Saturday, December 28, 2002
Crime Pays
Three nights ago your worst fears were realized. A heavy-set, burly, hooded man broke into your house.
The cloaked and bearded burglar crept silently into your living room while you and your family slept unknowing and defenseless in your beds. Your alarm system was useless and your watchdog never stirred.
Then... he left you gifts.
And there you have it: One small part of the appeal of this strange holiday we call Christmas.
Did you remember to leave out milk and cookies for him?
~
12/28/2002 02:02:00 PM
Monday, December 23, 2002
Merry Chris Moose
I sent out a few Christmas cards this year and they all said "Merry Christmas." This got me to thinking:
It's terribly unfair of me to wish everyone a Merry Christmas when not everyone is Christian. In addition to Christians celebrating Christmas right about now, we have Jews celebrating Hanukkah and African-Americans celebrating Kwanza. And then of course there are Muslims and Hindus and Sikhs, Buddhists and Taoists and Confucians, Wiccans and Druids and Neo-Pagans, Native Americans, Scientologists, Hari Krishnas, atheists, and Rastafarians, to name just a few.
And to name just a few more, there are:
Yorubans and Ifans and other African traditionals, Candomble and Vodoun practioners and Santerians and other African Diasporics (who may or may not sacrifice animals), Kabbalists and Gnostics, Anthroposophists, Zoroastrians, somewhat schizophrenic Pantheists, Aboriginal and African Shamanists, Animists, Aestethic Realists, Deists, Kemet reconstructionists, Asatru Norse paganists, ritual magicians, Confucianists, Vietnamese CaoDai disciples, modern alchemists, new age theosophists, Spiritists, the adherents of Japanese Seicho-No-Ie and Tenrikyo, 19 million followers of Korean Juche, and the Yezidi angel worshipers of Iraq who believe in a good version of the fallen angel Lucifer.
Jainists are a favorite of mine, as is anyone so kind as to avoid stepping on bugs.
Atlanteans, yes, Atlanteans, according to John Godwin's Occult America, are "frankly elitist, based on the conviction that a handful of superior men and women secretly guide the world's destiny. I only met one..." Evidently Atlanteans are so secretive that we don't even know they are out there controlling our lives.
And Discordians are fun, as they may believe in any deity, or no deity, or perhaps all of them at once.
Satanists are mostly rebellious teens; real Satanists, however, fashion themselves after pre-Christian pagans, and have nothing to do with the Christian "Devil." Their faith has more to do with nature and the power of the individual as opposed to any all-powerful God. The Church of Satan says, "Satanism respects and exalts life. Children and animals are the purest expressions of that life force, and as such are held sacred and precious..." Who knew? However, you might notice a slight tone of rebellion against Christianity in the nine Satanic Principles according to founder Anton LaVey.
Not to neglect cults, we might want to mention any Branch Davidians who survived Waco, a few Heaven's Gate followers who did not "depart" to join extra-terrestrials when the Hale-Bopp comet flew past, and, who knows?--maybe even the odd (though undiscovered) survivor of The Peoples' Temple in Jonestown, Guyana. However, "Destructive, Doomsday Cults" rarely seem focused on enjoying things like Xmas, and often do not last long enough to see many holiday seasons, anyway. A good example of this is Jeffrey Lundgren's cult The Family, formerly of Kirtland, OH. A Mormon splinter group mixed with guns and odd sexual rituals? You just knew that was going to end badly.
Masons are a little scary, too, but for my money Amway and the Elks Club are the most frightening cults of all.
These are only the organized religions; if you've spent much time surfing the internet, you know the probablity is high that there's at least one poor fellow somewhere who has erected a private shrine to the Jolly Green Giant.
It's a diverse world out there.
Heck, I'm sure my list isn't anywhere near complete.
And let me not forget animals, whose religion is nature, instinct, and the goodness of their souls.
So I'm avoiding the word "Christmas" this season unless I know I'm dealing with a Christian (or maybe a non-Christian who celebrates the holiday anyway--the season really has more to do with Peace, Good Will and Gifts than religion these days. It's mostly about the Jolly Fat Man, isn't it?)
And thus, in the spirit of fairness, I present my new Holiday greeting card:
A Merry Chris Moose
To You and Yours.
(And please avoid stepping on bugs.)
-Seasons Greetings from Shane!
PS Sorry I forgot you this year, Shinto, but next year I'll do you a Headline Special!
~
12/23/2002 11:19:00 AM
Saturday, December 21, 2002
Meet Ms Skunk
Came home from work late last night and let the dog out.
Miss Dog: Meet Ms Skunk.
I don't think they were pleased to make the acquaintance. I can state with near certainty that they will not be having tea or exchanging baked goods any time soon.
One bottle of strawberry shampoo, one box of baking soda, one bottle of peroxide, one long bath* and one hour later, and Miss Dog smelt marginally better. I smelt one heckuva lot worse.
Woulda been fine if Miss Dog didn't still insist on sleeping in my bed (or if I'd had the heart to kick her out).
But all said, I was just relieved that Ms Skunk hadn't been hit by a car (my first fear on smelling the olfactory carnage). Land developers (who are ironically the Scourge of the Land and the Scum of the Earth) have left dozens of skunks homeless in my neighborhood. Most of these have declared squatters' rights in the back yard. This is fine, as they tolerate me even in close proximity. Many's the night I've gone out to fill the birdfeeders and nearly collided with a striped bandit, only to back away with my hands in the air like a mugging victim while the skunk looked somewhat surprised and even more amused. Yeah. That's right. They know they're packin' heat. And you won't forget being mugged by a skunk.
Once on a midnight jog in the dark Miss Dog and I nearly ran headlong into a tiny baby skunk. We wheeled and ran the opposite way just in time, and that damned critter chased after us for a good five yards with its tail in the air and its head held high and proud. A Little-Leaguer hitting his first grand slam couldn't have been more pleased with himself.
But when not threatened, the wee Pépé le Pews are amenable to company of all sorts--raccoon, possum, cat and even human. I've edged close, just a couple feet away, from one of the more familiar backyard residents, cooing and holding out my hand like someone coaxing a stray cat. I swear she clucked her tongue at me and communicated perfectly (whether through body language, facial expression or ESP I'll never know) this message:
Look, buddy, I'll put up with you in my lawn and I'll clean up your birdseed, but cut the touchy-feely crap. I just don't like you that much.
I guess I'm just a sappy sentimentalist to her. She took her time eating something out of the hole she'd dug in the lawn and then ambled away casually, her full belly wobbling from side to side. I felt rejected, but followed her example and kept a stiff upper lip.
It always makes me sad when a driver takes out a skunk crossing the road at night. It's usually a hit-and-run. Rarely do you see the skunk's accidental executioner stop and exit the car to inquire as to the victim's welfare, at the same time becoming that much more familiar with a certain piercing odor. If anything, the driver usually speeds up post-manslaughter... err, skunkslaughter.
More and more lately I notice cars turning down my street at night and turning on their bright headlights. I'm an optimist and I'd like to think they are concerned about the local wildlife, but it probably has more to do with:
a) My Cadillac still stinks like skunk from the last time I drove through this part of town after dark.
b) If I put on my high-beams I can do 50 in a 25 zone and pedestrians will see me and get out of the way.
c) There are no shtreet lightsh, I've jusht had eleventeen beersh, and I don't want to make abshtract shculpture by combining my bumper with a mailbox. On shecond thought, maybe abshtract shcultpure would be intereshting..?
Yes, Humans Stink. You know it.
So drive carefully at night. Homeless skunks are God's way of telling us there's too much concrete on the Earth, especially when one gets plastered on your car's grill and your significant other won't touch you for a week. That smell? It means Humans Stink.
~
*De-Skunkify-Shampoo recipe courtesy of my old high-school classmate Melanie (who has her own dog-grooming business and probably makes 3X what I do in my cubicle):
Mix 1/2 cup Baking Soda, 16 oz Hydrogen Peroxide and 1/2 cup Suave Shampoo (preferably strawberry or lilac); Apply to dry canine (or self, as may be the case) within 15 minutes, as a chemical reaction is taking place that will not last long. Wait 15 minutes, Rinse, Lather... You know the rest.
~
12/21/2002 05:56:00 PM
Friday, December 20, 2002
Animal Crackers
It occurred to me today that certain people see me as a "smart guy." One of those, you know?--one of those who sometimes spout little-known factual tidbits about which no-one sane gives a damn, one of them what actually rent and watch those furreign films, the ones with SUBTITLES, fer Gosh sake; I'm kind of like Dietrich on Barney Miller, only I tell jokes at which people actually occasionally laugh.
In answer to these people who see me as that I can only say this:
There are eighteen different animals in a box of animal crackers.
That's EIGHT-TEEN frickin' animals.
And I can only name four or five.
And heck, three of those are lions and tigers and bears (Oh My).
I'm not so damn smart. And there's always something new for anyone to learn.
This lesson has been brought to you by one glass of Merlot and an introspective moment.
~
12/20/2002 07:22:00 PM
Thursday, December 19, 2002
But...
English is a strange language, full of subtleties that can trip up the non-native speaker (as well as the native). For example, there is but a small difference between the two sentences that follow.
I stared at her, but I didn't notice she was watching me.
I stared at her butt, I didn't notice she was watching me.
Case in point.
~
12/19/2002 05:12:00 PM
Tuesday, December 17, 2002
Pissed Off at the Sun
I got pissed off at the Sun once.
I was driving, actually, and the Sun was just incredibly bright in my eyes. Couldn't see a damn thing. So I got pissed off. Damn sun! Wish it'd just go away!
Then I immediately felt guilty. I mean, I couldn't even exist without the Sun, me or any other life on Earth. I suddenly felt small. Not just insignificant, not just petty, but literally small, considering the Sun has a diameter of about 50,000 kilometres, while my diameter at its most impressive point is barely, like, two metres. It's one of those test questions:
-Object A (me) is to Object B (the Sun) as
a) A grain of sand is to the sea.
(Correct Answer.)
What the heck was I thinking? I was pissed off at the Sun.
Heh. Humans...
A grain of sand is to the sea.
~
12/17/2002 03:41:00 PM
____________
[start] 12/17/02...
I'm starting a 'blog. Matt Sturges made me do it. Blame him.
Glimmer Train Stories just turned down a short story of mine for their "Short-Story Award For New Writers" contest. Their loss. But I was darn sure I'd at least place. For some reason I am considerably less than heartbroken, despite the fact that winning would have given me a firmly-wedged foot-in-the-door to get my writing published elsewhere. Maybe this lack of disappointment is because I rarely see anyone published in GT who doesn't have an MFA and isn't currently in a writers' workshop of the caliber of Iowa, anyway. Or maybe it's because, while I respect GT, I admit I enjoy reading Rosebud waaay more. Great mag, that. And I can't help but suspect the somewhat genteel GT resented my use of the F-word, albeit in dialogue.
So here I am talking to myself about it. Thanks a lot, Matt. I'll get back at you for this someday.
~
12/17/2002 12:57:00 PM
