BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

There are certain rules around our house…

I will meet E K at the door with her drink…

I will have dinner on the table no later than 30 minutes after E K arrives home…

I will spit shine all of EKay’s shoes on a daily basis…

I will do whatever E K tells me to do…

Sense a pattern there? Yeah, me too.  But the consequences for non-compliance with said rules are pretty harsh, so I just live with them. There are some other rules, of course. Most of them involve something I have to do in order to please The Evil One and keep her from taking me downstairs into her “play room” – which reminds me, I’m supposed to hose it down today after I drop her Stryker Saw off at the shop. I just hope she didn’t leave anyone down there. The trash truck doesn’t run for another couple of days yet…

There is, however, a rule that doesn’t directly involve E K… Well, sorta… I mean, the results of the rule compliance directly involve E K – as well as allow me to comply with the other rules of the house… But the actual rule is more along the line of – The Kitchen is MY domain, leave my stuff alone.

Surprisingly, E K generally works within the boundaries of that rule. Largely, I think, because she hates to cook, but likes to eat.

Because of this, it was a great surprise to me when I walked around the corner the other night and found her torturing a houseplant. I know, I know… Whiplash moment there, but trust me, there’s a connection. She was torturing the houseplant with one of my kitchen knives.

You see, we have this yucca plant… We’ve had this plant for something on the order of forever. Seriously. I’m pretty sure we had it when we moved into together. It has been through some serious trials and tribulations – namely countless plant chewing felines. During the summer it lives on our front porch, soaking up the sunshine and Saint Louis humidity, mostly safe from cats with plant fetishes. During that period of months the yucca goes crazy, sort of like it is making up for the rest of the year when it’s in fear for its life. By the time Autumn rolls around, and the first frost is upon us, the yucca looks a little… well… yucky.

And so, the temperature was forecast to plummet the other night, and plummet it did. Before it fell too far though, E K, in all her regalness, invoked her prime directive – that being the rule saying I have to do whatever she says.

“Lackey!” she demanded. “Go bring in the plants.”

Little did I know that in rescuing the yucky yucca from the cold, I was merely delivering it into the hands of a deranged redhead with a topiary affliction. Unfortunately for both of us – the plant and me – she didn’t have her pruning shears handy, so she headed straight for the knife block on the kitchen counter.

Of course, I suppose I should look upon the incident as an opportunity, because I learned something that evening.  Never mention the rules to an evil redhead who is holding a large, serrated bread knife in one hand and the hacked up limb of a defenseless yucca plant in the other.

We have a Ficus too, but it’s a little tougher than the Yucca. I think while she’s at work I’ll go hide my electric knives, otherwise they might end up dulled and it’ll be a little tough carving the turkey at Thanksgiving this year.

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