alison the next time I see her if the house still smells like someone tossed a steel belted radial into the fireplace.

More to come…

Murv

When I was in high school I was a member of the Drama Club. We studied the fine art of acting, performed skits, and even put on plays. It was fun. As I’ve aged, however, drama has morphed into something else entirely, and I don’t find it fun in the least. I think you probably know the drama to which I refer. If you don’t then I envy you, because that means you haven’t been touched by it.

Now, I will grant you, sometimes this drama is amusing, but only in a really sad sort of way. Unfortunately, there are folks in the world who are addicted to strife. And, when I say addicted I mean it. So much so that if there isn’t any drama in their lives they will manufacture some in order to feed their need. Some of the worst offenders are what the pagan community refers to as “Fluffy Bunnies”.  In short, a “Fluffy Bunny” or “Fluff Bunny” is someone who is unwilling to accept that there is anything other than goodness and light in paganism. For them, any deviation from that is inherently wrong and evil. Whenever threatened by factual information that is not contained within the three chapters of the particular book they skimmed before declaring themselves High Priest/ess Aluminum Fairy Poo, they instantly launch into their mantra, “Persecution! Help, I’m being persecuted!”

You might think I am kidding, but unfortunately I am not. Granted, there are some other nuances and complexities to the bunnies, but the above is the overall gist.

Of course, fluff bunnies, like their Hassenpfeffer bound cousins, multiply at an alarming rate. One theory is that they do this because cutting up big ol’ fat lines of drama on a mirror and sucking it up through Monopoly money isn’t any fun if you are all by yourself. Therefore, these cotton tailed drama junkies will invite their friends into the mix, and before long you have a “drama house” on your block, complete with strung out dramaheads propped up against the wall, sucking on a drama pipe. Others will be passing a blimped out drama doob around the circle, getting all excited when a drama seed pops and shoots across the room. The really hardcore “fluffy thespians” are usually in the back, cooking up drama in a spoon over a goddess candle then mainlining it.

Now, this would be just fine if the drama was contained to the drama house, but it just never seems to stay there for long. Especially with the Internet at their disposal. Add social networking to the mix and you have yourself a drama pusher’s wet dream.

Case in point:

The Lost Abbey Witch’s Wit beer controversy.

If you haven’t heard about this, good for you. Once again, I envy that. But, being a part of the Pagan community – whether I self-identify as a Pagan or not (that’s a whole ‘nother blog), I get to hear about it. I even get invited to join the crusade.

In a nutshell, this Microbrewery in California puts out a seasonal selection called Witch’s Wit – “Wit” being a style of beer, specifically a Belgian Wheat Ale with fruit zests and spices added. A mainstream beer example – as much as it pains me to mention an AB product here – would be the Bud Light Wheat. While I haven’t sampled the Port Brewing/Lost Abbey Wit, I’m sure that it is far superior to the Bud Light. Craft beers always are… But, I digress…

The label on the bottle of Witch’s Wit features a rendering of a woman being burned at the stake while the nondescript faces of the crowd watch on. The text about the beer goes on to tell the “back story” behind the beer with tongue-in-cheek dark satire., highlighting the fact that such atrocities were just that, atrocities. The artwork is purposely surreal and the verbiage purposely over the top. While I will concede that someone with a condition such as Asperger’s Syndrome may be incapable of recognizing satire right off the bat, logic dictates that a company that is selling beer is not highly likely to publicly advocate burning people at the stake.

However, leave it to the drama-seeking fluff bunnies to jump all over this.

It is their contention that Port Brewing/Lost Abbey is advocating just that – witch burning. (BTW – in the interest of historical accuracy, during the inquisition burning was reserved for heretics and martyrs. NOT witches. The fluffies don’t believe that, but then, if it isn’t contained in the three chapters of that one book, yadda yadda…)

In addition to advocating witch burning, apparently they are also advocating violence against women – due to the fact that it is a woman in the artwork who is tied to the stake. Just ask the fluff bunnies. They have some amazing insight when it comes to surreal artwork and satire. They can see things the rest of us cannot. Hell, they have amazing insight about everything. It may come as a surprise to you, but per a swarming mass of “fluffies” out there, I am evil. Why? Because the main character in my novels, Rowan Gant, is a Witch. Well, that doesn’t make sense, does it? After all, aren’t they Witches too? Well yes, but the thing is, you have to think like a fluffy bunny. You see, even though I portray Witchcraft and Paganism in an accurate and positive light in my novels,  I write murder mystery/suspense thrillers. Operative word there, murder.  Dying. Blood. Horribleness and stuff. Eww…

I have been informed – and continue to be informed on some bizarre, random schedule – that having a Witch associated with murder (even though he is solving the murder, NOT committing it) is wrong, wrong, WRONG! I am supposed to be writing novels about healing the earth, goodness, light, and fairy dust.

Who knew?

And, I hate to say it, but the above is not an exaggeration. Yeah. Scary, eh?

But, back to the beer…

The Fluff Bunnies have gone so far overboard this time that the whole controversy made it to the New York Times. Can you imagine that? The NYT did a feature story on a Microbrewed Beer all because of a bunch of drama junkies who were having a slow day.

So, here’s my take on it: Normally I wouldn’t say anything. I’d just sit by and ignore you cotton-tails while you suck down your your dime bag of drama, then wander off in search of more. However, since you have elected to get all ridiculous and bring a jaundiced eye to bear upon ALL Pagans with your lunacy,  you have effectively managed to contaminate the rest of us with your stupid. Therefore, I’m going to chime in out of self-preservation. Quit whining. Seriously. Quit friggin’ whining and and pull up your big kid undies. If you don’t like the label on the beer, then don’t buy it. Grow the f*ck up. There’s a movement among some folks right now to boycott Port Brewing/Lost Abbey. Well, if that’s your thing, go for it. There’s your course of action. Boycott. If it bothers you that much, don’t buy it. More power to you. Join the Boycott Lost Abbey group on Facebook. Invite your friends. Invite me if you want, although I will obviously decline. Suffice it to say, a rational reaction to your dislike doesn’t bother me in the least, and I say go for it.

Unfortunately, I don’t have any choice in the matter as far as the  actual, physical boycotting goes since they don’t sell their beer anywhere close to me. But trust me, if they did I’d go buy one. And after drinking it, if I liked it I’d go back and buy more. I happen to like Wit Ales, and I am also rational enough to get the joke – as well as the underlying dig at the religious body responsible for the atrocity.

My real problem with all of this comes from the bunnies who are demanding that they change the label and keep spouting rhetoric like “I can’t believe they are being allowed to persecute Pagans like this!”

Give me a break…

And stop lumping all Pagans into your hutch. Some of us have a clue, and you need to get one.

Get over yourselves. It’s a bottle of beer. I haven’t seen any of you protesting Monty Python’s Holy Grail Ale. It’s been around for years, and it boasts right there on the label that it is “Tempered over burning witches.” Are THEY persecuting you too?

What about the “Flat Witch On The Door” Halloween decoration? What about MacBeth? Maybe we ought to dig up Shakespeare and give him a good talking to, ya’think? What about The Wizard Of Oz? Can’t have any green faced witches being melted by girls in gingham dresses – that’s just unacceptable!

Here’s a dose of reality: The only person(s) persecuting you is you and your ilk, because the more you run off at the mouth the more people are going to look at you like you’ve lost your ever loving mind. Fact is, you probably have, but that’s not something you want to go around broadcasting. Suck it up, don’t buy the beer, and get on with your life. Quit slandering the people, quit sending them emails calling them names, and quit demanding that they change something just because it doesn’t fit your myopic vision of the world – Gee… Sounds to me a lot like you’re the ones doing the persecuting.

Now, here’s my other issue with all of this – I was getting the nasty email from the bunnies long before this beer ever hit the market, so WTF?  Why am I getting left out in the cold? Apparently the bunnies have not raised a big enough stink about how evil I am, and how horrible my books are to portray a crime solving Witch, instead of a tree hugging, earth humping, crystal sucker.

So get on this stick, will ya’? I want some of that free publicity from the New York Times too…

More to come…

Murv