Fireflies and the Book of Job, Revealed!

Creating posts is addictive, my children! Creating blogs takes a half hour. So I'll stay at my post. Kerchoo, kerblog.
Post and blog, get it?
Anyway, it's nice and dreary here in New England. I am back home (THANK GOD) and continuing to act out my modern-day interpretation of the Book of Job. For those of you not familiar with that sad story from the Bible, basically, Job's life goes to shit in a hurry, he argues a lot with God, God tells him to piss off, BUT, at the end, he gets doublefold recompense, basically (I think -- maybe three times, I dunno) for his sad life. I'm holding out for that myself, because I cannot sink any lower. In the past two years I've dealt with debt, major illnesses on the part of beloved siblings, living with people who could best be described as "crazy", and loads of other fun stuff. I've had to sell shit to make payments, and have finally learned the meaning of "dark humor". It's just life, though, and in the end, there will be a major motion picture based on my life! A fantastic one, starring Charlize Theron!
Ah yes, I forgot the part about being delusional.
I'm living with my brother and his wife at present, and watching the entire DVD catalog of Firefly. I loved, loved, loved Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and this is done by the same guy, Joss Whedon. Online geek types worship at the shrine of Whedon, who has given many of his online geek types many happy passive hours watching his genius. Firefly is really damned good: it's a shame it was yanked from the air. I watched some of the "backstage" stuff where you get to hear the producers and directors and Mr. Whedon, etc. ramble on about the show and TV politics. What they said about the suits vs the creative machine was in line with my feelings. Which are basically that networks just wanna make money fast, and screw the creative process. Sad.
Nathan Fillion is a hottie, I gotta say, although I am so very over pretty faces. Yes, I used to live for a pretty face. Now I just want a manservant named Pierre to steam me rice in the evening and slather me with coconut oil just before bedtime.
Is that so much to ask? Really, now.
New England in the fall is spectacular, incidentally. If you find yourself here, take a road trip anywhere in Vermont and ogle the leaves, then stop at a little country inn for a snog and some warm baked bread. Then take scenic pictures outside a used bookstore and drive home sated and content, basking in the glory of the beautous leaves. God is one helluva artist.
OK, if Nathan Fillion asked me to go to VT on a road trip, I wouldn't pass him down, or anything. Just so's we're clear.
Oh yes, one more helpful hint -- and I adore helpful hints -- drink green tea. Green tea has been known to basically prevent types of cancer. I drink a cup every day, and I swear it keeps me lubricated, detoxified, and anything else I can think of. I am part of the Green Tea Express, b/c I tell everyone I meet to drink it. Seriously -- go online and read about the benefits. Green tea is good for you!
So, I imagine, is Nathan Fillion, oiled up and ready to, um, rub my feet.
Yes, sounds good.
Happy sailing, my friends.

I'm Only Happy When it Rains

It is raining cats and dogs here. Whole pet stores, actually. This area of MD is built on swampland, and when it rains it feels like it's going to pull you into the netherworld or something. You also get mold, weird flying insects, and because it's not far from DC, rats and cockroaches. I tell ya, it takes strength to be human. Esp. when I read frightening statistics like, in major cities, there are as many rats as human beings! Gee, let's read that one to the kiddies for a bedtime treat. Yuck. Seriously, yuck.
Ah, well. Because I am still on vacation I get to do things like wake up, put on Simon and Garfunkel, and meditate to Bridge Over Troubled Waters, then sit in a big chair while my friend goes off to work and I get to finish watching A Beautiful Mind while drinking coffee. While munching ginger sesame chips from Trader Joes. Trader Joes is quite a place. Sometimes I want to go into these organic food store places carrying a slab of beef and wearing a big fur coat, but I'm twisted, of course. Soon we'll demand that people be made out of hemp, too.
It cracks me up how narcissistic humans are at times (myself, too, mais bien sur!). Like when you're reading ads for roommates. When I was contemplating living in LA ('cause it didn't work out, thus creating hellish feelings of pain and agony -- God forbid I ever just have a nice time! OK, I pull the plug on self-pity, but I'll fill up the tub later) I surfed a lot of Craig's List ads. People in LA seem to be hell-bent on ensuring their roommates are exactly like themselves. Lots of "I'm cool, you'd better be too" nonsense, many requests for pictures (can't live with someone ugly, God forbid!), and basically the general sense that this is LA, goddammit dammit, and we are a hip lot of folk. Losers need not apply.
But beyond the City of Angels, it does strike me that vegetarians, for example, in roommate ads and personal ads, etc. (yes! I've read personal ads! bet you have too!) always want to live with vegetarians plus they have CATS. Apparently, vegetarians rarely like dogs. If they do, I've never seen one advertising for a roommate, goodness knows. SWF, with great cat, vegetarian, seeks same, for plentiful hours creating masterpieces out of tofu. Must pay rent on time, be available for impromptu sex. No, that's just me.
The rain is now coming down in sad waves, and if I was suicidal today, I'd stay indoors and imagine I was in the Bahamas, watching the sun dance on the water. Not that I'm making fun of suicidal people! I should start all my blogs with "Tongue Forever in Cheek. Be Not Afraid". That's why I love the northeast, you can be a smart-ass there. When I lived in DC, it was much harder to be a smart-ass, because people here actually say things like, "Sorry to be politically incorrect..." Be incorrect, you silly motherfucker! While there's still time! Haven't you read The Handmaid's Tale? GOOD GOD, Y'ALL!
War. What is it good for? Absolutely nothing.
Speaking of war, it would only be fair that presidents who wage war on innocent countries might have to go into combat themselves, hmm. I saw Michael Moore's Farenheit 911 (nice rip off of Mr. Bradbury!) and was really struck by his comments about how the poor are often the first to volunteer to go into war. I'm sure a naysayer would have other reasons for that, but I think there's something to that statement. We definitely live in fearful, conservative times, and that's frightening. Curtailing civil liberties is frightening. A lot of things in this world are frightening, but the huge changes in America -- and they are huge, however somehow underground they might seem -- scare me.
Writing, as someone once said, is an aggressive act, which is why they kill writers in war-time. Truth-tellers are the first to go, b/c the world hates truth. Not that I'm putting myself in this category, but I always have the sense when I'm writing that it is an aggressive act, however you might dress it up.
But this is so serious, esp. when there are cookies to eat, songs to write, even. I'll write one about Art Garfunkel getting caught with pot in his suitcase, and call it "Sixties Icons Won't be Separated from their Drugs, Like, Ever".
Happy day, happy ones.

The CEO of Jesus

Like I know anything about Cole Porter! God, these treacherous writers, they're all the same.
I have discovered I cannot work diligently on my book as the laptop here does not contain an A drive. This is kind of like discovering you have a third nipple, but that's OK, 'cause I'll write more over the weekend come hell or high water.
I guess a good topic might be streetlights, or tap water in my present condition, but maybe we could discuss something more enticing, like exorcisms. I actually went with a dear friend who happens to be a priest to see The Exorcism of Emily Rose. There was something vaguely comforting about this (or odd, depending on your viewpoint), because as someone who has been both blessed and traumatized by Catholicism, you wanna priest there when watching this stuff! Trust me!
The movie was actually quite good. Maybe more of a rental or a matinee than a plunk down your nine dollars type of scenario, but good nonetheless. And it's not a horror movie -- it's really a legal thriller attempting to determine if Emily Rose, the movie's main character, was legitimately possessed or epileptic and possibly psychotic. It's an intriguing premise based on a true story I will google down soon (google down sounds vaguely kinky, eh?), but the movie left me more sad than anything else. Sad because she died (you find this out right off the bat, so no spoilers here, children) during the exorcism, and sad because her own spiritual autobiography was a very heroic one. Maybe with a message the world can't really hear.
Yes, she vacillates between the sacred and the profane! Why not, it's where we all live anyway, I think.
But this is far too serious for blog land. Although the guy I found who is leading us all to salvation through his blogs would probably approve. I could start inserting pictures of Jesus' Sacred Heart, or insert music sound cards so "Ave Maria" blares out when you're reading my blogs.
My blog, my God, my dog! Soggy wog! Kerplog! Schmog! Schmog is what you get when you cross an egg-nog with a schmo. But now I'm just being silly.
As if! Silly!
I'm thinking about pie. Want...to...eat...pie. Say it in a slow, stealthy way, or like you work for a corporation that encourages you to deplete your brain cells slowly, by reciting their various brainwashing mantras dressed up as mission statements. As you can probably easily deduce, I am none too fond of corporations! Or companies, period! Me, I just wanna work for myself, although none of us can escape Mr. Man, Jesus knows.
I am especially not fond of the work places serious magazines occasionally tout in their "Best Companies to Work For" lists, the companies that provide you with child-care and on-site masseuses and nap rooms. Gee, could it be to encourage you to spend all your time there? Why, I don't know, Watson, but it seems logical! Not that it wouldn't be nice and convenient etc. -- I simply question the motivation. I work when I work, but I also like to go home and spend time blankly staring into space and contemplating the lint in the corner. Americans are ever workaholics, but the older I get, the more I question the way we do things 'round these there parts. Does anyone really want to spend all their time at work? Not even CEO's do that. Why, sometimes they play golf!
I also question why I am not Michelle Pfeiffer, but we can't all be tiny blonde haired creatures with perfect bone structure.
In fact, a schmuck once said to me, "You've got broad shoulders and a long reach." He was referring to my arms, which are long, but my shoulders aren't actually all that broad. In fact, I am a size twelve and almost 5'10, thank you very much.
I curse you! I spit on you!
I wish a 60 hour work week on you!
Now, was that a nice thing to say, Jesus?
Goodnight.