Whacky News Items of The Day

1. Lightning Awareness Week. Would you believe one exists and this is it? Yes, read this article and you, too, may start constructing a grounded, rubber lightning shelter in your backyard.

2. Grizzly Bear-Size Catfish Caught in Thailand. Yes, weighing in at 646 lbs, it is possibly the largest fresh water fish ever caught. The bad news is, it's endangered and they killed it. The good news is, it supposedly brought good luck to a lot of villagers.

3. Alan Cumming has a perfume named after him. Yes, the guy who played the MC in Cabaret. Want to know what it smells like?

You may now return to your daily lives just a little bit more well-informed.

The Book of Jobina

OK, I’m exaggerating, but what the heck is going on here? After my latest post, in which a session of Reiki left me feeling better than I had in months, I went in the next afternoon for my steroid epidural. The night after that, I began to experience what can only be described as a five-day-solid agonizing migraine headache, complete with light and noise sensitivity, nausea, sweats and dizziness. In getting the shots done on Thursday, I’d hoped to make sure I was comfortable for our extended visit with M’s family, including her 90+ year old grandmother, who I dearly love and don’t know how many times, if at all, I’ll get to see again. Instead, it turns out that I experienced a rare, but possible, reaction to the shots – either a bodily rejection of the steroids or the result of a pinprick leak in my cervical spinal column, causing pressure changes in my neck and skull that left me feeling like I’d been tossed in a sack of hammers and rolled down a hill. For five days.

Is there some higher message or meaning in here? Why do I keep experiencing these debilitating injuries and illnesses? Am I supposed to pack it all up and go live in a cave somewhere, communing with the animals and existing on shoots and berries? Or, conversely, am I supposed to be counting my lucky stars that I live in an industrialized, “first-world” nation, with a job that, even though it’s not exactly my soul’s calling, furnishes me with the medical insurance to treat all these issues and at least not worry where my next meal might come from if I have to spend a week doped into hallucinations with multiple pills?

I am truly thankful for my family and especially for M, who has been the most wonderful, supportive angel of a partner through all this I could ask for – despite the fact that my illness put even more stress on what was an already emotion-fraught trip for her. I am going to make an appointment for another session with my Reiki master as soon as possible, too, to see if that can help clear up the aftereffects of this latest problem. The ache in my head is very dull now, but I still feel – physically and emotionally – hung-over. The loving ministrations of my cats (I swear having them wrapped around my head purring all night put the last whammy on that headache) and going into the place of peace and no pain I experienced during that last Reiki session truly helped me get through this without completely losing my marbles.

I don’t know how to be clever just now, but I’m easing back in. Further bulletins soon…

This Shit Really Works!

Shake, Rattle n’ Roll, Baby…

So – long time no post. Last I left off here, I was just getting over my bout with vertigo, which was bad enough but just the tip of the iceberg, I soon found out. Since then I’ve been afflicted with two – count ‘em - two herniated discs in my neck, a killer stomach virus, a few panic attacks and The Return of The Constant Menstruation. Sounds fun, no? Trust me, it’s been a blast. Between the bleeding, the searing pain, the reduced use of my dominant arm and hand, the parade of drugs and the projectile spewing, I’ve truly been the life of any party. I’ve missed a lot of work at my day job, had to stop doing the work I love most – animal communication – and generally been confined to resting and moping, with a side of weight gain. It’s been a rough few months, here, is what I’m trying to say.

But… last night I finally did something I should have done weeks ago. I went to see my Reiki master. See, I’ve been taking drugs, seeing doctors both medical and pshrinky, and getting steroids shot into my spine, and it all helped, but I’ve still been feeling lousy. Not just physically but, as you may imagine, spiritually. Guilty and sad that I haven’t been able to do my animal work just when my business was really taking off. Depressed over feeling sick and in pain all the time. Tired and defeated and right on the edge of hopeless. I tried to do Reiki on myself and meditate, but I was too distracted or in pain to get it flowing. Not only that, but I began to doubt that those things could help me. I began to fall back on the ol’ inner skeptic society built in me, telling myself that all that New Age mumbo-jumbo was a scam, and even my beloved animal communication must be a comforting delusion – dismissing all the amazing results I’ve seen and the information I’ve gotten that I just could not possibly have known without it being real.

So, enter my Reiki master, Linda Gnat-Mullin. Although I’d been attuned to level I by her (I did level II long-distance with someone else, mostly due to curiosity and financial considerations) and afterwards had some very intense psychic experiences with her, I’d never actually gotten a full Reiki treatment. Well, little did I know that the work she does involved not only Reiki, but shamanic work and other spiritual/energetic methods. That’s right, sage was burned, spirits and the divine feminine were invoked, crystals were placed and even a rattle was shaken above me. It was all enough that definitely, at times, I had to internally roll my eyes and think “oh, jeez, is all this New Age, white-lady-fixated-with-aboriginal-spiritualism frou-frou-rah really necessary? And does it do any good besides giving one the psychological/placebo effect that one is better?” Well, I’m here to tell you – it works!

After two hours of communing with animal spirits, crying over childhood issues and being spritzed with lavender, not only did I feel emotionally “cleansed”, more vibrant and happy, but the pain from my herniated discs went away. For the first time in weeks I was able to sleep through the whole night, and woke up with no pain at all. None.

Moreover, there’s a spring in my step I haven’t felt in months. I feel… positive. Like I don’t have to carry a big weight anymore. How about that?

Sure, I’m still looking forward to getting my latest epidural this afternoon – those steroids in the neck can make one pretty grumpy, but they do take the pain and weakness down a few notches. But I am now thoroughly convinced that this Reiki session did me every bit as much good as any allopathic medical treatment I’ve ever had. So, I’ll be going back soon, and recommending it to all my friends – even if it does seem a little woo-woo to some. I may fall back into doubtfulness, but I now feel that a treatment like this – even just a tune-up – is worth every penny and just as important in taking care of myself as making sure I eat my vegetables or get my spine adjusted at the chiropractor. After all, I’m trying to go into a line of work where I will be helping to take care of many others – human and of different species. How can I do that if I am stuck and ill, myself?

So, back on track. I hope within a week or two to being doing consultations again. Until then, I will be taking good care of myself, looking forward to my next treatment and planning our vacation in Costa Rica. I have work, financial and family issues to take care of, but I feel as though it’s much more manageable. Wish you could get and outlook adjustment, too? Drop me a line and I’ll give you Linda’s number. It’s worth it!

These Dreams...

... go on when I close my eyes. I'm not talking about the Wilson sisters (although M did get a Heart Greatest Hits album recently). I'm talking about one way I know animal communication is what I really want to be doing with my life. I've been having these dreams lately. In each one, I have to save Maya, our cantankerous and deaf cat, from some impending doom. This has ranged from a fire drill to an actual fire, from being forced to move out of our place due to some financial ruin to rescuing her from a building next to one that has been blown up by terrorists. Maya is pretty good as I cradle her in my arms and run for safety amidst the confusion, at first. But I know the minutes are numbered before she starts to struggle, and I may lose her completely in the chaos as she becomes irritable or scared by the situation and wriggles free. I feel mounting alarm as I worry that I will lose her and may not know if she is safe. I will both miss her terribly and feel as though I have failed.

Once again, my subconcious? With the subtlety? Not so much. Clearly not only have I been feeling guilty that I've been behind on Ms. Maya's columns since I got sick (I swear she has been put out at me lately, and looking somewhat unhealthy), but I am worried about all my animal and human clients who I have been powerless to assist while lost in vertigo-induced la-la land. Every day I get a couple more messages from clients anxious about a lost cat, a dog with cancer, or an animal friend who has recently died. I want to help them so much! But then I look at the backlog of clients I am still trying to catch up on, and it overwhelms me. I know being sick for a month is no 9/11 terrorist attack, but my subconcious is obviously using some exaggerated metaphors to let me know that I am waaay anxious about this. And did I mention I am still in the middle of re-organizing my files and doing my taxes?

I know I will catch up, somehow, and I know I still need to take time for myself to relax, meditate and continue to get better, or I'll be no good to anyone. But I tend to spiral into these fear-of-impotency panics... "all the animals in the world are going to suffer if I don't help them right now, and it's my fault!"... even though, realistically, I know that my clients always have the option to take up my offer for a referral and I am Just. One. Person.

The good news is that I have other reasons for believing this really is my calling - the top of the list being just how damn delightful I find a good chat with most animals and their people, and how incredibly good I feel when I get something I never would have imagined exactly right, or actually help to facilitate an understanding between beings that haven't been getting along, or even help an animal or person feel or behave better. But, being the person that I am, I suppose the freaky dreams and bouts of anxiety are bound to go along with the territory when I feel all that goodness in my life is somehow threatened. That and the fact that I'm no longer passed out on Trazadone every night. Ever try to kick a sleeping aid?

Vertigo

No, not the movie - although it's one of my favourite films. And not the comic line, either. If you thought of that first, you are an even bigger geek than I am.

No, I mean the actual symptom, i.e. " a false illusion of motion with a distinct sensation of rotation." This was the major symptom I was experencing as I was sick over the last three weeks, and it's more of a pain in the ass than you might imagine. I mean, I thought it was bad when I had the symptoms of a throat infection and possible stomach flu the week before. But, it turned out it could get worse, because I didn't go to the doctor and it progressed to a combined sinus and ear infection that gave me... well, you guessed it.

Just how much of a pain in the ass is vertigo? Well, strike one: if you have vertigo, nobody can tell you have it. You look perfectly fine, until you find yourself putting your head between your knees or clinging to nearby wall or lamp-post to remain upright. I have a feeling that I was probably doing weird squinty and popping things with my eyeballs, too, and making pissy faces, but just enough that the casual observer probably thought I was either crazy or had a minor case of Tourette's, not so much that it would be clear I was ill and thus garner some pardon or sympathy. In any case, I found myself feeling defensive while I was sick in a way I wouldn't have if, say, I had a rattling cough or a blood-soaked bandage on my head. "I may look fine," I'd silently mind-thrust at those around me, "but I feel like I've been tossed in a sack and hammered - wanna make somethin' out of it?"

Strike two: it is remarkably incapacitating. Even if you otherwise feel fine (which is unlikely, because headaches, fatigue and nausea tend to tag along with their friend vertigo, but I'm just saying), try doing almost anything when the little steadycam in your brain that keeps your every waking moment from looking like the chase scene in a COPS video is not working and you will pretty soon start wishing for temporary blindness. Work on the computer? No. Watch TV? Not for more than a few minutes, if you don't want to revisit your breakfast. Read a good book? Try a page or two, at most. When I did have to move around, I found myself navigating through many familiar spaces - and some unfamiliar ones - with my eyes closed. I'd sometimes catch myself doing this walking down the hallway at work or, say, Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn on the way to the pharmacy. I'd have to stop and force myself to pry my lids open and walk slowly, to lessen the chance of blundering into other pedestrians, obstacles or passing vehicles. To be fair to myself, I submit that even when I was blinded and dizzy, I was at least as careful and safe as most of the drivers on that familiar roadway ("bike lane? What bike lane? I think I'll make a U-Turn at 35 miles per hour with this Salvation Army couch plopped on my car roof and the 5 kids sliding around in the back, between the blown-out, blaring gajillion-watt speakers.").

Finally, strike three: there's just not a heck of a lot you can do for vertigo. The strongest thing my doctor threw at me was a version of your basic Dramamine, which did almost nothing for me (except make me even more sleepy, which I did not expect was possible). So, I basically had to wait until it went away, not knowing when or if it would. I knew I was supposed to be on antibiotics for at least a week, but as that stretched into ten days and on to nearly two weeks with little improvement, I began to worry. What if the infection was gone, but I had some weird condition or damage in my brain, which meant I'd be doomed, dooooooomed, to feeling like I'd just spent three hours on the Goodship Gutspew for the rest of my life? All things told, this one symptom, which, on the surface, would not seem like something that would put one out of commission, did. Put me out. And I was mad about it, too!

I mean, not only did I have to use up most of my sick days, but I had to spend them staring at... nothing, or reading for five minutes and then sleeping for fifteen. And I'd find myself raging at myself, too, as in "you pussy! You're just a little woozy! It's not even a flesh wound!" But it didn't help. And it was depressing, because I also couldn't enjoy eating, or talking with anyone for very long, much less keep up my AC practice, which was probably the most disheartening. I mean, it's one thing to feel just generally useless, but another entirely when someone calls you weeping that their innocent little animal is dying or lost somewhere, and you have to say "sorry, got a bit of the spins, can't help you." Well, I could refer them elsewhere, but still. I ended up having to do quite a bit of soul-searching and telling myself that just because I couldn't be "useful" in the way I'd like to be at that time, I was still an okay person. I'm still mulling over that one, but I guess it was an important "life lesson." Or whatever. Bleah.

Anyway, I'm back again (somewhat) and starting to catch up, so I hope to be writing more. I'm sure millions have been waiting with breath a-baited. Stay tuned for what one hopes will be less hostile, if probably equally self-involved, updates.

International Lovah - part Ni

My global fame grows apace. Or, at least, the opportunity to be an international famewhore. Today I got an invitation to teach a workshop in San Francisco (possibly good - can't beat a tax-deductible trip to the city by the bay) and the following request which was... just strange.

In an email from a producer in LA, I was asked to appear on a show called "Genius! Mr. Shimura's Animal Land" on Nippon TV network. That's right - the foreign, sometimes delightful and sometimes horrifying world of Japanese TV. It seems that Mr. Shimura is a well-known actor/comedian in Japan. His house was robbed while he was away last month, and he would like me to communicate with his golden retriever and miniature dachshund to get information on the suspect and details of the robbery. Not only did the producer want to interview me in the US, but to bring me to Japan and - this is the kicker - air a dramatic re-enactment with an actor playing me. Yeah.

If that's not enough to make one bubble up with nervous laughter, I don't know what is. Not that I don't think the dogs might have some good input on the situation. It's that a) good luck on finding a professional animal communicator of some worth who is willing to get themselves into a situation where they can so easily be made to look like a big ass and b) it just doesn't work that way. Even on the off chance that I could get beyond the dogs' reactions of fear and what they most likely saw of the invader (shoes and legs), it's unlikely I'll get a clear enough facial description to go on. Plus, I don't know about Japanese courts, but the odds are close to none that such evidence in a US investigation would ever be considered. Then again, their culture is very different. Who knows?

Fortunately, I was spared the decision by their desire to find someone who had already solved at least one criminal case this way, which took me out of the running. I sent a nice letter back but, although visions of a possible expenses-paid trip to Tokyo danced in my head, I can't say I was sorry to say no. I'll leave it to some other animal communicator with greater confidence or worse judgment to field this one. I have to say, however, that I'm curious to see the results, if it gets filmed.

Anyone out there ever seen that show?

International Lovah

That's me. Or rather, international animal lover. Long time no blog, because I've been quite busy with both of my jobs for the last few weeks. Days have meant testing, fixing and re-testing the company's Website, and nights and weekends have been spent conversing with animals across the globe.

Yea, across the globe because, since the London Times article came out and my bid to get my Website listed higher on search engines, I've been getting inquiries from all over. This past week, for instance, I spoke with a bunch of budgeriars in Bangalore and a delightful cat spirit in Amsterdam. I've also been assigned the task by one of my long-standing feline clients of writing his life story (don't ask).

So, although I have been thinking of doing creative writing and some blogging here, I haven't had the time, especially as I try not to mix the stuff that should go on my business site with the stuff that ends up here. This doesn't jibe with my goal to write more creative stuff and promote my blog, but it does jibe with my goal to promote my business, be professionally respected and do some writing in that area. So... one and a half out of three ain't bad?

Anyway, if you've stopped by, which would probably be a surprise on my part and an accident on yours, howdy! I'm sorry there's not much here that's current. But, there's always tomorrow, so stop by again.

Fame is Stalking Me

So, a few weeks ago, I got the most surprising call. "Hey, this is Brian!" an overly-enthusiastic L.A.-accented voice informed me, in tones that crowed "I'm your new best friend!" Brian, it turned out, was a TV producer for a major network, and he had a proposal for me.

"We're doing a reality show, and we're looking for an animal communicator in New York, and your name kept coming up," he said. Not sure where this was leading, I asked him to explain. "Have you ever seen 'The Apprentice'?" he asked. Choking back a mocking chuckle, I informed him I haven't. I have a hatred of all things Donald Trump - long-winded expanation omitted - and find the whole premise of the show and behaviour of most "fame-whore" reality show contestants appalling. I did tell him I know the general gist, though.

"Well, this show is kind of like that," said Brian, "except, instead of business people trying to impress Donald Trump, we'll have people who want to be fashion designers trying to get a job with Tommy Hilfiger."

Here my mind was completely boggled. What on Earth could this program have to do with me, I wondered. But Brian was ready to explain that.

"See, the contestants will have to do certain tasks in order to compete," he elucidated. "Like, they'll have to live with a rap star for a few days and design his wardrobe, for example. And they'll have to paint a mural, and stuff like that. But what we thought would be really fun - and where you come in - is that they'd have to live with a dog for a few days and design an outfit for the dog." He paused, almost as if in triumph at his brilliance. "And you can tell us what the dog thinks of it!"

I was truly speechless. I think I laughed for a full minute. "Would it all be for the same dog," I finally asked, "or for different ones?" He explained that it would be different animals. I tried to remain serious, and point out to him that the reactions the dogs would have would depend on their individual personalities, of course, but I kept finding myself laughing, incredulous. "I have to say, Brian, this is one of the most unusual calls I've ever gotten."

I finally informed him that I have a sense of humour, but I'd have to think about it over the holidays and call him back. I never did, however. The idea just seemed so weird, and so potentially damaging, not just to my personal reputation, but to the perception of animal communication in general, which a lot of people already don't take seriously. Perhaps it's just me and my anti-fashionista outlook, but it just seemed frivolous. And, despite some of my friends encouraging me to take the job, insisting that all publicity is good publicity and that I might get both some money and new clients out of it, I had to wonder what kind of effect it would have on my business. Do I really want the kind of people who watch fashion related reality shows calling me up out of curiosity, leaving me serious or prank calls wondering if Fido or Muffy should wear the plaid jacket or the cashmere sweater today? And do I really want to try to do serious translations on-camera with a group of people whose choice of careers I find a bit shallow, especially when I clearly am not a sylphlike, societally-approved fashion plate, myself? I think not.

I probably should have called back Brian to decline, but I just felt so strange about it. I suppose I was afraid that he'd convince me to do it, out of curiosity, the possibility of my business expanding or getting some payment or perks, and my tendency to second-guess myself: "Am I really refusing out of feeling uncomfortable with this and not feeling it fits me, or is it just because I'm being chicken? Should I be 'seizing life by the horns', as it were, just to try out new and unexpected experiences, even if I have the sneaking suspicion that my contributions could be manipulated in a harmful or undignified way? A bunch of my friends are telling me I should do it..." Et cetera. So, I avoided the situation and blocked it out of my mind a bit, basically out of feeling overwhelmed and weirded out. Plus, I told myself, my friends were probably being encouraging more out of wanting to live vicariously through my experience and see someone they know on a reality show than based on measured, professional judgment. Not that I blame them - I might feel the same way in the reverse situation - but only I can evaluate if I think such a move will be beneficial to my profession and, of course, personally, to me.

But, it turns out that Fame hasn't given up on me yet. This week I got called to do an interview with a pleasant-sounding reporter who does slice-of-New-York-life columns for The London Times. While perhaps also a bit frivolous, this seems more my speed, being a print treatment and one in which my actual practice will be evaluated, not some made-up-for-television situation. And, upon reading some of this gentleman's columns, I found them to be mostly interesting and harmless - brief, and unlikely to be an exposé or opinion piece on the tabloid level. Plus, I'm far less likely to get every Tom, Dick and Harry who owns a TV set calling me, or over-exposure, as I'm sure the Sunday online version of the London Times has a far smaller audience, and even those people who read the column probably won't contact me unless they're serious, living across the pond as they do. Long-distance calls to America are unlikely to run rampant on the base of one article, but I can always use it in my materials as a reference, in the future. It just seems more dignified, somehow, and way more handle-able.

Of course, I may be wrong. We shall see. My interview is tonight, as the gentleman from the press accompanies me on an appointment with a kind and enthusiastic long-standing client of mine. Wish me luck, and keep your eye on the papers.

Lost and Found

Lately, I've had Found magazine on the brain. It started with M's find of an excellent example of school note passing on the street a couple weeks ago. Written on notebook paper, it features statements such as "I ate way to [sic] much over Thanksgiving," with a comment written diagonally in another hand "I know you did," answered with "shut up!" A veritable relic in the current age of text messaging, the only things this note was missing were evaluations of boys and doodles depicting favourite musical celebrities. It almost made me want to grab it and scrawl "I hate Math!!!" and render an inexpert version of the Def Leppard logo ("Rockz-4-ever!!!").

Yesterday, I stumbled upon my own find. Walking through the low-income housing development between two buildings of my office, I discovered a slightly damp and dirty - but not too dirty - cheap, fuzzy Christmas stocking. Forlornly crumpled in the middle of the walkway, its bright colours still stood out, and the evidence of glitter and glue decoration caused me to stop and pick it up. On the top, white, furry portion, globs and smears of green glitter described a name of sorts, now completely unreadable, and on the red area, patches of dried glue and silver sparkles depicted the phrase "I [heart] YOU" in a childish muddle. "This is one of the most pathetic things I've ever seen," I remarked to my co-worker, who was staring at me in horror for picking up such a thing from the street. "I think I have to send it into Found magazine." What tugged at my heart and kept puzzling me were the obvious care put into the stocking - such a homey, Christmas-glow inducing object in itself - and the possible reasons for its abandonment. Was just dropped and lost, taken by bullies... or maybe, saddest of all, the person who made it just didn't love the receiver any more? The world will never know.

Finally, today, I found the mother lode. Hunching under my $9.95-special umbrella in the miserable January wind and rain, I had to pause at a street island as the lights changed. The island, a familiar one to me near my work, normally sports some kind of pleasant landscaping, along with plaques commemorating the donors who maintain it - in this case, Gracious Home, Bed, Bath & Beyond and the local headquarters of the Mormon church. This morning, however, the middle of the island was bare, covered only with flat, brown mud, and a most extraordinary creature. There, amidst the dried remains of holiday flowers, was a lumpy, brown-and-black, papier-mâché beaver. At least, I think it was a beaver. It could have been a road-killed dog, or any other type of brownish mammal, with a silver tongue sticking out, a mis-shapen head, and black paint slits for eyes that made it look asleep or dead. The giveaway, however, was the flat, black, oversized tail that sprawled behind it, giving me the impression of a beaver. But what was it doing there? And who had made it? Was it supposed to be there, as some kind of display, or was it left there by accident or as a throw-away, after it had served its purpose as a school art piece or science project? Again, the world will never know.

I had half a mind to pick it up, but its soaked state, along with the facts that it was half as long as me and could have been there on purpose, decided me against it. But how can I ever share it with anyone if I can't capture it and show it to others? At least if I had a digital camera with me I could take a picture of it, so that someone else might share in my pondering its origin and purpose - assuming anyone but me cared. But, as it is, I had none with me, and I suspect, as is often the case with such discoveries, it will probably disappear before I get back to where it was again.

That's why I love Found magazine. It shows one glimpses of the mysterious flotsam we leave behind, and gives one tantalizing scraps of other lives to mull over, so the curiosity and imagination, as well as the sense of all individuals sharing the same humanity, are piqued. Not to mention, it shows me that at least some other freaks out there are as intrigued by this sort of thing as I am. You won't see my lumpy beaver in the magazine (and yes, I love how dirty that sounds), but you may find other items that make you think and feel connected to the emotional lives of other people you will never know. Check it out.

Street Cred, if You're Stuck in The 70s

I was looking out the subway window at all the graffitti tags on the DUMBO buildings and thought to myself that if I had a tag, it could be "pie". "Pie" is easy - just three letters - and while the act of tagging a building carries an air of agressive territorialism or attention-seeking, "pie" is such a cute, non-threatening, homey word that it might change up the reaction people normally have to tags and give them a bit of a smile. I can see it now - "pie", the letters in plump, swoopy bubble style, evoking sweetness and a fullness of the stomach and spirit. And I could also draw a little stylized rendition of an actual pie - but nothing too specific. After all, if I am like a pie, in that I have a crusty exterior but a syrupy, goopy center, the metaphorical crust, filling and topping change from day to day. One day I am a turkey pot, warm and rich and nutritious, full of deep and varying elements, the next a lemon meringue, airy and slightly ascerbic, or a berry crumble, deceptively simple but with a complexity of harmonious components inside.

The only problem is, I am not a huge fan of pie, itself. In fact, I'd have to say my preferred dessert is much more likely to be a mousse, cookie or custard. None of those sound quite right as a tag for me, however. "Cookie" is a possibility, but it has a bit of a connotation already attached, and the obvious symbolic association of a tender-hearted but tough diner waitress-type doesn't entirely fit my personality, not to mention being overused. There is one other dessert that might apply, which is actually one of my most favourite comfort foods: pudding. And I like to think I'm like a pudding: richly comforting and sweet, if perhaps a bit too soft for my own good. Which should it be, "pie" or "puddin'"? As I actually find the act of vandalizing public property with vain, hyper-scale renditions of one's nickname appalling, and am too lazy to conduct a po-mo artistic campaign of pasting leaflets baring my moniker on every streetmap and construction scaffolding, the world may never know. But the comparison has given me an idea for the ultimate combination...

Boba Fett is a Rapist

Last night I dreamed that I was molested by Boba Fett. Yes, the character in the Star Wars movies who rose from a non-speaking bit player to a major character, largely based on the coolness of his costume – that Boba Fett. Somewhere in the middle of a longer drama, I encountered Mr. Fett sitting calmly and with rather lumpen posture on a cheap eighties sofa. In this dream, I was not just myself, but a comely lass with some sort of superpowers - that is, I was stacked and very strong. I remember looking at the movie character with a wisp of a smirk about my lips – this is the real Boba Fett, the one that is so popular and mysterious? He didn’t look like much, slumping with his knees spread wide, his hands folded in his lap and his futuristic costume carelessly rumpled.

Boba, however, had some idea that we were set up on a date, or that I liked him, because he immediately got up, clumsily put his arms around me and began to try to make out with me as best he could – an activity greatly hampered by the fact that he was wearing a large helmet. (In actuality, the helmet in my dream was more like the one Princess Leia wore when she pretended to be a bounty hunter to rescue Han from Jabba the Hutt, but I knew this was Boba Fett, nonetheless.) Initially amused, I tried to slow him down, first verbally and then with pushes, but he only got more insistent and pushed me to the ground, landing on top of me. I began to get worried – was I really about to be violated by Boba Fett? After some struggle, I worked my arms loose and warned him that if he didn’t desist I’d be forced to remove his helmet – for some reason, a terrible threat in his case. When he persisted, I used my super-human strength (apparently, those helmets are locked down with bolts and things) to rip off the helmet.

What did I see underneath? Not some brawny and photogenic clone of a Maori actor, as suggested in the execrable Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones, but rather a schlumpy, 30-something not-so-hipster loser nerd. With pale skin, dark receding close-shorn hair and several days’ worth of facial hair growth, topped with red-rimmed, dark-circled eyes, he looked like nothing so much as the engineered spawn of Adam “MCA” Yauch and John Turturro. Upon seeing this dweebling revealed from underneath the much-worshipped armor, I began to giggle uncontrollably – I couldn’t help myself. Soon I, and apparently some other folks who’d wandered in, were full-out laughing, and Boba got up, picked up his helmet and slunk off in humiliation.

Afterwards, however, nobody would seem to take the threat he posed me seriously. They wanted to focus more on how “mean” I’d been in exposing his goofy interior and laughing at him. Despite my protests that I had been the victim – he had been trying to rape me! – I was met with much sad head-shaking and disdain. Nobody likes to see their heroes fall.

Conclusions?
1. Clearly a meditation upon the perceptions of cool and likability via fame, this probably related somewhat to my earlier conversation with an acquaintance about the offer to appear on a reality show I recently rejected due to my assessment that it would make me and my profession look silly, and how people who achieve notoriety through movies or television are folks just like the rest of us who have to deal with weird problems (like the celebrity psychic my acquaintance knows who’s been stalked by violent religious fundamentalists). Issues addressed included actual strength/power vs. perceived strength/power, the power of shame, violence, attractiveness, rejection and dismissal.

2. I am a geek.

3. I shouldn’t have played that lousy Star Wars NES game so late last night. It totally sucked.

Other interpretations…? Feel free to comment.

Happy New Year

Things are gonna change around here in 2005, although I'm not sure how. I got completely overwhelmed by the holidays and then the news of the earthquake and tsunamis in Asia. How can I post about trivial stuff in the face of that?

Anyway, since the election is over I may start moving away from posting political news and towards more reflective or creative writing, or I may shift the focus of my blurbs. We'll see.

For anyone who's been reading so far, thank you. Feel free to comment or drop me a note if there's any direction you'd like to see this blog to take.

Holiday Cheer

Feeling stressed? Here's a selection of super cute animal photos taken at zoos around the world and featured on Yahoo News. Many are holiday themed. Just click on the thumbnails to see the larger versions.

Ho Ho Ho.

News of the Ding-Dong Day

Things you may have missed (because they're really not that important)...

Leading off with animal news...

And I Ran, I Ran So Far Awa-a-ay...
Like a Warrior outside of Coney Island, a young red-tailed hawk was apparently attacked by a flock of seagulls and nearly drowned. Read about the happy ending here.

I Am Going To Cry
"Imagine roaming the world's largest ocean year after year alone, calling out with the regularity of a metronome, and hearing no response..." WAAAAHHH!!!

Yet Another Reason Not To Have Children
Your cell phone is turning you into a mutant...

Besides, The Universe Is Spawning
Telescope Sees Evidence of 'Baby' Galaxies.
I have no idea what this means, except that it's further evidence that our corner of the cosmos is not the be-all and end-all of everything...

Back on track for the holidays...
"If you were Druid, I'd be wishing you a 'Scintillating Solstice,' "
Conservative Christians are mad that this time of year isn't all about Jesus' birthday anymore. Which makes sense, because historians agree his birth date was more likely around September.

Festivus 101
"In the background was Durkheim's `Elementary Forms of Religious Life,' " Mr. O'Keefe recalled, "saying that religion is the unconscious projection of the group. And then the American philosopher Josiah Royce: religion is the worship of the beloved community." Oh. I thought it was from Seinfeld.

And finally, something a bit more cheery...
This Is How Maurice Imagines Himself With The Xmas Tree

News of the Day - Holidays edition

I can't even think about what's happening in Iraq or with Rummy right now, so I'm dedicating this edition to seasonal fluff...

A Child's Holiday Wish: Please Click Here
Well, you've got to admire the ingenuity of kids nowadays, if not always their values. I mean, I've got a long-ass Amazon wish list, but this is ridiculous...

In more charming news, let's read about Garrison Keillor, just because I like him.
Lake Wobegon? It's Where Men Are Persistent

Happy Anniversary to the Organ Transplant
Now how'd you like to get a new... face?

O, Holy Mocha Latte...
In this holiday season, it's good to know that the Catholic church is providing what it's followers really need... more coffee.

Crouching Santa, Hidden Reindeer
For the rest of us, we can be sure to stock up on holiday gifts and decorations from - where else? - the world's largest predominantly Buddhist country...

However, if you want to be environmentally correct, don't buy anything on the WWF's list of
Ten Things Not to Buy for Christmas

I'm Dreaming of a Green Christmas...
Instead, buy some of these things.

As for other holidays,
Kwanzaa celebrates black heritage, culture
Which is why conservatives don't like it. As I recall from growing up with a black activist stepfather, it mostly celebrated five tons of soul food. But that was just our house.

And Hannukah may be over,
but the sun shines on in Florida for some Israeli teens...

Baby, It's Cold Outside
Lest we forget, today is the grandpappy of all Winter observances, the Winter Soltice. It's a good time to stay inside and snuggle for the longest night of the year, or start a fire at the NY piers - take your pick.

A Very Happy Holiday for Some
And finally, some good news to warm our Scrooge-ish hearts. I think thousands of homeless animals will agree with me when I say that this kind of giving is one of the best...

Merry merry, y'all...

Merry (sniffle) Christmas...

Well, we've got a beautiful tree - check, wonderful ornaments - check, presents and cards for all - check, dozens of delicious homemade cookies - check, plus one case of the flu and one case of raging holiday stress syndrome - check and check!

Why is it we women always turn into our mothers? And not the older, wiser versions, but the ones who made the mistakes we swore we'd never make? This is me at Christmas, my first one in my own home with my own significant other: trying to do 500 projects I don't have time to do in order to make Christmas "perfect", i.e. making myself and everyone around me unhappy trying to make myself and everyone around me happy.

My mom used to be that way. Dozens of boxes of cookies for everyone she knew, parties and feasts, presents and gingerbread houses and crafted wreaths and even a Christmas tree made out of chickenwire and boughs. And through it all, there was me as a kid, helping her and feeling like I was special doing it. Now, my mom was a stay-at-home mother way back when, and she expressed her creativity that way. As the "creative" child, and the youngest, what was the time of year I got the most attention and praise? You got it, Christmas project time.

So here I am, knowing my mother gave up stressing herself unduly years ago, especially when she stopped having kids around to help her and started working herself, but trying to be her at my age. Technically I know it's different: I have two jobs instead of none and no eager little fingers to help me. But there's a little girl inside of me that still wants the same safety, love and attention a "perfect" Christmas brings, with the whole family close together (not scattered around the country) and me in the center of it all, being told I was good. So, on the year I first try to have a relaxing Christmas by staying at home with the woman I love and doing our own thing, I find myself desperately trying to please... whom? Some inner critic who tells me I will not be good and safe and nobody will love me if I don't make everything just right. And, as a consequence, falling apart.

I know this now, and I'm getting a grip on it (and hey, I've finally got almost everything done, anyway), but it disturbs and fascinates me how the emotions of a three year old that I thought were well resolved can come around to smack me in the face thirty-one years later. And it's not like I can make it "perfect," anyhow - whatever that means. The stress and the weather mean somebody is always sick on the holidays - this week it's Marci, I'm hoping to squeak by without getting ill, if I'm lucky. And we're all adults now, with another generation of kids in the family and no one big enough to lift me up to put the angel on the tree anymore. I guess it's just that, despite my age, facing creating my own adult traditions of Christmas unearthered some desires unfulfilled, wishes that our nuclear family hadn't exploded before I was out of my single digits, that can't be dismissed no matter how much I want to be "healthy" or maturely blasé about them.

So, I'm working on it. And next Christmas will probably be a whole lot better - the bridge will have been crossed, and so on. In the meantime, I'm planning on scheduling a good amount of rest for myself over the holidays. And I'll put up the angel myself.

News of the Day

Things you might have missed...

Parked in Desert, Waiting Out the Winter of Life

In a fascinating study, a NY Times reported explores the lifestyles of the senior citizens living in trailers and RVs in the California desert. Take the time to read it, and make sure you take good care of the elders in your family.

How Quickly They Change Their Minds
Anti-abortionists, that is, when it comes down to really affecting them. A controversial and poorly understood new treatment is being tested in China by a doctor who injects the cells of aborted foetuses into the nervous systems of paralyzed and diseased patients. Some people are agog at the use of foetal cells, but the results seem to verge on the miraculous, and that has lots of foreigners, including this guy, rushing to China...

Among them is Van Golden, a Christian, anti-abortion Texan who has sold his house so that he can travel to communist, atheist China and have Huang inject a million cells from the nasal area of a foetus into his spine. According to Golden's doctors, his spine was damaged beyond repair in a car crash last Christmas. The damage to his nervous system was so bad that he has been in a wheelchair and racked by spasms ever since. But Golden refused to give up, even if it meant having to compromise his values. "This is the only place that offered us any hope," he says. "Everyone else offered only to help make me sufficient in that chair. But the chair is not my destiny. It is not ordained."

Read more here.

Say It Ain't So

Bill Moyers is retiring from his show NOW on PBS as of tonight. Although there have been times I could not watch the show because it would leave me too depressed, it was still an excellent, thought-provoking lonely bastion of liberal thought in today's media. I hope Moyers will continue to speak out in different ways.

The Tables are Turned
The Social Security Administration has decided it will not recognize any marriage - straight or gay - performed in New Paltz, New York recently. This is due to the big to-do that happened last winter when the mayor began wedding gay folks (to one another, that is). It must be shocking for the straight couples who now find their marriages invalid. I wonder if they'll begin to understand what it's like to be in our shoes for a little while?

Everything's Turning
Including apartments. New Yorkers hungry fo rfloor space may be amazed by what you can get in Brazil for $300,000.

Nyah Nyah-Nyah Boo-Boo
Cheers for diplomacy at its finest! U.S. Diplomats in Cuba added an interesting sign to their Christmas decorations this year: a big "75" symbolizing 75 dissidents jailed in Cuba. The Cuban government's response? A huge sign facing the 75 sign showing the torture in Abu Ghraib.

Wildlife Education That Works
The excellent IFAW found unusual help in a religious leader who has his followers treating endangered sharks like family members.

Break Our Your Mukluks!
There's a cold wind on the rise...

But Don't Worry, The World Is Going To End Soon, Anyway
What, you haven't heard?

Friday Cat Blog

Whiskers at full attention!

Educate the Masses

Seriously, if you're a liberal and can't stand dealing with family, friends or acquaintances who are wingnutters, check out this diary from Daily Kos.

And while your at it, save this information to deliver to anti-abortion types:

According to a 2000 study conducted by Finer and Henshaw and published in Perspectives on Sexual and Reproductive Health concerning abortion rates in the United States, during the 1980's, the Republican leadership did nothing while over 25% of pregnancies ended in abortion -an all time high averaging 1.6 million abortions per year. In the 1990's the Democratic leadership oversaw the abortion rate go down to just over 20% using progressive, compassionate early childhood education and services to address basic social and economic problems and by creating pregnancy counseling centers in poor areas.

Sometimes, talking actually does some good...

A Video Game I Can Get Behind

Tired of supre-violent video games? Check out Super Granny, where you play - can you guess? - a granny! And what does Super Granny do? She saves kitties! My stars.