Resistance Is Useless

What do you think of when you hear the word "teacher?" If you're me, you think of variations of the image on the left. So, whenever anyone said to me, "You look like schoolteacher," (because of my glasses, I guess) I cringed and promptly lived a live as non-schoolteacherish as I could. Being a sterotypical Scorpio, I prided myself on being completely unpredicatble.

And now, so what am I doing to earn a living? I'm writing how to and instructional articles on the web. In other words... I'M TEACHING. There are just times when everyone else except you can see your destiny and you just can't fight Destiny Hall. Fight it, no...compromise greatly, yes. I don't have to wear a dress code, speak in front of a group and can run with scissors and call it "research".

All of this has lead to me finding (at last count) over one hundred of my "teachings" on the web. To try and add links in one post or in the sidebar of this blog would be ridiculous, so I'm proud to announce that The Perfect Blog Title now has a spin off blog rraven's ghostwritten whispers. Now if I could only somehow get tenure...

Wanted: A Few Good Elders

Well, it's been an exciting week in the world of rraven, including the beginning of what is hoped to be an exciting experiment in world diplomacy and human rights. I am referring to the formation of the ultimate diplomatic consultation firm -- Mandels, Carter, Tutu & Co. -- otherwise known as The Elders. Although the global village is full of people fighting for the post of Global Village Idiot, what is needed is a few good Elders to sort the idiots out.

The Elders concpt was started and initially funded by Sir Richard Branson and Peter Gabriel. Now, this blog contantly teases PG about the incredibly long time he takes between albums (because what else is there to tease Peter about?) but I am actually glad that he does take the time out to do other projects. Most of them never quite come about as originally planned, but The Elders has.

I'd love to join the Elders. Sadly, at 37 and not even a Z list celebrity, I don't have much of a shot. But I will gladly donate a helpful hint to the current Elders about my plan for bringing about the end of a humanitarian crisis:

No more ice cream for anyone in the world until this Darfur thing is finally settled.

Seriously, think about it. No one cares about Darfur outside of those directly affected because they aren't affected. Take away the ice cream, and we're all affected (probably even those scientists in Antartica as well). That'll put Darfur at the top of the pile of Things To Do so we can all get back to ice cream.

BTW, sadly, that's not me In the photo (much to PG's releif, I'm sure). But the sentiment is there. Well done, Peter, Sir Richard, Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandela and everyone else involved with the Elders. Brightest Blessings.

Ghost Writer On The Fly

Hello, and hope you had a good week. Well, there's beedn lots of religious and spiritual news lately, including that mischevious Pope sticking his foot in his mouth again (I can't wait for the explanation to this one!), but for the most part news has flown right over your blogger's head. Becuase I have discovered some of the articles I wrote for web content sites are now online.

WHOOP! WHOOP! Of course, they don't have my name on them, but they still count as clips for my portfolio, don't they? And lo and behold, hardly a word was changed -- even the typos are still there in all their glory.

Now, what I do is technically called "ghost writing". Sadly, it has nothing to do with Stephen King. That is when I am paid to write material that another person or website gets the credit for. Yes, this is legal. Also sadly, I didn't realise some of these articles were already up and I sent them off as submissions. Is my face pink, or what? Anyway, Its fun to be a ghost writer now that the checks have cashed and the comments are starting to fly. Especially since I found out that all of us ghostwriters writing about ponds have the name of the same ghost -- Steve Madigan. Who knew! And when we ghostwriters want to get the proper vibes on debt relief, we channel the energies of a spirit named Raoul.

And what Perfect Blog Title post is complete without a link to Peter Gabriel's current European tour? (Um, quite a lot, actually...)

The Puppetmasters

Yesterday was apparantly the luckiest day in one thousand years (7/7/07; but what about 7/7/77?) so that got me thinking about luck, which got me to thinking about predestination. Are we players or victims? When we fall down a flight of stairs and break our leg, should we say, "What bad luck!" or "You got off lucky this time, mate." So, are we just puppets of bigger forces like God, Nature, Genentics or Money?

Despite the image I chose for this post (if it bothers showing up!)I don't think we are helpless victims of any impersonal, sadistic, bored force. This image was nabbed from Peter Gabriel's video Steam. It contains a series of Peter being a puppet in the hands of a red dressed (ie-dangerous) woman. Then the situation is reversed. Hell, just click the Steam link to be cure of what I'm taling about.

I do think we are connected, but not in straight two-way lines such as puppetmaster and puppet. I think we are all connected on a vast spiderweb or cyber web network, if you like, and that although others might sometimes pull our strings, we also pull the strings of everyone else. this not only gives us freedom, but also great responsibility. So, you can't blame it all on Lady Luck. Damn!

My Ephitaph

I'm getting cremated. I'm putting it on record in the blogosphere -- don't bother burying my dead ass, just burn it. And I don't care where the ashes go, 'cause I'll be DEAD. I'm mentioning all this because "what happens to you after you die" is the big questiona ll spritualities must answer, and I'm not waiting for the answer to come to me when I die. I'm telling you now. Snap, crackle, pop me.

When you are cremated, there is less for your grieving family to have to do. I always like to think of other people, even when dead. And, by not using a burial plot, six feet of good fertile ground is spared. We're overpoulated enough with the living as it is without getting crowded out by the dead.

And, most importantly, after being cremated, I will not have a tombstone. Why is that important? Because no one will be able to write my epitaph. No one should write my epitaph but me. And quite frankly, since it's not a paying writing gig, I'm not interested in taking the assignment.

The best spitaph ever written was the one Spike Milligan did for himself. The one for Buffy The Vampire Slayer was pretty good, too.

If certain people ever wrote my epitaph, it would probably go something like this:

*My brother: "She Didn't Like David Tennant"

* My ex, Mitch: "Couldn't happen to a better person."

* My other ex, Dave: "Huh? What?"

* My dog, Pony: "Bones? What bones?"

* Stephen King: "To Be Continued...Mmmwooo hoo haa haa!!!"

* Peter Gabriel: "Obligatory PG Link Here"