Developing a Taste for Cannabis

Intro

This article was a special order that the client turned down because he claimed that cannabis does not have a tates when added to foods or beverages. You could've knocked me over with a puff of puff when I read that. A stoner having taste buds as opposed to just buds? Anyway, the kind of cannabis I cooked with in the UK was called skunk, although it smelled just fine.

I shopped this around to other clients, but they don't want to touch it because marijuana is such as controversial issue (even medical marijuana). I do not blame you, clients. So, I'm going to stick it up here for free. It's my way of spreading the love.

Now, I cooked with cannabis because I was homeless and needed something for toothaches, insomnia, migraines and dealing with an alcoholic boyfriend. I wouldn't cook with it again because, quite frankly, I have access to better drugs (Prozac and Xanax). I also got rid of the boyfriend. I DO NOT recommend taking cannabis just for the heck of it. This is a substance that needs to be treated with respect. Besides, Xanax gets you stoned faster and you can spell it the same way backwards as you can forwards.

Here it is: Developing a Taste for Cannabis

Some people are put off cooking with cannabis, even though cooking it is arguably far more beneficial than smoking it. It's either because they are scared of what it will taste like or because they have tried it before and did not like the taste. But don’t let one bad experience spoil the possibilities of baking, cooking or making hot, soothing beverages with cannabis.

What Does It Taste Like?

Cannabis is usually described as having an "earthy" taste, but what does that mean? It means marijuana can often taste like dirt. People who like to eat freshly picked button or wild mushrooms should also enjoy the taste of cannabis. People who smoke tobacco often have dulled taste buds and claim they cannot detect the cannabis in food or drinks.

Cannabis leaves can sometimes a leave a sand-like grit in sauces, drinks or bakery goods. This is one reason why people turn to making cannabis butter or oil. But many people do not have the time or patience to make clarified butter or oil. Cannabis butter or oil can still leave a slightly earthy taste but it is not as detectable as it is when cooking with just the leaves.

Grinding It Up

Taste and texture are paramount to indulging in a special dish. But if put off by the thought of grit or a dirt-like flavor, The Hemp and Cannabis Foundation recommends making a cannabis flour. This can also be used in sauces, casseroles or hot beverages -- not just for baking brownies.

Use dry cannabis parts, although some strains that are dry to the touch will release considerable moisture when ground up. Some people prefer to use a mortar and pestle in order to control every bit of the grinding process, but using a food processor will be quicker. If there is a problem with moisture, then adding a pinch of real flour or even dried rice will help to soak up the moisture and make dry flour.

Inevitably, some stubborn pieces will refuse to be ground up. These can be strained out from the flour and used to add to chai or coffee. The taste of the chai or coffee is usually strong enough to cover up the cannabis taste and gives a warming and soothing drink.

Cannabis flour should be used within a few days, unless it has gotten very moist. In that case, it should be used immediately or it may spoil. Use the flour like a dried spice in hot dishes in order to taste the food and not just the cannabis flour. Use sparingly in bakery goods.

Islam & Christianity: Familiarity Breeds Contempt

If your life has been far too happy lately and you really need some depression in order to balance things out, there's nothing like reading a chapter of a book on Chrisitanity and then a chapter of a book on Islam and then comparing the two.

In case you're wondering, I've done just that. I read Catholicism For Dummies and The Complete Idiot's Guide to Understanding Islam. (Yes, I know, Catholicism is only a branch of Chrisitanity, but a hell of a big one).

The depressiong part is not only that anyone still is dim-witted enough to participate in organized religion, but that these particular two religions are so full of similarities that you really can't help but wonder what all the arguments are about. People and animals have actually died over this crap.

The similarities include:

* Belief in angels and a Judement Day
* Belief in that whole one God thing
* Belief that Christians will go to Heaven
* Belief that somehow people are better than animals
* Thou shalt not lie, commit adultery, murder or steal stuff that ain't yours
* Robes -- lots and lots of robes

So if these religions are so similar, then why to the adherents hate each other so much? It could be because they are so similar. Think about who really gets on your tits. It's usually not complete strangers, but your family or your lover. This is because they know you so well that they know precisely how to wind you up.

Really, we all need to watch "Monty Python's Life of Brian" and get on with our lives.

10th Anniversary of Being a Witch

It was ten years ago today that I stopped dilly-dallying and decided I was a Witch. I did a little self-initiation ceremony in the bathtub. I wanted wisdom. I wanted positive change. And I also wanted a blue-eyed lover. Sadly, I got all three, although the blue-eyed lover (Peter Gabriel) is now only met in dreams.

I've gone through a hell of a lot in ten years. Some highlights:

* Ran away to England
* Had to return to America when my hand-made home in England was burnt down
* Fell in love with a blue-eyed homeless busker, Mitch
* He was the guy who burnt my home down
* I became homeless in the south of England for 5 years
* Inside of my home was an 800 page manuscript about witchcraft
* Was attacked by Mitch, so I defended myself and he had me arrested for assault so I spent a lovely night as a guest of Bath police department. Charges were dropped
* I nearly got run over by Eric Clapton in his Lambourghini during the brief time I lived in Cranliegh in Surrey
* Met Patrick Stewart
* Got an autograph from Patrick, but it burned in the fire
* However, I sent a photocopy of the autograph to my Mom who saved it
* Although homeless, managed to get enough money together to travel to Birmingham and see a Peter Gabriel concert on 1 June 2004
* Was too ashamed of myself to go visit Peter Gabriel, even though his studio was only several miles only from my home in the woods. I did see PG walk about a few times during my years in England, but I never approached him.
* Got my first dog, Rusty, but he died about six months later. He'd been abandoned when he was an estimated 16 years old when he came to be mine
* Got my current dog, Pony. (Doing well, thank you)
* Got two tanks worth of fish while back in America
* Discovered that my Mom had saved some of my belongings I'd left behind over five years previously because she somehow knew I'd be back
* Finally got help for my engenous recurring depression while I was homeless in England because I couldn't afford to do it while I was employed in America
* Finally got help for my migraines
* Started my own business as a freelance writer in October of 2006 and it's doing very well, thank you

So, what have I learned from all of this? Wells, there is an old saying by Albert Einstein that goes "God does not play dice." However, not only does God play dice, the bastard cheats.

The God of Gospel Music

I've just recently been commissioned to write articles on every single Johnny Cash album ever released. This is going to give me a tidy profit. Why? That Johnny Cash was a busy boy. Not counting bootleg albums, his officially released US albums total a whopping 96. Not like a certain British singer-songwriter we know. (Yes, Peter Gabriel -- I'm talkin' to you.)

I grew up listening to Johnny Cash because my Dad was a big fan. Also, it was pretty hard to be an American with at least one working ear and not bump into a JC tune every once in a while. Now that I'm burying myself in everything Johnny Cash, one can't help but notice that he was a little crazy about Christianity.

According to The Man Called Cash (Steve Turner, 2004), JC believed in tithing. The way he did it was that every tenth song he recorded had to be a gospel song. Eventually, he went on to do only gospel albums.

Now, gospel music is actually damn good music. There have been many a Christian who became "saved" merely through listening to the music. And then they go on to live their lives in a very un-Christian manner.

So, what kind of God is the God ssung about in American traditional gospel music? (Not that contemporty fluffy bunny pop gospel crap, either). I mean a real good thumper like "I Saw the Light" (which was actually written by Hank Williams, but it still counts).

The God seems to be the the song itself. Just the feeling you get from singing it with others. There is a touch of the transcendent there for just that space. Other than that, what could have this God meant to such performers as JC, who had a sadistic father who drowned JC's puppies for fun. Why would God allow these puppies to die and yet be the subject of such triumphant music?

God is good at being the God of creativity, but not much else.

JC would probably say, "Never mind. Just play another song."

So, we will. Here's JC in "Wonderful Time Up There":

">

Five Years of Pony!

My dog Pony is five years old today. We did the usual doggie birthday thing of going for a long walk in the sporatic rain, eating too much and enjoying a large shopping spree at Pony's favorite pet store. She's the best thing that ever happened to me.

A long time ago, when I was homeless in England, I took in a 16 year old abandoned mixed breed dog named Rusty. He only lived another few months, but made a huge impression on me, since he was my first dog. He died in February 2002 and it wasn't until almost two years later did I feel recovered enough to think about getting another dog.

Since I was still homeless at the time, I was not allowed to adopt a dog from a shelter. I also seriously lacked the money to buy a dog. Any dog I would get would have to come to me. I don't do many magic spells because they take up so much time and effort. Besides, I may later come to regret them.

But I did a spell for a dog. I asked the Goddess Hecate for a dog and gave her a list of requirements. Months later, I was told that a friend's bitch had escaped for a night on the town while she was in heat and just gave birth to four puppies. The birthdate was August 13, which used to be a festival day for the Goddess Hecate.

Since then, Pony and I have been through a lot, including getting beat up by the same man; watching our home burn down; trans-atlantic flight and living in America. Pony's chased away my nightmares.

Sometimes, watching her twitch in her sleep and snore, I wonder about that spell I did long ago and our life since. Although I dont believe that "all things work together for good for them that love God", it is nice to look at her and know that sometimes, sometimes, I can just hear a voice whisper:

"And they all lived happily ever after."

Australians Are Out To Get Me

(NOTE: I still hope to visit Australia someday. I just want to find a place without people in it.)

Wonder why I haven't updated this blog in two months? I've been racking my brains out over a huge assignment -- writing 250 word biographies of 663 Australian actors. (Yes -- there are 663 actors that are somehow connected with Australia.) Now, 250 words does not sound like much, but then I received the list of actors. These included one actress who's fan site was closed "due to lack of interest", the first Australin model to pose in the American edition of "Playboy" and one obscure Australian actor who's name is (I kid you not) James Stewart.

Not happy, Jan.

But I finally finished the assignment with two days to spare, have been paid for three-quarters of it already. My brain feels as is it's been on the barbie. I want to go bush. The problem is, whenever I turn on the telly or open the newspaper, there are Australians everywhere. When Mom and I went to the Philadelphia Museum of Art in order for me to relax, there were Australians there.

Things I learned about Australian actors:

* Anthony LaPaglia is Australian.
* The blonde guy from "House" is Australian.
* The quinessential British actor, Leo McKern? Yup -- Australian.
* Yahoo Serious is still alive.
* The kid who played the Feral Kid in "Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior" (1982) grew up to become an employee in a jewelry store. Another cast member, Vernon Wells, who played biker gange leader Wez in the movie wound up playing the same character in two more films -- "Weird Science" (1985) and a short film no one's ever seen.
* The TV series "BeastMaster" and "Blue Heelers" would employ anybody.
* The world's best whip cracking expert is Australian John Brady.
* Australia's first legal transsexual is Estelle Asmodelle -- who has written two books and still can't get them published.
* Most of the cast of the highly acclaimed movie "2:37" (2006) came from complete obscurity and went right right back to it after the movie premiered. This was because the filmmaker's largest financial backer had a change of heart at the last minute, so he had to cast some kids he found at a local mall. Guess who had to write about every single cast member?
* Thank God and Goddess for fan sites!

Off to collapse now.

Jesus Camp: Scariest. Film. Ever.

I'm not exaggerating. My Mom and I watched this 2006 dcumentary last night on the Biography Channel and we had to turn more lights on. We were riveted to our seats in abject terror. I had to take a mixture of Benadryl, melatonin and chocolate chip cookies in order to settle my heart down enough to get to sleep.

Horror films are scary when you are a kid, but they become really funny when you get older, because you know it's just a movie. In order to get really scared, you need to skip the slasher flicks and go right to the hard-core independent documentaries. You can't wrap yourself in that fuzzy blanket of fiction then.

So, What's It About?

Think summer camp for really young kids -- which teaches them Evangelical right wing Republican Christianity. The whole gory shmear of speaking in tongues, anti-abortion rallies for little kids, Creationism, global warming denial, gay-bashing, and an unabashed worship of then-President George W. Bush.

Churches with high-tech sound mixing boards and theatrical lighting. Think how many homeless people that crap would feed. I wonder if they would let a homeless person in their precious house of God when it's pouring rain outside and a gang of youths has set fire to your campground.

But no -- they're to busy making pagents about holy wars and shaking hands with Pastor Ted Haggard -- before kicking him out the door.

Jesus Camp: Watch it with the lights on.

Hopefully, there will never be a sequel.

It's a Blog, Blog, Blog, Blog World

I was raised a Born-Again Protestant Christian, which includes a notion that you're supposed to tithe ten percent of what you earn to the church (not that anyone does, but that's what we were told, anyway). Now I'm a witch, and giving to charity is even more emphasized.

What Does This Have To Do With Blogs?

Last month, I had to quit the three blogs I maintained at 451 Press due to pay issues. (Little tip for anyone wanting to start a blog network -- the one thing you should never screw a blogger around on is THE PAY. That should be obvious, but apparently this is a brand, spanking new concept.)

My rationale is that I can't afford to blog for free.

Or can I? I used most of the 451 Press money as contributions to animal-related charities. Due to some strange tax law, I cannot claim these contributions on my taxes, so when I give money to charity, I'm actually giving money to charity.

So, I'm Going To Start a New Blog

Instead of writing about topics I'm not particularly interested in, I'm going to start an animal related blog over at Best Friends Network. I haven't figured out what to call it yet, but I'm thinking of calling it I Hate Everyone, but I think that title has already been taken.

In that way, I can concentrate on The Perfect Blog Title's original point -- about spirituality and Internet links.

Let's see how long it takes for me to get the new blog up and running.

Edit: It took about an hour or so, although it's still kinda humble. Check out Yet Another Animal Blog: The Blog for People Who Give a Darn About Animals.

Soap Bubbles in Heaven

As I was walking my dog Pony today (Easter), I passed by a young boy and his mother/older sister/babysitter. They were making soap bubbles with a huge wand. As the bubbles climbed into the sky, the boy pointed, smiled and yelled, "Look! The bubbles are going to heaven!"

Which got me to thinking -- are there soap bubbles in heaven?

Clean And Dirty

If heaven is supposed to be a place of perfection, then there wouldn't be any dirt to wash off. If you don't have any dirt to wash off, then there's no need for soap. If there's no soap, how can you make soap bubbles? And if those soap bubbles the little boy claimed were going to heaven and reached heaven, would they be denied entrance?

This is one reason why I strongly suspect that the idea of heaven has no soap.

In Other News

Anyway, speaking of how the universe moves in mysterious ways, my beloved Peter Gabriel went on a tour in March -- to South America only. (So close, yet so far.) Bits and pieces of this mini tour are leaking out all over the web. One of the most interesting is a blog post from writer Aaron Smith living in Peru -- who just happened to be on a busman's holiday in the Amazon rainforest (where there's quite a lot of dirt) when guess who walks up -- tht's right, Peter Gabriel.

Also, I received word that one of my short stories, "Volunteering At Fred's House", will be published at the UK mag Polluto. I have no idea when it comes out -- probably when I next get to see Peter or when soap bubbles are allowed in heaven.

New Story Up On Dog Oil Press

Because I've been so busy doing web content and blogs, I haven't had time to send out any short story or poetry submissions since last May. So, I finally got my act together last week and sent out 10 stories. One has been accepted (so far, knock on wood) and it went up yesterday at Dog Oil Press, home of flash fiction that is wickedly humourous (either that or deeply bent, depending on your point of view).

I hope you enjoy "After Ida Set Her Face On Fire".

Should the Dalai Lama Retire?

The 14th Dalai Lama is now in his 70's. He's given indications that he's pretty much given up on Tibetan cause, but is still helping to give support to Tibetans in exile. Keep in mind that China invaded Tibet in 1959. That's a long time to be pounding your head against a brick wall.

So, in some interviews, His Holiness has recently mentioned that he'd like to retire and do some gardening. He's even suggested that there be no more Dalai Lamas after him and that Tibetans should be able to vote him out of the Dalai Lama position whenever they are unhappy with him. That hasn't gone down too well with the Tibetans. They still need him, I guess.

There are very few people I really admire, but the Dalai Lama is one of them. I like that he keeps telling people that he's not a god and that if you don't like Buddhism, it's no big deal. I also find it amazing that he can keep smiling after the life he's had. He still seems to have that Anne Frank optimism about humans being genuinely good at heart that in one way I'd like to have.

But he's worked very hard and I think he deserves to have some time to himself. Although his astrologers have predicted that he will die when he is 92, we can't rely on that. Part of Buddhism is about appreciating the moment and retirement can be just as personally rewarding as work.

Smehow, though, I can't picture him going bowling.

It's Time To Tax Organized Religion

(Note: My views are not the views of any political party that I'm aware of.)

Let's face it -- organized religion is a business. Also, we are in an unprecedented economical crisis which requires gobs and gobs of money. Who has gobs and gobs of money and hoarding it for themselves? Organized religion -- no matter what you call it -- Islam, Judaism, Christianity, Scientology -- all of them are out to make money and all of them make money and all have property and so all need to pay taxes. I'm Pagan and I'd make the Pagans and Wiccans pay, too.

Besides, what good do they do? Nothing! They're just country clubs with pews.

Organized religion claims to be humanity's greatest hope. Prove it -- shell out the money and pay your fair share of taxes. They have such faith in God -- let Him pay the bill.

Let's end with a laugh with a conversation between Bill Mahar and Christopher Hitchens about how religion poisons everything:

It's Peter Gabriel's Birthday

Ever since I started this blog, I put this picture up on Peter's birthday. This year is no exception. There has been misinformation that started in the 80's that Peter was born on May 13. I think he put that out so he'd get twice the prezzies.

Short post this time around. Off to celebrate.

Another Sign Of Success: When The Government Spies On You

Last night on Countdown with Keith Olbermann, a former employee with the National Security Administration blew the whistle that the US government has been spying on journalists for years. This included tapping their phones, reading their emails - anything.

Which got me to wondering -- do I count as being worrisome enough as a journalist to warrant spying on? God, I hope so! Granted, I mostly blog and do web content, but I also have had an article bought by Springfield, Illinois' oldest newspaper, The State Journal-Register entitled "The Obama Cult: Is The Second Coming Nigh?" (Short answer: Are you kidding me?) Granted, I don't know when it'll be published, but the point is they already paid for it.

So, if I am getting spied on, I'd like to say hello to the person spying on me. I'd also like to do my patriotic duty and suggest another person who should be spied on -- the idiot woman who keeps emailing me about an article I did entitled The Temperament of the Hackney Pony. (EDIT 2107: This article is no longer online unless it's on a scraper site.) I won't print the name here, but the spy reading my email will remember the name by this gem:

This is in regards to your article on: The temperament of the Hackney pony
I think you need to rethink your "article" about the Hackney Horse and Pony.
First of all, the temperaments of the two are nothing similar at all, and
secondly, your article is not at all representative of either. You are basing
your opinion on an outsider's view of a horse show where the ponies were revved
and ready to work. My ten year old daughter rides and shows a Hackney pony and
he couldn't be kinder or gentler. Yes, he requires a sensitive hand and a good
rider to handle his energy, but he is not mean, he is not hard to saddle,
bridle, or mount. He isn't even hard to ride. He just won't allow jerking or
yanking. But what intelligent breed will? In addition, I personally own six
purebred Hackney Horses and my horses in no way resemble your article. Our two
stallions adore attention and stand quietly to be brushed and petted. Our
daughter also rides a Hackney/Arabian mare who couldn't be more kind or gentle
and is a true schoolmaster in the ring, even at her young age of seven. Your
article does an extreme disservice to the breed and to any who know them, it is
filled with misinformation and assumptions. Not only that, but it paints the
breed (horse and pony) in a very unfair and negative light to those who are not
privileged enough to know them. I am very disappointed that you would choose to
put this out in a public forum without better research and facts. You have done
harm to an endangered breed and you should be ashamed of yourself as a "writer."

Wow. Definitely sounds like a fanatic about to blow something up -- figuratively and literally.

Sure Sign Of Success: When Strangers Hate You

There are only three businesses doing well in America today -- undertakers, Campbell's Soup and me. How do I know my freelance business is doing well? Strangers hate me. Some days, they aren't even subtle about it. One day, I got a comment from a "Jason Nevins" for my 451 Press blog, Dealing With Headaches to read this:

I hate you.

And that pretty much sums up 2008 for me. I have more work than I can handle, I'm discovering that snark sells and I get emails from trolls. Among other work that has gone out on the web this year that I'll highlight for no particular reason:

* Have Animal Rights Gone Too Far?
* Why The EPA Sucks
* Defending Yourself From a Zombie Army With Angel Music Boxes
* How To Talk Like William Shatner
* Animals That Are Smarter Than Humans

Back to work.

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.