Obama Wins Shelter Cat Vote

It's the dawn of a new time for America. Those who have been denied a voice in the political arena now get to participate in the democratic process. Four shelter cats led the nation's first "Kitty Caucus" where they voted for McCain or Obama by means of how often they used a red (McCain) litter box or blue (Obama) cat box. Obama won by one "vote". This was a promotional stunt by the Capital Area Humane Society in Columbus, Ohio. But, who knows? First we take the shelter, next we take Washington.

Why Animal Rights Supporters Should Vote For Obama

Not that my endorsement is going to make or break the 2008 Presidential election, but if you are concerned about animal rights, like I am, then Obama is the only candidate for you. Here's why:

The Economy

Obama's economic plan saves little ol' me about $3000. That's just me with an extra $3000 to help support animal charities and maybe (just maybe) adopt a dog that needs a home. (My dog Pony needs a dog). Without the average person getting some financial breaks, there won't be any money for animals.

The Environment

Obama is for investing in alternative energy solutions, not the incredbily polluting use of fossil fuels. Whenever the environment suffers, animals always suffer more than people.

Stem Cell Research

Obama is for stem cell research and other in vitro forms of experimentation. This will stop the use of lab animals.

In contrast, McCain and Palin are for sport hunting and cutting endangered species from the endangered species list. Also, Palin does not believe that global warming is real. McCain has also voted many times to reduce EPA standards and for off-shore drilling in a big way, even though that could lead to an environmental disatster.

But even if you don't agree with me, please vote. Then I'll shut up.

Animal Rights Being Ignored This Election

There are very few issues being discussed by the candidates for this Presidential election thing happening. I do prick my ears up whenever they mention health care, but other than that, they seem to only be talking to the rich, not to people like me. The financial and environmental crisis we are in is due to greed and selfishness whwn people think only of themselves.

Interacting with animals help you lessen your greed and selfishness. You begin to emphasize with others and wonder what they are going through (since animals can't talk). You can't care about your fellow countryman until you can care about all of the species in this country. That's why I think animal rights should be a priority in America. How you treat animals is going to be at the base of how you treat everthing else.

I wonder who the animals would voite for if they had the opportunity?

Since I started to write this, I'm happy to report that my home state of Pennsylvania has passed a huge revamp to the dog care laws, which will hopefully help to shut down all puppy mills in my state. Thank you, Govenor Ed Rendell and my Representative, Nick Micozzie.

Peter Gabriel at PeaceOneDay, Sept 2008

My heart has been broken so many times, I don't think I had anything left to break. Then I saw this and I felt my heart break again. It was recorded at the PeaceOneDay event on 21 September. Enjoy.

I'm Thinking of Getting a Gun

If John McCain and Sarah Palin win the Presidential election in November, I'm getting a gun. It's not because I feel as if it's my God-given right to own a gun or that I like blowing things to hell. It's strictly for survival. If these two are elected, sometime in the next ten years, American civilization will go belly up. And then I want to be armed with, at the very least, a flaming crossbow and a Louiville Slugger.

Am I Being Paranoid?

Well, let's see. Republican VP candidate Sarah Palin is from a Pentacostal Christain church called the Assembly of God. They believe in speaking in tongues, faith healing, banning books, teaching Creationism and the literal interpetation fo the Bible. On ABC News, Palin's former pastor said of his Church:

"Christianity has gotten too cerebral."

If there's anything Americans hate in their religion, it's having to think about it.

The Good News

So, what's the silver lining to this oncoming Republican cloud? It sure makes Paganism look good, doesn't it?

Given Another Chance

Believe it or not, this is NOT a picture of my late lamented model horse collection, but it looks pretty close. The photo here is just part of FAS Sue's collection. (Sue Sudekum is one of the world's prominant model horse collectors and has a great sense of humor). In the mid 1990's, I stopped counting at how many model horses I had because I was pushing 1,000, with well over 500 Breyers (my favorite brand of model horses).

Love Bites

When I fell in love with a homeless man in England, I sold a couple hundred of the collection and then abandoned the rest. (Well, I took five with me, but two had to be traded for food money and the other three died in the fire). My Mom took in two Breyers and three strange but cute toy horses, knowing that someday I would be back. I heard my ex-boyfriend got a hold of them and sold them, buying a truck and a down payment on a house with the money.

I shoulda stuck with the model horses. They were far more loyal than any boyfriend. I did come back to Mom, with pretty much nothing but the clothes on my back, my passport and my dog Pony. Some of those models I had since I was 5 years old. I still think of them as being alive. I assume they'd be ticked off at me for abandoning them.

I Thought Wrong

Imaginary friends, spirits, Breyers, whatever -- they never really die. They just migrate from object to object. This happens with many things like books, record albums and heirlooms. If they are meant to come back to you, they find a way.

I can't go crazy trying to replace all of my favorite model horses, because I don't have the money or the storage space. That and I do have a business to run. I came back to America in September of 2005 and only have been able to afford to replace five models. (Just my luck -- they cost $5 in 1980 and now cost around $50 today). Number six is currently on the way to me this week.

But it feels like they've forgiven me, since I know have a little spending money, so that's all I care about. I've been given another chance. I don't get a second chance at many things at life, so I'll take any chance I can get.

Birthday and Deathday

Today is Pony's 4th birthday. The world has been blessed with four full years of Pony. Perhaps you can tell your children where you were on the day Pony was born. We are planning to have a party today at my father's.

However, one of my goldfish died this morning, Ghost Fish (ala Twin Comet). All I found of him was half a spine and part of a skull stuck to the filter intake valve. He was the only fish of the lot that didn't grow. He originally was the largest fish of the bunch -- then he was the smallest. He lived with me two days shy of ten months. I don't know why he died. He didn't look sick.

I keep looking at the other four suspisciously. Did they kill him and eat him or only ate him after he died? There's a happy topic for Pony's party later today. On that note, this would be a good time to announce that I've been hired to write yet another blog, Depression Talk.

I'm Burnt Out

I apologize to the two readers of this blog for not updating it in a while. I've been so busy working that I haven't had time to blog about my work. For the last year or so, I've been working and average of ten hours a day seven days a week. Although I love writing, I think the job is getting to me. That and the new medication I'm on to prevent migraines (verapamil).

There are days when my body just gives out. It's hard for me to take a day off, as I'm still not used to the concept of freelancing to be the job I'll do for the rest of my life. I keep having nightmares that I have to go back to work at Kmart. So, I'm trying to get the most I can, I suppose.

I now make myself watch television two nights a week. That's my "holiday". I watch Star Trek: The Next Generation on Monday nights and Greatest American Dog on Thursday nights. And I feel guilty doing it, too. I'm such a rebel.

In PG News: The latest Gabriel was born on July 5 and was named Luc. This is Peter's fourth child and second son.

George Carlin: Truthteller

Generally, I don't give a flying fart about the welfare of other people. I pretend to, because it's socially required of me. But on the whole, I hope the human race commits suicide en mass by tomorrow morning. No, wait -- I have a package from Amazon.com coming in the mail. The human race can drop dead next week.

But one of the very few people I would save from a burning building was George Carlin. He was one of my heroes, up there with Peter Gabriel. Granted, if both George and Peter were in a burning building and I could only save one, I'd grab Peter first. George is from New York. Negotiating burning buildings should be daily fare for him.

However, that scenario is moot because George died on June 22. America has lost its last great famous truthteller. We're left without a moral compass now. I didn;t like everything George did (especailly his second book) but I heard enough to know that George often had the same questions I did and came up with very original and articulate answers.

I didn't think George's death would upset me so much. After all, he was 71, so it wasn't a total shock. But I'm seeing him everywhere now -- even on the New Zealand environmentalist blog I write for. When I read a book or medicine instructions, it's his voice in my head.

Critics of George said he was cyncical. He wasn't -- almost everything he said was absolutely true. It shows you how bad things are -- and yet we can still find the humor in it. That may be our species' only saving grace.

I Want To Donate My Breasts To Charity

Now that Peter Gabriel is having his fourth child with his second wife, it's become painfully obvious to me that my breasts no longer serve any purpose of luring Peter over to The Dark Side.

I'm really getting sick of my breasts. The serve no useful purpose now that I've been celibate for nearly 4 years. Now all they do is get zits and point to opposite ends of the compass. They used to be men-magnets -- now all they'll probably ever attract is cancer.

There must be some way I can get rid of my breasts and help make the world a better place at the same time. My breasts keep changing in size. Surely, some breat deprived person needs a breat donation of some kind. There must be some poor soul in the Make A Wish foundation who's final wish is "Get my tits back."

I wonder how much the IRS would reimburse me for donating my breats to charity? Perhaps Peter could use them to auction off for one of his charities.

There I go again.

Odds and Sods

Suddenly, I'm the popular web content writer and have been so busy I need to turn down work. So, here's a quick round up of some news items in my life and updates on stories previously mentioned in previous posts.

Congratulations to Peter Gabriel and his latest wife. She's expecting what will be Peter's fourth child. He's revealed that they already know that it's a boy. He does not reveal when the latest Gabriel is due. This will make the Gabriel kids equalled at two girls and two boys. I think Samuel would be a good name.

I have a new job as one of the two bloggers for WebbleYou Blog Network's Animal Lover. It makes a great change of pace writing about animals. However, I don't know how long this job will last, as I have yet to have a reader make a comment on the blog.

Joe Paterno (who has been coaching Penn State's football team probably before football was even invented) gave us all a scare by being briefly hospitalized, but checked himself out. He tells reporters that it was "no big deal". We've heard that before.

Congress is to hold a hearing on the Thoroughbred horse racing industry June 19 (yes, THIS June 19). I don't think it will help the horses at all, but at least it puts the sillness and cruelty of the "sport" into public light.

I have another new job at eHow. As a joke, I proposed to do How To Live Like Howard Hughes, and they bought it.

My hard-working carpenter father has finally retired at the age of 67. Congrats, Dad! Time to party.

Until next time, remember to keep on taking the painkillers.

Note: The Latest Gabriel is due June 27...yes, THIS June 27.

Did the Mormons Plot to Kill Howard Hughes?

Usually, I blame Tom Cruise for everything, but he wasn't even born when the events that happened to Howard Hughes transpired. Besides, Tom is a Scientologist, not a Mormon. (Yes -- there is a difference).

Anyways, during the last twenty years or so of his indiosyncratic life, billionaire paranoid Aviator extraordinare Howard Hughes had a whole army of aids, security guards, suerveliance crew and drivers that were all Mormon. The legend goes that Hughes was talking on the phone to some Hot Shot's PA on New year's Eve and realizes he was talking to someone who was stone cold sober. "I'm Mormon, so I don't drink or smoke," was the answer.

So, Hughes hired a Mormon. Somehow, this Mormon managed to push out all other employees and have them all replaced by Mormons. It won't be any shocking news to know that Hughes spent his last yeatrs in a drugged stupor, where he was easily maniupulated to giving away his fortune to the "Mormon Mafia" (as his aids were called).

You wonder why the Mormons bothered. Perhaps it was the money. Perhaps it was a shitload of money. Then again, I wonder if the original Mormon employee thought, "I could really make this sinner's life a living hell. And it would serve him right, because I'd be doing God's work."

After all, Hughes was not exactly a poster boy for morality (mainstream, Christian or Mormon). He held hundreds of people's lives in the palms of his hands and really couldn't care less what heppened to them (not through bad morals -- but through the at least head injuries he sustained in his lifetime).

I bet you most of the Mormons who mistreated and robbed Hughes felt perfectly justified in what they were doing.

And if we think we are better than those Mormon aids, then we really don't know ourselves very well.

Todays' Sad Git Is Racehorse Trainer Larry Jones

When you want to absolve yourself of all responsiblity, what do you do? Blame someone else, that's what. Usually, God is the one that gets the blame. Racehorse trainer Larry Jones, trainer of Eight Belles (euthanized on the track at this year's Kentucky Derby) is not blaming greed, inbreeding of Thoroughbreds or the media for the on-camera death of his filly.

Jones said that two nights after the Derby he spent time reading his Bible and trying to understand why he lost Eight Belles. A strong thunder-and-lightning storm hit Delaware Park at the time, which Jones said he took as a sign from above.

"He [God] let me know it wasn't my horse. It was his horse long before I ever knew who she was," the trainer said. "This was her purpose, and he did not let her suffer."

Way to completely confuse the issue of cruelty in horse racing, Mr. Jones, by pointing the finger to invisible powers. Must've learned that tacatic from George Bush.

We don't even know what the person nect to us on the bus is thinking, and yet Larry Jones know all about what's God's thinking. It's always dangerous to interpert the Will of God, for any reason. One day, He may sue for libel.

When Wishes Are Horses

Sorry, not feeling funny today. Another nationally-televised unnecessary death due to horse racing in yesterday's Kentucky Derby. This post from last January is just as relevant now as then. Just the name has been changed. There is NO difference between dog fighting and horse racing. It's all cruelty in the name of human entertainment. Here's the original post:

Barbaro died today. I am glad his owners tried to save him -- that's what a racehorse owner should do but rarely does. But I think the American public is hypocitical. Thousands of race horses die every year, in far worse situations than Barabaro's. Even being a Kentucky Derby winner can't guarantee that the horse won't be slaughtered for meat.

Racing Thoroughbreds are magnificent, fragile babies that can barely support their own weight, let alone that of a jockey's. They run until they literally implode, because we ask them to. The entire gene pool is derived from just three stallions. Funny how no one wonders about what that might do to generations of animals.

These animals are bred for speed, not to survive. What are we DOING? Winning a trophy should not be so high up on our priorities that we condem millions of horses to misery. I've got a feeling if the situations were reversed, the horses wouldn't do it to people. They're not that greedy.

I used to worship horse racing. Football fanatics had nothing on me. I knew statistics, bloodlines; collected books, movies and artwork about racehorses. As a kid, I'd daydream about having my own racehorse.

Then, as I got older, I grew up. Seeing Charismatic being overtrained for the 1999 Triple Crown made me afraid to watch a race he was in, for I knew it was only a matter of time before he'd go down. And he did. And no one said boo. All they wanted to know was "Who do you like in the next race?"

It appalled me. I'd wasted years of my life on a sport that cared not one whit for the very animals it needs. I shocked my family and friends when I no longer watched races and wanted nothing to do with them. But I love horses more than what I looked like to others.

And I've never regretted it. I learned about other things, like paganism. The money, land and tracks of the racing industry can be used for better things, like building homes for the homeless, sheltering abandoned animals or becoming halfway homes for suddenly unemployed racehorses.

And the Thoroughbreds won't even mind if their breed goes extinct. The only ones who would mind are people.

Dogs Have The Right To Live With People

During the past month, I haven't had many spiritual epiphanies but did get a couple more clients. One is writing for a New Zealand-based enviornmental blog called Celsias. I did one of my usual cute yet sarcastic posts about what dog owners may have to do in the future when their aren't any more free plastic carrier bags around to clean up doggy doo-doo.

Some of the comments were, quite frankly, appalling. More than one wrote that pet dogs should be banned for the sake of the health of human children. And they seemed to be serious.

I'm not sure what happened in these poor posters' lives to make them so anti-dog, but banning dogs is not the answer to our enviornmental problems. I'm sure Big Oil and Dow Chemical would love to make dogs' butts the scapegoats for global warming, but I don't think this conspiracy theory is gonna last too long.

We need dogs in our lives far more than we need other people. Animals don't pollute like people, they don't complain like people and they don't post nasty comments on blogs about banning humans from dog kennels. Dogs are just as sentient as we are -- perhaps even more so becuase of their abilities to forgive and accept -- and it is only because of them that many people have become more than just selfish consumers with opposable thumbs.

Pet dogs save their owners' lives every day. What's a bit of poo between friends?

Deities, Guns and Money

I love my job as a freelance writer. It's amazing the things you can learn. Just the other day, I discovered that God is a card-carrying member of the group Armed Females of America. The group doesn't go on to mention just what gender God is. Perhpas a male God would be given honorary female status if wanting to join the AFOA.

The mission statement reads that carrying guns is "A GOD GIVEN RIGHT" (their capitals) and that "WITH GOD'S BLESSING, and our diligence, we aim to remain free!" (By looking down the barrell of an elephant rifle, presumably).

I did not realize that the All Mighty needed a gun. I just kind of assumed that omnipotent thing excluded the need to stockpile weapons in an underground bunker.

Does anyone really need to invoke God's will in your desire to blow someone off the effing map? We all have a certain degree of paranoia and would like to always be able to defend ourselves. Especially those of us who have been victims of multiple physical assaults and robberies (such as I have).

However, I've also been shot at by people who mistook me for a deer, despite the fact that I have no physical resemblence to the animal. I look more like one of those flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. These are the Einsteins in Pennslyvannia that presumably have the right to own a lethal weapon as given by God. I guess God just shoved the guns in one hand and the beer in another.

After going through a lot of soul searching, I have come upon the illumination (with a lot of heavenly trumpet blasts and eardrums ringing) that it's NOT my God given right to own a gun (especailly since I don't know how to use one).

It's my GOD GIVEN RIGHT to own a machete.

When I lived in the woods in England, did I bother getting a gun? (And I easily could have). Naah. Just whip out a decent machete and let out a scream that could strip paint off the walls a mile away and suddenly you are suprizingly free of willing combatants.

I guess I could start the God's Chosen Machete Alliance and Freelancers Association of America. I could make some enough money to pay off my medical insurance premiums. Although it's my GOD GIVEN RIGHT to own a lethal weapon, it's not my God GIVEN RIGHT to get any life saving medical treatment after being wounded by my GOD GIVEN RIGHT.

Be Careful What You Wish For

Yes, silly me made a wish to get more clients and more work. I had a good reason for the wish, though. Medicare, in it's infinate lack of wisdom, dropped all of my health insurance despite me being classified in the "poverty" level of the national tax bracket. I need to double what I made last year in order to pay for my health insurance. So twice the work and it will be all spent -- on health insurance.

So I made my little wish to the universe.

And, of course, I'm now up to my seventh chakra in assignments. In one sense, it's nice to be busy. It keeps me from going postal over the cost of health insurance. But on the other hand, it means I can't do fun things like rant on here much anymore. Or sleep, for that matter.

In better news, I had two stories published in one week. Cataclysm Class is currently being ignored over at The Lorelei Signal and A Hero For Bobo is pissing people off over at Every Day Fiction.

Back to work. It's good for my health.

Free Tibet (or at least, put it on sale)

Quite a while ago, on 12/22/06, I made a few jokes about the Tibet situation. Since Tibet is trying to make a last stand all by their lonesome, I thought I'd wish them well by reposting that original blog post. Call it "classic Perfect Blog Title". Call it writer's block. Whatever. Good luck, guys. You're gonna need it.


As a gift to the world, I will tell you what I wonder about. Maybe it'll be good for a laugh or soul-search or both. No, I don't bother with those piddling questions like "Where did we come from?" and "Is there life after death?" Those just aren't too practical. I want to know how to find dry sticks to light a fire when I'm caught in a rianstorm in Somerset. Other things I wonder about:

• Is God/dess laughing His/Her/Its Ass off at us?"


• Are the penguins trying to take over the world? And if so, what can I do to hurry them up a bit?


• Right. Suppose the Dalai Lama one day wakes up and snaps and yells "Bugger the Karma!" and blows all the Chinese in Tibet away, despite that this would go against all he'd been saying all of lives, would anyone really blame him?


• Speaking of the Dalai Lama, how many times in his life has someone come up to him and said, "Hello, Dalai!"?


• About 20 years ago, comedian George Carlin came up with the idea for a feminine hygene spray called Sprunt ("Well, you'd never forget the name, wouldja?")? I'd like that stuff. How come this never was made?


• Wouldn't it be great if dog shit was edible?


• And, most importantly, When the bloody 'ell is Peter Gabriel gonna put another albumn out???

One Dream Dying

...or, at least, still hooked up to life support and smiling after the morphine injections. Yes, I'm in a GEAT mood today. I've had one piece of bad news after another the last couple of weeks and I still don't feel like writing about it here. (That's why I write it on blogs that pay me, instead. See how my mad little mind works?)But at least I thought I could get one very small dream to materialize into reality.

Now, the big dreams (getting a horse, enjoying a torrid relationship with Peter Gabriel, world peace through marijuana ice cream) have been packed away in the toy chest a long ling time ago. In my thirties, I've learned to dream a lot smaller. As the old bumper sticker goes: "When all else fails -- lower your expectations."

But I thought at least this dream would happen.

The dream that I could find all of my ghostwritten online articles and have them nicely organized into an electronic portfolio (accompanied by Peter Gabriel images). I passed the 1000th article ages ago and haven't a clue as to how many are out there. I give up. I'll hunt these articles down when I darn well feeel like it.

Hey, I copuld be complaining about the current ugly presidential election race. Which would you prefer to read?

Scale of Change

"Where are you going?" Mom recently asked me when i took a break from my office (which is in the house).

"I'm going to go have a cup of tea and watch my fish change color."

"Oh, okay."

My five goldfish aren't changing so dramatically that you can spot the differnce after one cup of tea, but I still marvel at their changes, nonetheless. That Napoleon, the smallest fish, has actually GROWN let alone change his dorsal fin color, is truly miraculous. Napoleon now has a trnasparant black spoton his dorsal fin. It's not a sickness -- it's just part of the fin is now black.

Twin Comet, once a metallic bronze, now has turned disctinctly silver. He has also grown jowels. That's one reason why I assume he's a he.

Twin Common, also once the exact same shade of mettalic bronze, is going through the most dramamtic transformation. S/he is getting a very dark dorsal stripe with a golden-yellow belly. Every couple of days, the yellow spreads up to the face. The base of the tail is now pinkish.

We humans should go through such changes in our lifetimes -- and not just our hair color. We should be born one color and then, when the mid-life crisis is about to set in, our skins suddenly switch colors overnight. Wouldn't that be fun? One month, you're a card-carrying member of the KKK, next month you are black.

Wouldn't that help us all get to know what our fellow humans have to go through?

Nahh, probably not. We'd just find something else about the neightbors to bitch about.

Well, back to watch the fish change some more.

The Aged of Aquarius

This is Betty from Ontario, who is a heck of a lot cuter than another photo of me. Also, she has more rhythm. This image was nicked from Cute With Chris. I thought a cute kitten shakin' her groove thang would help ease the reader into this particular blog post.

Lots of good stuff and bad stuff have been happening in my life, as perhaps for everyone else in the world. I got dropped by Medicaid due to a paperwork error, but hopefully that can soon be resolved. Although I'd love to be able to vountarily drop Medicaid, I don't make enough money at my freelancing career yet.

Also, this has happened at an incredibly inconvienient time. Two of the very few people I really love in this world have their birthdays in early February. Fortunately for my memory, they have them on consecutive days. My Mom's birthday is today, February 12 and Peter Gabriel's is tomorrow (February 13). That makes them both under the sun sign of Aquarius. And both are sterotypical Aquariuses, too. Trying to get them presents has been horrible.

Last year, I sent Peter a rant, but I've mellowed with age and this year sent him a copy of "Peter & Sid".

Last year, I was able to get Mom her favorite Crabtree & Evelyn soaps -- this year I could in no way manage the soaps. Besides, she would be expecting them. So, I got her a canister of mixed nuts and a donation in her name to help take care of seal lions in California.

I'll probably never know how Peter liked his gift, but Mom's gift went over really well.

But now I can't rest -- I have to get my act in gear to give the IRS their present on April 15.

So Scary It Could Cure Hiccups

Yes, that's actually a photo of me this time around, instead of a cute animal or birdie avatar. It was taken when I was in line for soup and sarnies being given out to the homeless in the Bath Hilton parking lot on Monday nights. Ahh, the memories.

I've decided that both my writing career and my spiritual life would greatly benefit from a catch phrase. I've decided on "So scary, it could cure hiccups", because I came up with it myself (sadly, all of the other clever catch phrases had been taken). I wonder how long this will take before it goes viral. I think it's a much more accurate description of 2007 than "Woot". It's also a frankly accurrate description of my writing career, physical appearance and spiritual life.

As proof that wonders never cease, I have been interviewed for my writing (not for a police interview, thankfully) by Every Day Fiction. It turns out, my flash fiction Peter & Sid was the most read story on the website in the month of December. To reward me, I was interviewed.

Also, I just got notice that one of my wacky articles made it to the home page of Helium for the week of January 21. Hopefully, those hiccups are all gone now.

This Is Pony

Can you resit the cuteness? Bow down before the might of Pony, you mere mortals!

Yes, I have finally been able to get onto the web a photo of my beloved English Mongrel who has saved my life more times than I care to admit. I promise I won't turn this blog which is suppossed to be about my spiritual life into a slide show of my dog. Pony is my guru, so she deserves some space on the blog.

This Christmas, I finally got a scanner. Be prepared for The Many Ears Of Pony (which I might develop into its own blog. Just show Pony with her ears in a different position for each day of the year. Well, if Chris Leavins can do it...)

What Will Happen When The Dalai Lama Dies?

EDIT:  If you want to see a better-written, more thought out version of this article, please check out my Yahoo! Voices version.  Thanks!

Yeah, I'm opening the new year with a heavy thought. This was originally a blog about my spiritual journey. and I've strayed from that a wee bit. In the last few years, my spiritual journey has been heavily influenced by the teachings and the life of the Dalai Lama, one of my personal heroes.

The Dalai Lama is considered the soul of Tibet. The Statue of Liberty has nothing on the Dalai Lama as being the major symbol of a nation. However, Tibet as a country really no longer exists since the Chinese did whatever they are calling their forcefully taking over of a country now. However, being a Tibetan is more than just living in Tibet. The Dalai Lama is perhaps the most quintessential Tibetan and he hasn't set foot inside Tibet since 1959. It is theorised that when he dies (and he is currently 72), that with him will die any hope of a free Tibet.

The current Dalia Lama is considered the fourteenth incarnation of the God of Compassion. Wouldn't the Dalai Lama just come back in another life? Possibly, but the odds are this Dalai Lama would be killed by the Chinese if discovered. Also, since the troublesome Tibetans revere the Dalai Lama so, the Chinese are sure to present a new and Chinese-friendly 15th Dalai Lama.

However, we've seen this before haven't we? We have with the nation of Israel. Perhaps today's Tibetans are the new Jews...I guess that didn't sound right. But the Jewish people lost their homeland and were persecuted for thousands of years (still are, arguably) but finally got their own nation back.

How did the Jews survive for thousands of years? Tradition and a unique spiritual life.
Perhaps this can serve as inspiration for those displaced and exiled Tibetans living today. We can also extrapolate this into other areas of our lives, even if we are not Tibetan, Chinese, Jewish or Buddhist.

Right. Back to the usual silliness next time.

We're Number 4!

Santa has given a little prezzie to me early this year. As a freelance writer, one of the things I have to deal with that's even more mind-boggling than English grammar is Search Engine Optimization (SEO). This is the fine art of word manipulation mated with algorithyms in order to make your website high up on the rankings of places like Google, Ask.com or Yahoo. One of my blog posts for Where We Relax has shown up at Number 4 out of about 4 million for the keywords "how to be liked". WOOT!

And, also, my flash fiction piece "Peter & Sid" was published by Every Day Fiction. No prizes for guessing who the "Peter" character is based on.

Speaking of Peter, isn't this a festive image? This image was created by Mrs. RatBag on the Solsbury Hill Forums. It was so good I had to steal it. As Peter once said:

"Historically, all great art is based on theft."

Off to collapse. See you next year.

Response to Peter Gabriel's 24 Nov. Video Post

Since I mention Peter Gabriel so frequently in this blog, you probably have gathered that I keep an eye on his official web site. Once a month, Peter posts a video blog complete with backing soundtrack about why he still doesn't have another album out. Well, he yet again forgot my birthday, but I don't mind. Yesterday, he asked his fans for responses to his delectable little video blog in a video format. Well, since I don't have a video anything, this'll have to do.

That was the introduction. My letter to Peter is the rest of the post. If you're a little uncomfortable about eavesdropping, just go talk to each other and I'll see you next month.

Dear Peter

You asked for responses -- you got it. As you've probably noticed by now, this isn't in the requested video format. Trust me, darling, my words are far more attractive than either my face or my voice. You could always print this out and put it behind a lava lamp for any needed special effects.

Anyway, I'm quite pleased that you are so busy not working on I/O. This gives me something to tease you about. God/dess knows, you give me precious little opportunites to do that.

You mention that there are those fans who do not like it when you talk about anything other than your music or lack thereof. I am not one of those. I'm glad to hear about your humanitarian activities. I marvel at it.

I do admire that you see the human race as something worth saving, which is a point of view I wish I could share. I would add points about my point of view, but I honestly do not wish to damper your enthusiasm. Some day, I hope to share it. Right now, I concentrate my efforts on animal rights and hope to expand someday.

And the quality of your music is still as high as ever, probably because of the extracirricular activities. I have a feeling that you'd get bored very quickly if you just sat in a studio all day, and that would definately show in the music.

So, keep on talking about Witness, The Elders and anything that excites and inspires you. It all sounds good.

Sweet dreams,

rraven (Rena Sherwood)

God, I'm 38. What Happened?

Yes, it's time for the annual posting of the Solsbury Hill Commitee's picture of a partying Peter. That means my mortality clock has ticked on one click. Translation: Yesterday was my birthday.

Now, I'm coming down from a major sugar and Breyer model horse buzz, so I can't really make a big post, as my eyes are still not back into focus. That and a killer sinus headache this morning didn't help things. However, yesterday my Mom and Dad got together to have me have one of the best birthdays of my entire life. For a few hours, I was a little horse-mad girl again! Mom found about a "Breyer Fun Day" held locally and had my Dad drive me to it (my folks are divorced).

I used to have about 1,000 model horses of various sizes and Breyer was and is my favorite brand. At this Breyer Fun Day, I got to eat free cupcakes, shop for boku Breyers, play a Breyer game, talk to other collectors, enter (and loose) at free to enter raffles and got a free poster, stickers, dealer's catalogue and a free Breyer -- well, I had to paint the little Breyer pony in order to get him for free, but I'm not quibbling.

Now, it's back to work (which I love, incidently.) Showcasing some of my recent work on HubPages, you can read such diverse topics as:

*Practical Crystal Healing
*What To Feed Your Ferret
*How To Set Up A Goldfish Tank
*The Medicinal Properties of Clove Oil

Fish Acting Fishy

Now that my five goldfish have gifted my home with their presense for about a month, I'm noticing something peculiar. All of them are growing -- except for the smallest one, Napoleon. The other four also hang out together more -- even sleep at the same time -- while Napoleon is on the other side of the tank, doing his fishy thing.

It is possible that Napoleon is just a genetically small Comet goldfish, as there are small members in the Plecostomus family that can stay one inch all of their lives or suddenly shoot to a foot and a half in length. But Napoleon isn't a Pleco -- he's a baby goldfish living with four other baby goldfish. The other four are growing -- why not him?

I'm doing the right things -- not overfeeding, doing weekly partial water changes, keeping the cat away, keeping the light on to mimic the sun -- and this guy isn't growing while the other four are.

I've got a bad feeling that one day I'll look in the tank and see only Napoleon swimming through a floating cloud of shredded fins and decapitated heads. And he still won't have grown any. In that case, he can have the tank to himself. I'll have a hell of a job explaining the situation to any onlookers, though. I never had this problem with guinea pigs, at least, although I did have it with hamsters.

In other news, I guess you've noticed all of the links to my HubPages articles. It's not a way to brainwash, you, I assure you -- just a requirement from the HubPages maestros.

And the writing career stumbles onward...

Happy Halloween!

I love Halloween. I always have. That's probably one reason why I became a Witch. I love dressing up (even when it's not Halloween) but I haven't got to the point of dressing up my dog. I think she's just rip the costume off. But if I did, I'd probably get something like the costume pictured.

I used to love getting the candy during trick or treat. Now, I'm on the other side of the door and I think I get more of a kick out of that. Tonight, I'm dressing up as a Witch (what else) and handing the candy out. Pony will be The Hound of the Baskervilles, running up and down her new yard to scare the crap out of all the trick or treaters. I have this really grisly looking bone for her to chew on. Should be a blast.

And as a treat for you, Gentle Readers, I'll cut off this blog post early.

FEESH!

Yes, the fish have finally arrived and life as I know it has ended. Anyway, the Fab Five are doing great and have been helping me get my head together and learn some valuable life lessons.

The fishy five were from the local PETCO. We usually don't go to PETCO, but it is the closest pet shop to us and a shorter trip is less stressful to the fish than a long one. I barely slept the night before Mom drove me to the stire to get the fish. She even greeted me with "Happy Fishy Day!"

I decided to save five feeders' lives (SAVE THE FEEDERS) rather than splurge on pedigreed goldfish. You don't get to choose your fish if you want any from the feeder tank, so I let fate and the nice (and cute) PETCO employee dude choose. And he chose well. There are two Comets, two Common goldfish and one undecided. I have no idea what sex any of them are, so I just assign them personal adjectives at random.

They are:

• Napoleon, the smallest and the leader of the group. About a half inch long, the usual goldfish gold, a Comet and first to figure out everything.


• Redcap, a pinto colored fish with a bright oprange cap (hense the incredibly original name), a Comet baby about an inch long.


• Belly, another itty-bitty baby goldie that's just a wee bit bigger than Napoleon, named after the bright silver and usually fatter belly than Napoleon. Since Belly is so small and active, I can't see her tail shape well enough to determine what breed she is (hey, maybe she's a mongrel! So am I!)


• Twin Comet, the biggest fish, with a honkin' big tail. He is a metallic gold and looks almost identical to


• Twin Common, who has a smaller tail but othersise looks identical to the other Twin.

I promise not to turn this blog into a repetative journal about my brilliant fish, but I just needed to get all this news out of my system. Back to the usual prattle next week.

Why Atlantis Sank

I have solved the mystery of why Atlantis, the mysterious island that knew everything about everything except that it was going to sink, sunk. I actually have some scientific facts to back me up. In 2000, in Venezula, a multi-national team of scientists discovered the remains of the world's biggest guinea pig. How big? 1500 pounds big. My God, even a Thoroughbred stallion weighs less than that! This guinea pig has been officially christened Phoberomys pattersoni but is known among the scientific community as "Guineazilla".

Guineazilla lived eight million years ago, when Atlantis was most likely not only high and dry, but a lot closer to what is now South America. Atlanteans, with nothing better to do, wandered over to South America, where they find cute little baby Guineazillas who have somehow wandered from Mommyzilla and Daddyzilla. The Atlanteans take them home.

Then the babyzillas grew up.
Under their combined weight, the mighty island sank like, approprately enough, a stone. The grown up Guineazillas, bouyed by their fat, floated leisurely back home to South America.

I'm sure it happened.
But I'd need federal grant money in order to pursue this theory further.

The Bristol Shubunkin

I collect neat sayings that would make either dynamite book titles or names for show horses. Hopefully, this post will live up to the tilte of "The Bristol Shubunkin", but I kinda doubt it. And what is a Bristol Shubinkin? It's a kind of goldfish developed in Bristol, England (duh) which is hopefully pictured above. Perhaps one day this will be the title of a book of my poems ... if it's not used by Robert Ludlum first.

With the coming of fall, a girl's thoughts naturally turn to ... that's right...

Goldfish.

In my last post, I was working on a way to let my Mom allow my Dad to give me his twenty gallon aquarium and stand. (Mom and Dad do not live together anymore -- partially due to aquatic issues just like this). Well, Mom said yes and mentioned something about "keeping me too busy to keep playing those damn Peter Gabriel CDs." Ah, Peter comes through for me again!

So now I have an almost fully equipped aquarium with rocks and plastic plants and a really hyperactive heater (uh-oh) all bubbling away a few feet from my bed. the theory is that not only will I get to relax by watching the fish, I will be able to write articles about my fish keeping experiences and make a little money so I can support this new hobby.

But, as any fish keeper knows, you just can't start an aquarium and plunk the fish in. Oh no. There isn't any benficial bacteria built up yet to support life. It's very much like your intestines -- if there aren't any beneficial bacteria in your guts, then the food can't digest. So, my goldfish tank is kinda like a rectangular water filled gut.

Eeewww.

Anyway, the earliest any goldfish can move in is October 15th. This is as bad as waiting for Christmas when I was a kid. In order to keep me from annoying my Mom and to keep out of trouble, I've been a very busy freelance writer. Here are some of the places I contribute regularly to:

* Where We Relax (a blog about relaxing, believe it or not)
* Dealing With Headaches
* My articles on Helium (as soon as I figure out what Helium is, I'll let you know).
* Ghostritten articles galore gathered together in one place in rraven's ghostwritten whispers.

If Wishes Were Fishes

I want a fish tank. Preferably with fish in it. I have had tanks before and so I have a taste of what I'm up against. I'm always sad when a pet dies, even a wet pet, and fish are the most mortal of the bunch. But this time I am determined that it will work out. Mainly, becuase I don't have to pay for a tank, a stand and a light. I discovered my Dad wants to get rid of his empty 20 gallon tank. Currently, it is home to two wooden sculptures of tropical fish and some gravel.

Besides, I have this pet advice column on Hub Pages. This could be great research for future articles. Perhaps I could even write the fish off as a business expense? And watching fish is supposed to lower stress. I could write about that in my new professional blog for We-Relax.com.

Well, I talked to Dad just a few minutes ago and he is all for giving me the tank, stand and light and even helping me set the tank up. He has even offered to buy me a pump for an early birthday present.

The only snag is that I live in my Mom's basement. So I have to convince Mom that a 20 gallon fishtank is a good thing. I have no idea what my dog Pony is going to think (probably "Blah, blah, blah Pony blah blah blah" as suggested by a Far Side cartoon). Cross your fingers that I swim and don't sink!

Speaking about luck, I have recently had another website pay me for one of my original poems about a strange bit of luck called, "How To Determine There's A God When You Are On The Return Flight To Philadelphia From Orlando". Enjoy.

New Moon

A new moon is an omen of a new direction or start in life, fortunes or projects. A new moon is the most auspiscious time to start working on life goals. Today is the new moon. It also happens to be the sixth anniversary of Sept 11. I hope that America will get a new attitude and get on with life from this new moon onwards.

After six years, what have we learned, folks? That's it's probably not the best of ideas to swat a mosquito with a bazooka. Honestly, if the Bad Guys were supposed to be so evil, I think we would've all been toast long before now. So let's get things in perspective and start tackling the REAL issues that need money and manpower, like world peace, fixing the enviornment, reducing the human overpopulation, feeding those who are already here, lowering the cost of things and shifting our worship of Money to a worship of Let's Get Our Shit Sorted Out.

Sorry, not feeling funny today. But I don't want to end on such a bummer of a note. Here's a video of a duet between Bono and the late, great Luciano Pavarotti. One of the highlights of my tumultous five years in England was getting to see The Three Tenors performance in Bath. I always thought Pavarotti would outlive me. Perhaps he will, after all. That's a fair trade-off.

God & The Lottery

Last week a Wiccan won The Lottery (and not the Shirley Jackson kind, mind you). Elwood "Bunky" Bartlett won over $30 million after some intense spiritual negotiations:

Bartlett, an accountant from Dundalk, Maryland, said he made a bargain with the multiple gods associated with his Wiccan beliefs: "You let me win the lottery and I'll teach." Both tickets he purchased had numbers chosen randomly from the computer.

I'm a Witch as well and have yet to win the lottery (although once I think I won a copy of short stories with "The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson in it). When you read Wiccan, think "Witch". As far as I'm concerned, "Wiccan" is the wussy name. The thinking behind calling oneself Wiccan rather than Witch is that the name Witch has a whole lotta archetype baggage associated with it. And that's exactly the reason why I call myself a Witch...or at least, a Pagan.

ANYWAY, the media seems quite interested in Bartlett's religion. I hesitate to think that Bartlett is the first Wiccan/Pagan to ever win money, but apparantly he's the first for a major multi-million pot. I hope this does not lead people to look into Wiccan/Pagan spirituality just for the dosh. They will be sadly disappointed, let me tell you.

Oh, you get what you ask for if you really really want it, don't get me wrong. On the day I devoted myself to The Path, I asked for wisdom. Silly me. I had no idea what the consquences of asking for wisdom would be. I thought I would learn how to organize coupons better. No. I wound up falling in love with a homeless alchoholic in England, ran away from home to follow him and lived in poverty for over five years. I had to come back to America after my litte home in the woods was burnt down. But I am a hell of a lot wiser.

Having said that, I suppose I could do a spell to win a lottery. But what would be the point? Would I be truly happy? Well, I'd be a lot more comfortable, but I wouldn't be any happier.

Hopefully, Elwood "Bunky" Bartlett will not have to go through what I had to go through to get what he wanted. Free advice, though, Brother Elwood -- most spirits and elemental forces and the human student body do not obey anyone named "Bunky". "My Goddess! We're in for it now! It's Professor Wizard Bunky!" Heck, even Tim is a scarier name.

And speaking of true magic, one little wish of mine has come true. Peter Gabriel has finally gone and found himself a distributer for his new album, I/O...but whenever that comes out, God only knows.

Gid God

Apparantly God has decided to be a graffitti artist. He doesn't seem to have too much of an original tag (the name graffiti artists go by, such as the immortal Spaz) but at least He is using an extrememly original medium -- eggplants.

I've read about cracking the cosmic egg, but this is ridiculous.

I was born in Delaware County, PA which is a hearty scream outside of South Philadelphia. I always knew Delaware County was going to produce something extraordinary one day. And it did, producing Jim Croce, but he's sadly passed on now so we've been waiting for something else to fill in the gap.

And it's here -- On August 12, 2007 in a humble mostly agnostic home in Boothwyn, Delaware County, Feliecia Teske was carving up an eggplant for, presumably, dinner. When she sliced the plant, out popped the image that is still hopefully at the top of this post. The seeds seem to be spelling out the word "God" (although to me it looks like Gid). She did what any normal person would do -- alterted the media and then put the Holy Eggplant up on eBay.

Incredibly, owners of more Holy Eggplants have come forward. Even more incredibly, they are not getting any bids.

I think Delaware County would've rather had Jim Croce back.

Puppy Mojo

Bless Hecate -- today is Pony's third birthday. Yes, the world has been blessed now with THREE FULL years of my dog, Pony's, presence. Her birthday just happens to coincide with an ancient sacred day for the great pre-Hellenic Goddess Hecate, who just happens to be incredibly fond of dogs. Months before Pony was born, I had chosen Hecate to petition for a new dog (my first dog Rusty dying over a year previously). That Pony was born on a sacred day of the Goddess I asked for help from seemed to be too much of a coincidence.

And Pony is a magickal dog. Her wishes come true much more often than mine do. She has a penetrating stare that wakes me from my sleep. She often stares unblinkingly at you for minutes if she wants something. My Mom calls this her "puppy mojo". Don't laugh -- it works.

Pony was nored living homeless in the English woods, for instance. So our home burnt down and we needed to move. Saint Mom took us in. Now Pony gets to see mots of people, lots of doggies, and sniff new sniffs every day here in America.

Then Pony did not like when I had a job at Macy's. Whenever I got dressed for work, she would cringe and whine. She wanted me to stay with her. So I quit my job, became unemployed for a year and now make enough money to meet Pony's needs (if not my own, but that;s not the point)with telecommuting.

You want to get some magick in your life? Forget the spellbooks and Wiccan workshops -- just get a dog.

Thank God For Atheists!

It is seems atheism is hot again. There are a lot of books being sold written by atheists proving that religion is detremental to life, the universe and everything. And I think the Gods (any and all)are part of the buying public.

I'm not an atheist, but that doesn't mean I'm against atheism. Atheism does not equate with immoratlity. We do seem to be inborn with a set of ethics (except for the mentally ill) that often coincide with religious laws or duties. Although I haven't yet read the book pictured (Xmas gift hint), I have had long, happy discussions with atheists and agnostics. And they all seemed to be responsible, moral people. Although those who I talked to might not hold the views all atheists do, I think I've talked to enough to get the general gist.

The atheists I've talked to aren't aginst God or Goddess. They look at God or Goddess the way non-atheists look at an art form. It's religion that they are so worked up about. And religion is an entirely different animal from God/dess.

So, if your view of God/dess is that they set laws and punish those who break them and demand that all of nature worship them 24/7, then I can't agree with that view of God. God/dess made the damn universe -- what does He or She care a rat's ankle if someone doesn't go to Church? I think They've got more on Their plate than wagging fingers at every little naughty-naughty.

God has gotten a bad rap from organized religion. He or She is probably loving books like those on the left and saying , "Me bless all atheist authors!"

In other news, I've had another story published in the e-zine Susurrus: The Literature of Madness. (Let that be a reminder to you to take this Blog with a spoonful of sugar) It's about the quest to find a personal God, among other things. Hope you like it, especially all you Peter Gabriel fans. The editor went to great lengths to find illustrations for it. It's called Lost & Found.

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"

OK, I Am Now Officially a Geek

It's been nearly a month now that I've been writing material for Cyber Defender, the free and low cost total online security softwear that's won a ton of awards...there, I'm writing for them again! But I'm thrilled with the job. Which, if my bosses ever risk a peek at this blog, I'm sure they'll be relieved to hear. My family is a little boggled that I'm having such a good time writing about online security. Doorknobs confused me when I was a kid. Now I'm the computer expert.

But it is suprisingly fun. Ever like those espionage thrillers or spy movies? The spy vrs spy aspect is just the same as with Internet security. One group sneaks over here in a neat-o way to get your personal information for nefarious purposes like sending you pop up ads and the other James Bond types sneak around with even more neat-o gizmos and not only saves the Internet, but gets the girl in the end (pun intended).

Alright, perhaps I exaggerate a bit, but you do have to keep your energy levels up writing about phishing over and over again. I did learn why phishing is spelled with a "ph" instead of an "f". Turns out, it is a spelling of respect for the pioneering hackers and crackers who walked ten miles in blizzards and hailstorms to a phone booth in order to hack into a computer with a phone line. Geeks have much different ways of giving memorial monuments to our pioneers. We would set up a statue or wall of some sort, but we're too busy watching piano playing cats on You Tube.

Other news:

* Mom is doing well after her multi-hour spinal surgery and will be coming home this evening. HOORAY! Last night I actually turned the telly on just to hear another human voice in the house. I've never done that before. Hell, I've lived alone in an English wood for three years, and last night I had to put on Nature before I could make dinner. I've turned into my Grandmother!
* Peter Gabriel is still on tour and there is, sadly, no chance of it coming over to Philly. What a time for me to move back to America, eh?
* Duct tape does not work in the vacuum of space. Am I alone, or did you get a powerful chill down the spine when you read that? I thought duct tape was how God made the Universe You know, "E=MC duct tape two for a one sale at Kmart squared".
* I have been throughly chastised by my brother about not liking the new Doctor Who. Although I have been humbled by Big Bro's explanation that I should be free to new concepts and not but the good Doctor in a pigeopn hole, I CANNOT get over the fact that the actor now portraying Doctor Who is THREE YEARS younger that I am. SO, I will watch the new Doctor Who episodes when I am old enough that EVERYBODY is younger than I am.

Gimme That Old Time Doctor

My Mom is getting her back operated on this Thursday, June 14, the day of a new moon, happily enough (for all of us who believe in omens in the sky). She has decided to go with the same surgeon we first visited back in November. You remember the guy -- has a humungous Heironymous Bosch triptych print in his consultation office along with a silver skull decorated with Celtic crosses. Unsuprisingly, Mom was pretty adamant that, should she need surguery (she still wouldn't face the inevitable), she didn't want Dr. Waterman. I thought it was because of his choice of decor. No, Mom didn't like him because he's young. (Younger than I am).

Now, I laughed and laughed at this. The docotr has diplomas up the wazoo; he's articulate and eccentric and Mom holds his age (or lack thereof) against him. What a silly predudice! Ah, silly old-fashioned Catholic Mom.

Then, last Saturday, I decided to finally watch a tape of the most recent Dr Who episodes, made when I was still living in England in the woods. I remember hearing about the episodes being made and I felt bad at the time. I wondered what I was missing. I was a HUGE Dr. Who fan until I discovered Peter Gabriel. In fact, I dream that someday Peter Gabriel would become the next Doctor Who, but that would take him even further from ever getting an album done.

So, my brother, bless him, taped all of the new Doctor Who episodes made in 2005 or so from Canadian TV. It must've taken him hours. Then he mailed me the tape...over a year ago. And I just found time to watch the tape last Saturday. Hey, I've been busy not getting published and not listening to Peter Gabriel's new album. So sue me.

The new Docotr Who is portrayed by actor Daivd Tennant. My brother, a connissour of all things sci-fi, mind, thinks David Tennant is the second best Dr Who actor ever. (The first, of course, being Tom Baker). I had my doubts, but decided to give this david Tennant a chance.

I lasted less than one hour of that tape. I couldn't stand it. At least I wasn't missing anything. I just could not tolerate the actor.

Mom asked me why.

"He's so YOUNG!" I complained, "My God, he's younger than I AM!"

All right. So I am my momther's daughter in more ways than one. But there is a difference in choosing a spinal colum surgeon with references than a fictional time travelling alien-human hybrid doctor. I'm sure I can convince some insurange agent of this eventually.

All good Doctor Whos should have these three characteristics, or they are NOT real bone fide Union Jack stamped Docotr Whos:

1) He should have wrinkles. He's meant to be pushing 1000 years old, for Pete's sake!

2) He should dress very disctinctly, like with a twenty foot long scarf or frills. This is mandatory.

3) He should be easily pissed off. Otherwise, he would have no motivation to work against the bad guys. All of these characteristics are wrapped up in my favorite Doctor Who (well, until Peter Gabriel gets the role) the late great Jon Pertwee(pictured), of Worzel Gummidge fame.

Also, I know too many guys in Bath and Bristol who look too much like David Tennant, including this guy. Tell me I'm not completely predudiced, but after meeting so many buskers, I automatically run a mile in the other direction, even if they only LOOK like they might be a busker.