Lover of Strife

In Which the Coven Coins a Catchphrase

2011-11-13T10:33:00.002-06:00

"My neighbors have a new baby with colic. One of us really just needs to witch up and eat the damn thing."

An Open Memo to Anyone Who Participated in the Penn State Riot

2011-11-12T15:06:00.004-06:00

Dear Anyone Who Participated in the Penn State Riot,

By participating in said riot, you actively endorsed the rape of children. That aside, it is my sincere hope that you get deeply and personally violated, followed by a thousand or so ignorant, uncaring, ultimately useless members of society making self-indulgent shows of support for the people who could have brought your tormenter to justice.

May each and every one of you have an interesting life.

A Very Merry Samhain...

2011-11-01T18:16:00.005-05:00

... from the bottom of Inanna Dentata's heart to the bottom of your choice.

Amuse-Yeux (updated)

2011-10-20T18:28:00.007-05:00

A conversation between myself and my buddy Storm:

Me - "Hey, want to go see Paranormal Activity 3?"

Storm - "Well, that depends. Are you going to scream uncontrollably and throw punches everytime something even remotely scary happens, like when I took you to see Paranormal Activity 2?"

Me - "Um... probably."

Storm - "Because remember how you almost kicked that one lady in the head? Honestly, dude, everyone sitting in front of us was more afraid of you than they were of the film."

Me - "I can pretty much guarantee more screaming and kicking."

Storm - "I mean, hey, no offense, but you're an absolute shitshow during horror movies."

Me - "I agree. And I completely understand if you don't want to go with me."

Storm - "Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss this for the world."

If anything, I'm glad to know I keep my friends entertained.

ETA: Storm shrieked like a little girl the entire time, while I only had to hide behind him twice. Who's more butch? Yeah, that's right, I'm more butch. Testify. (snap snap)

Sometimes My Life Is Gay Pagan Algebra

2011-10-08T22:59:00.005-05:00

Today is Houston's official Pagan Pride Day, involving various events and celebrations at a funky downtown venue. Although receiving several sincere and much-appreciated invites, I chose not to attend, mainly because I knew who else would be showing up:

1 - This guy I briefly dated. Let's call him GPA.

2 - This other guy (GPB) who I've never actually dated, but whom I've slept with a few times. No big thing at face value, except GPB was in a relationship with GPA for several months, and he's not aware that GPA and I even know each other, much less that we've held hands and had some... shall we say, enlightening discussions about him. Also, while GPA understands that GPB and I are technically friends, he doesn't know that GPB and I have thrown down, nor does he know that back when they were together, GPB made a couple of... unfortunate comments about him.

3 - Two hundred innocent Pagans who would accidentally get mown down in the ensuing crossfire.

After reviewing the overall equation, I decided my interests were best met by staying home and watching horror movies on cable. Because, y'know, less bloodshed that way.

Touché, Baptists. Touché.

2011-08-31T17:46:00.003-05:00

(And before anyone asks: No, this was not a product of the Church Sign Maker. I snapped this photo while running errands on my lunch break. Welcome to Houston.)

The Effect of NeoPaganism on Manslaughter and Marigolds

2011-08-23T19:13:00.003-05:00

A telephone conversation between myself and the sales clerk at a local occult shop:

Him - "Hello! thanks for calling [redacted]!"

Me - "Hi, I just have a quick question: Do you carry an herb called calendula?"

Him - "We sure do!

Me - "Great, I'll be right..."

Him - "Do you know the other name for calendula?"

Me - "Actually, I don't. But I just wanted to see if..."

Him - "Marigold! So if you're ever looking for calendula and can't find it, you can also ask for marigold."

Me - "Good to know."

Him - "Because you see..."

[Insert 10-minute lecture on the mystical properties and various ritual uses of calendula/marigold.]

Him - "... so after you've asked the Goddess for Her permission, leave the polished stones in a bowl of blessed water under the Full Moon. And that's how you use calendula correctly."

Me - "Well, wow, very interesting, thank you for the information. So I guess I'll drop by in a bit to pick up some calendula."

Him - "Oooh, sorry. We're sold out."

Had this exchange gone down face-to-face, I'm confident no jury in the world would convict me.

Quote o' the Moment - In Which I Begrudgingly Accept The State Bird of Texas as Totem and Muse

2011-08-15T19:47:00.001-05:00

"Mockingbirds are the true artists of the bird kingdom. Which is to say, although they are born with a song of their own, and innate riff that happens to be one of the most versatile of all ornithological expressions, mockingbirds aren't content to merely play the hand that is dealt them. Like all artists, they are out to rearrange reality. Innovative, willful, daring, not bound by the rules to which others may blindly adhere, the mockingbird collects snatches of birdsong from this tree and that field, appropriates them, places them in new and unexpected contexts, recreates the world from the world. For example, a mockingbird in South Carolina was heard to blend the songs of thirty-two different kinds of birds into a ten-minute performance, a virtuoso display that served no practical purpose, falling, therefore, into the realm of pure art."

-Tom Robbins

A Little TMI Between Friends

2011-08-03T17:38:00.009-05:00

Back in college, I met these random straight guys named Patrick and Bobby. Through various twists of fate, the three of us imprinted on each other and quickly became the BFF Triumvirate Kings of Wacky Misadventures. The upside to this is that we've shared some amazing experiences and have truckloads of hilarious stories (surprisingly few of which involve us almost getting killed). The unfortunate side effect is that we know way too much about one another. As such, any two of us in tandem can read the third like a Little Golden Book.

With this in mind, you'll understand why, after meeting at our favorite pub last Friday, trading bro-hugs and settling into our standard booth, Patrick and Bobby instinctively sensed that Something Was Up.

"So dude, seriously, we haven't seen you in forever," Bobby said. "What have you been doing?"

"Not much," I replied. "Just working. That's about it."

"Just working?" Bobby asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yep. Lots of work. Work work work. Wooo, work."

Patrick and Bobby exchanged glances. "And what else have you been doing?" Patrick asked.

"Nothing, really," I said. "Just, y'know... stuff."

"Uh huh. What's his name?"

After a bit more cattle-prodding, I broke down and confided that I'd recently met a very cool guy, and that we'd been spending some quality time together.

"But we're not a couple or anything," I added. "We're just hanging out and getting to know each other."

And with my feeble attempt to downplay the situation acknowledged and discarded, the interrogation officially commenced, Patrick and Bobby both gleefully flinging barbed questions based entirely on my effed-up dating history:

"Is he a Republican?"

"No."

"Is he twice your age?"

"No."

"Does he live with his parents?"

"No."

"Is he twice your age and living with his parents?"

"No."

"Does he have a girlfriend?"

"That only happened once. And no."

"So where did you meet him?"

"Um..."

Patrick buried his face in his hands. "Oh God. You picked him up at a leather bar, didn't you?"

"No. We met at a party."

Another set of glances were exchanged. "What kind of party?"

"It was just a party," I said, trying my best to look meek. "Honest."

There was a brief, pointed silence, and then Patrick and Bobby were all, "You did something bad and will share the details immediately."

"FINE," I yelled. "IT WAS A POOL PARTY, OKAY? A BIG, GAY POOL PARTY WITH A BUNCH OF GAY GUYS IN A POOL BEING GAY."

"Ah, I see," said Patrick, nodding sagely as the group of people next to us suddenly decided to move to a different table. "You were naked."

Bobby's eyes lit up. "Oh, hey! So this was like that time you went to a hotel and had to give a password to get in the room and then..."

It was my turn to bury my face in my hands. "Okay, first of all, stop remembering that. And secondly, 'pool party' does not automatically translate to 'orgy.'"

Another pointed silence. Then, Patrick: "But you were naked, right?"

"Well, I mean, not everyone was naked."

"But you were."

"Does it even matter?"

"Only until you admit it."

A telepathic Mexican standoff ensued, with me pulling a bulletproof pokerface and Patrick making a valiant effort to see directly into my brain. Which was the moment Bobby decided to ask, "So was the other guy naked?"

I didn't have a snappy come-back on hand, so I just started banging my head against the wall.

"Well, I for one am very happy for you," Patrick said between bangs. "And to be honest, meeting someone at a pool party is a lot less creepy than the time you had sex in an orchestra pit."

Eventually, Patrick and Bobby finished laughing their asses off over that particular anecdote. [Ed. Note: No. I'm not telling.] So, with most of my forehead, dignity, and vengeance skills intact, I took the "honesty is the best policy" route.

"You know what? I was naked."

Patrick and Bobby smiled triumphantly, proud of themselves for successfully dragging a confession out of me.

"And most of the other men there were, too," I said, clearing my throat and launching into a dramatic monologue from To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar:

"Men wanting to be with one another. Men touching each other. Their stubbly chins rubbing up against one another. Manly hands touching swirls of chest hair. An occasional whiff of a rugged aftershave. Their low, baritone voices sighing, grunting. They hold one another in manly, masculine arms. Hold one another. Tight."

And then Patrick and Bobby were yelling, "MAKE IT STOP," and I was yelling, "I WIN ALWAYS," and our waitress was all, "Another round for you boys? Or... perhaps not?"

We took that as a cue to settle our tabs, tip generously, and head our separate ways.

My personal life under glass aside, it was an excellent evening. I don't get to see my best buddies anywhere near as much as I'd like, but their presence is always a touchtone; whether they realize it or not, and even if they are sometimes bastard demons from hell, they are instrumental in helping me remember and appreciate who I am.

Also, I really did meet a very cool guy. We're becoming good friends. Which means at some point in the near future, I am going to have to introduce him to Patrick and Bobby.

And if he doesn't run screaming into the night after that, then he's more than welcome to join us as the Wacky Misadventures continue.

Keats and Yeats Are on Your Side*

2011-03-24T17:31:00.008-05:00

A cell phone conversation between myself and Co-Witch A.:

Co-Witch A. - "Hey, it's me."

Me - (quietly) "Hey."

Co-Witch A. - "Did I call at a bad time?"

Me - (a little louder) "No, no, not at all. What's up?"

Co-Witch A. - "Well, you know how we were talking about re-reading Paul Huson's Mastering Witchcraft together?"

Me - "Yeah, I'm enthused about that."

Co-Witch A. - "And you know how we've also been talking about building up more of a visible profile in Houston? I was thinking, what if we combined the two and offered a monthly book study?"

Me - "This is a great idea."

Co-Witch A. "Because it's such an iconic book, y'know? And I really feel like the serious practitioners in this area could get some good information out of it."

Me - "I agree."

Co-Witch A. - "But here's my one reservation. Huson covers a lot of fascinating, useful stuff, but he also doesn't pull punches with his writing. I'm not sure that everyone who might agree to participate will want to hear what he has to say."

Me - "That is a conundrum."

Co-Witch A. - "And... okay, do you mind if I just vent?"

Me - "Sure, go ahead."

Co-Witch A. - "I'm tired of hearing people talk about what amazing Witches they are, when they're not doing anything. Do you know what I mean? It's like, fine, you're a big ol' Witch, but what actual Witchcraft are you practicing?"

Me - "I understand."

Co-Witch A. - "And I know there's this trend right now to separate Wicca from Witchcraft, and to make Wicca all mainstream or whatever, but still, I can't be the only damned one in this city who feels like..."

Me - "Oh, shit."

Co-Witch A. - "Evn? Are you alright?"

Me - "I think a security guard just spotted me."

Co-Witch A. - "Um... pardon?"

Me - "Crap, he's definitely coming this way. I need to get back to my car."

Co-Witch A. - "If you don't mind my asking, where are you right now?"

Me - "I'm in a cemetery."

Co-Witch A. - "And you are in a cemetery, running from security guards at 4 o'clock on a weekday afternoon, because...?"

Me - "I needed graveyard dirt, and they lock the gates at 5."

[beat]

Me - "Everything's fine, though. I paid off the guardian spirits with old coins, and I wiped down my offerings for fingerprints before I left them. But I'm sorry, I interrupted you. What were you saying?"

[another beat]

Co-Witch A. - "I fucking love you."

*I own that this reference is little obscure. So in case you didn't catch it, click here and bop along. Manchester style.

Get 'em Young, Raise 'em Right

2011-03-21T15:05:00.007-05:00

My coven celebrated the Spring Equinox this past weekend, which is a deeply reverent and important Sabbat that the Co-Witches and I traditionally acknowledge by stuffing ourselves with as many hot cross buns as humanly possible. It's normally a pretty laid-back affair, although this particular Equinox included a fun plot twist: After ritual, once we were all kicking back in Co-Witch A.'s living room and hanging out with her family, Sean decided to announce to his parents that I'd promised to take him (and I quote) "drinking and whoring" on his 18th birthday.

Which is just wrong. I would never say something like that in front of an 11-year-old, the lying little varmit. What I'd told him is that I'd take him to get a tattoo, which just goes to show that children don't listen.

In related news, my brother called last night to formally ask if I'd be my niece's godfather:

Me - "Of course! I'd be honored! But is this, like, legal in the Episcopal Church? Because I'm kind of a godless heathen."

My Brother - "No, it's totally legit. We researched some stuff. You're good. And awww, little Lauren just wandered in!"

Me - "Ooooh, I want to talk to her!"

My Brother - "Sure, let me put you on speaker phone. Lauren? Can you say hello to Uncle Evn?"

Lauren - "Fish!" [Ed. Note: All Lauren can say right now is "fish," "ball" and "Zuzu." Zuzu is the name of one of their cats. I swear she's not aphasic.]

Me - "Hi, Lauren!"

Lauren - "Fish!"

Me - "That's very good! Now, can you say 'gender equality'?"

My Brother - "Um, what?"

Me - "C'mon, sweetie, you can do it. Gen... der... e... qual... i... ty."

Lauren - "Ball!"

Me - "Okay, wow, not even close."

My Brother - "I'm not quite sure I understand what's going on here."

Me - "Don't worry, I've got this. Lauren, can you say 'size acceptance' for Uncle Evn? Size... ac... cep... tance."

My Brother - "I... think she might be a little too young for the vocabulary you're throwing at her."

Me - "Dude, stop oppressing your daughter. Lauren, honey? Just FYI, anyone who can say 'political independence' gets a free tattoo on her 18th birthday."

My Brother - "Yeah, it's time to go. But we'll see you at the baptism! Probably!"

At this point, there's a very good chance my brother and sister-in-law are frantically updating their wills to name our wealthy, conservative cousin as Lauren's official legal guardian. But assuming I'm still in the running, I assure you that I'm going to godparent the shit out of this kid.

Things Witches Say (Hen Wen Edition)

2011-03-12T14:56:00.000-06:00

I present the following with no context whatsoever:

"If the pig escapes, I'm blowing a dog whistle."

And this is why I (heart) Witches

2011-02-14T15:33:00.010-06:00

A conversation between myself and Brother Christopher:

BC - "Happy Valentine's Day! Got any fun plans?"

Me - "Ugh. I hate this holiday. I'm going to spend the rest of the evening hiding in my apartment with a pint of ice cream and a box of wine. What've you got going on?"

BC - "I bought a bunch of silly, Disney-themed cards and blessed them on an altar dedicated to Aphrodite. Later, I'm going to hit the town and hand them out to random strangers."

[beat]

Me - "You completely freakin' win."

BC - "Yeah. I know."

Officially, I still hate this holiday. But off the record, Brother Christopher smacked me upside the head with a nice, hefty clue-by-four, reminding me that the world can be a hell of a lot of fun, provided one doesn't take certain things too seriously, stubbornly or pessimistically.

Such as oneself.

So Happy Valentine's Day, dagnabbit. Now cue the music.

A Tasty Chaser of Rusty Nails

2011-02-13T11:07:00.003-06:00

I don't think I've ever had as much fun shopping as when a dear friend took me on a tour of Salem last year. In one boutique, we came across these cute little handcrafted witch bottles, and I snatched up a pile of them to bring back to the Co-Witches. Mine ultimately ended up on a shelf in my dining room, nestled between my geomancy books and a statue of Thoth, where it sits to this day.

On a metaphysical level, a witch bottle basically acts as a sponge, absorbing any harmful spells or curses directed at its owner. According to the charmingly Medieval brochure that came with the product, "Witch bottles have been discovered in the walls and chimneys of old European houses for centuries. These bottles were placed in the houses for the protection against Dark Magick, and Evil or Mischievous Spirits." Then, in ominous bold italics: "If the witch bottle is ever opened, everything that has been trapped inside will escape, with much mischief, and the magick will be spent."

Last night, I dreamt that I drank my witch bottle. As in, I popped out the cork, poured in some water, shook it vigorously and slammed it like three fingers of whiskey.

I woke up nonplussed.

Although I've never seen this particular doo-dad as anything more than a kitchy souvenir, the idea of ingesting the contents of a witch bottle is unsettling at best, if not flat-out toxic, which makes me wonder why my subconscious came up with the image. From an occult perspective... well, perhaps it's time to deal with some of the unsavory and/or malicious influences in my life, absorbing and transforming those currents to strengthen myself instead of letting myself get beat down by them. On the other hand, this could very possibly be my liver trying to telling me I really, really need to cut back on the 5-Hour Energy Shots.

Today in Corporate Chutzpah

2011-02-11T20:34:00.003-06:00

I ran out of soap this morning. As such, after work, I stopped by a nearby drugstore to buy more.

The side note here is that it's winter, which means it's cold, which means my skin's all dried out and itchy. So I wanted something moisturizing and exfoliating. Found a reasonably priced bar of oatmeal soap, with NOT TESTED ON ANIMALS printed boldly across the package.

Intrigued, I turned the box over to read the ingredients.

The main ingredient was tallow.

So... cruelty-free rendered beef fat? We don't test our animals on other animals?

This has been Today in Corporate Chutzpah.

Haven't you always wanted a monkey?

2011-01-23T12:25:00.002-06:00

I was getting ready to go out Friday night when Sphinx called:

Sphinx - "Hi, Evn! Chase and I are on our way over."

Me - "Aren't we supposed to meet at Matthew's?"

Sphinx - "We were, but his monkey escaped."

Me - "Oh, in that case wait what?"

Sphinx - (matter-of-factly) "His monkey escaped."

Me - "I was... unaware that Matthew has a monkey."

Sphinx - "He does. But the monkey somehow let itself out of its enclosure and got a little rambunctious and then apparently cut its arm on something. Matthew's on his way to a 24-hour emergency veterinary clinic, so Chase and I decided to just hang out at your place."

Me - "Matthew seriously has a monkey?"

Sphinx - "See you in a few minutes!"

Me - "A monkey?"

Matthew called a couple of hours later to let us know that the monkey was resting comfortably and recovering quickly. Any relief I might have felt aside, I obviously don't know my friends as well as I think I do.

Quote o' the Moment - Try Not to Smile

2011-01-09T15:46:00.000-06:00

"I arrive at the front of the supermarket. Now I have twenty-one candles to stack up on the counter. The people behind me wait impatiently for me to finish lining them up. The people in front of me get out of my way quickly. The black woman behind me asks, "Why you buying all them candles?" I answer, "Because they're cheaper here." The Latin cashier rings up seven Guadalupes--three green, three white, and one bright pink. She looks at me quickly and lowers her eyes. Gold Caridads. Red Miguels. Blue Reglas, and a host of others, unmarked, unnamed.

"I walk out of the store to the music of candles dancing and change jiggling in my pocket. Before I get to the car I hear the woman who was behind me say to her husband, "She ain't fooling nobody, that woman working magic with those candles." She knows. I turn around and look at her. We both try not to smile."

-Luisah Teish

Comparative Bachelorhood

2010-12-08T12:15:00.000-06:00

As a single, gay man living alone in a big city, sometimes I worry that I don't take very good care of myself; that I drink too much; that I don't eat enough healthy food; that I'm a self-serving slob whose existence causes problems for other people.

But fortunately (and ironically), today is Garbage Day.

My apartment complex offers complimentary, door-to-door trash pick-up on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Here's what I usually leave out:

And here's what my single, straight neighbor usually leaves out:

I'm probably doing better than I think I am.

Every day, in every way, monastic life gets a little more attractive.

2010-12-06T13:47:00.001-06:00

I went home on my lunch break, logged into an online dating site and found the following message in my mailbox:

"Cute man for sure."

I understood this to mean that the author found me attractive, so I wrote back:

"Thanks, buddy."

His response (word for word, I am not making this up):

"So whatre you up to sweet cheaks?"

Fail.

Quote o' the Moment - Not a Bad Explanation

2010-12-03T19:11:00.001-06:00

"The difference is this: Pagans acknowledge the Earth as their Mother, and Witches worship the Moon.'

-Anonymous

The Show Must Go On

2010-12-02T09:32:00.000-06:00

Last night, I dreamt that my parents and I went on a road trip to an unspecified destination. After a day of driving, we settled into a roadside motel, then decided to go see a show.

We walked to a nearby university, which was putting on a production in a large, tiered, auditorium-style classroom. We found our seats, the lights dimmed, and a troupe of drag queens entered. Apparently, they'd created an improvisational, comedic play based on my dating history.

I would like to add a standard "...and then I woke up" at this point, but that doesn't adequately cover what happened next. I did wake up, confused and needing to use the bathroom, but after I took care of business and flopped back into bed, I found myself back in the auditorium.

The drag queens were busy with a scene change when my mother's cell phone rang. She answered it, which understandably riled the audience members around her. However, the phone call turned out to be for one of the performers, so my mother snuck down an aisle to relay the message. "Gertrude," she stage-whispered, "Psst, Gertrude. Don't forget to feed the cats."

Upon hearing this, a techie drag queen swung a spotlight around and focused it on my mother, who seemed surprised but pleased at the sudden attention. Another drag queen handed her a martini, and my mom gamely became part of the show. And that's where I woke up again.

I crawled out of bed, drank a glass of water, took an antacid and fell back asleep. The play was well into Act II, and the drag queens were in the midst of a dramatic interpretation of the Cajun incident, much to the audiences' delight.

This went on well into the early morning: Wake up, toss and turn for a bit, fall back asleep, wander around the auditorium and run into a couple of friends, then take them to meet my parents; wake up, use the bathroom again, fall back asleep, then have a fellow audience member fuss at me for forgetting to silence my own cell phone.

I've had recurring dreams before, but I've never had a real-time, chronological dream that kept picking up where it left off. I'm inclined to wonder if there's some deep, Jungian meaning to the whole thing, but I suspect it's more likely that my subconscious just got bored and decided to fuck with me.

Family Traditions

2010-11-30T14:40:00.003-06:00

My parents just informed me that they both want Snuggies for Christmas.

I have never been more proud.

It's like coming out all over again. Except, y'know, less fun.

2010-11-26T12:09:00.005-06:00

A couple of weeks ago, a buddy of mine inadvertently stumbled across my blog. I'd never told him I was Pagan, mainly because it just never came up in conversation. However, it also never occurred to me that he'd have a problem with it.

He had a problem with it. A huge problem, in fact, so much so that we're no longer speaking. Or, more specifically, he's no longer speaking to me.

Part of the issue is that he strongly disagrees with my beliefs and practices, which, you know what? Fine. Beats of different drums and all that. But he's primarily angry with me because I didn't tell him about my beliefs and practices. I certainly didn't make an effort to hide them, but because we didn't meet while I had a "Hello! My name is WITCH" sticker slapped across my forehead, he feels that I was dishonest with him.

Of course, in retrospect, if I had told him, he would've flipped out and we wouldn't have become friends. But then again, we're not friends now that he does know, so I give the fuck up.

I shared this experience with EpiscoPete, who replied that since Witchcraft is a big part of who I am, I need to be fairly upfront about it. However, I also told Trothwy, who avered that it's nobody's business but my own, and that I should really only be forced to mention it if I find myself engaged to a man who assumes we're hiring a Christian minister for the commitment ceremony.

Strifemongers, which is the most advantageous course of action? Reveal my religion on a strictly need-to-know basis, or bedeck myself in pentacles and hope for the best?

I sure as hell can't decide. So you guys do it for me.

Quote o' the Moment - Testify

2010-11-22T16:38:00.002-06:00

"There's never a testimony without a test."

-Eva Pigford

The Accidental Rootworker

2010-10-29T15:30:00.006-05:00

Initially, I was determined not to sleep with him: Over the course of our evening together, he told me how committed he was to the Baptist Church, and that Christ was his personal Savior, and that he thought Unitarians were "spooky." Not too auspicious in terms of common ground.

But he also had a charming Cajun accent and a barrel chest and really big biceps. So when he noticed that the bar was closing and suggested that crashing at my apartment would probably be safer than driving all the way back to Louisiana, I demurely concurred.

Lust does strange things to the gay brain, especially when it comes to selective memory. In this situation, a guy with a "Real Men Love Jesus" bumper sticker was following me home, and it never occurred to me that my taste in décor might work against his religious sensibilities. Or at least, it didn't occur to me until after I'd unlocked my front door and ushered him into my living room.

"Oh," he said, surveying the scene. "You're Catholic."

"I'm actually not," I said, casually draping a newspaper over the pile of Witchcraft books on my dining table. "But I do have an appreciation for Catholic art."

"Oh, okay. Cool. And is that... is that a flying penis statue?"

"Yeah. It is."

"Is that also Catholic?"

I didn't have a good response, so I pretty much just started making out with him.

Clothing suddenly became an annoying hindrance. Things progressed from there.

Although it probably goes without saying, there are certain amorous, homosexual diversions that require, well, accoutrements... by which I mean personal lubricant, which I regretfully did not have in stock. So when the Cajun expressed heated interest in a particular activity, I had to say sorry, but not going to happen.

Being an upstanding, Southern gentleman, he understood. Again with the progression.

Later that night, after much smooching and cuddling, the Cajun excused himself for a quick second and popped into the bathroom. After a few moments, he returned with something in his hands.

"I thought you didn't have any lube," he said.

"Um, I don't."

"But I found some in your medicine cabinet."

Confused, I ran a quick mental inventory of said cabinet: Toothpaste, cologne, antibiotic ointment, dental floss, styling gel and... oh shit.

"Whoa, dude, wait," I said. "I promise that's not lube."

"Of course it is," he replied. "It says so on the label."

And then he dumped a bottle of Conjure Doctor Brand True Love Oil all over the place and got busy.

Instead of sharing any more intimate details, I'd like to skip ahead about 72 hours to another telephone conversation between myself and Dr. E.:

Dr. E. (after listening to the whole story) - "WOW. Did the oil irritate your skin or anything?"

Me - "You know, it really didn't."

Dr. E. - Good! Glad to hear it. So... what happened next?"

Me - "Well, it's been three days and he's still here."

Dr. E. - "Interesting. Would you be willing to write a product testimonial for my website?"

Me - "I would, but that's not the point."

Strifemongers, here is the point... or, if anything, here is a pointy, tangly question: Could a devout Christian with no ties to or knowledge of the occult unintentionally make use a metaphyisical concoction, thus unwittingly casting a spell?

I don't know, either. But my bedroom currently reeks of love.

And that, my friends, is auspicious.

Quote o' the Moment - Skyclad Deconstructed

2010-10-20T21:36:00.006-05:00

"Status, wealth, temporal power--all the things you're supposed to leave outside the circle. Not because they're evil. Because they get in the way." -Rosemary Edghill

With that in mind...

The Four Witches

Albrecht Dürer, 1497

Tell me what you see.

... but this porridge is just right.

2010-10-06T21:58:00.021-05:00

Strifemongers, please enjoy the following toll-free glimpse into my current social life.

And also, a tip o' the nib to Le Cornichon for introducing me to this song (if not to bears in general).

Quote o' the Moment - Family Affairs

2010-10-04T11:52:00.002-05:00

"Some hillfolk believe that a woman may become a witch by some comparitively simple hocus-pocus ... a woman had only to fire a silver bullet at the moon and mutter two or three obscene old sayin's. A lady in Barry county, Missouri says that any woman who repeats the Lord's Prayer backwards and fires seven silver bullets at the moon is transformed into a witch instanter. But most of the genuine old-timers agreed that to become a witch is a rather complicated matter.

"Anybody is free to discuss the general principles of witchcraft, but the conjure words and old sayin's must be learned from a member of the opposite sex. Another thing to be remembered is that the secret doctrines must pass only between blood relatives, or between persons who have been united in sexual intercourse. Thus it is that every witch obtains her unholy wisdom either from a lover or a male relative.

"Not every woman who receives this information becomes a witch. A mother can transmit the secret work to her son, and he could pass it on to his wife, and she might tell one of her male cousins, and so on. All of these people may be regarded as 'carriers,' but not until someone actually uses the deadly formulae does a genuine witch appear. And thus, while a knowledge of witchcraft is admitted to exist in certain families and clans, it sometimes lies dormant for a long time."

-Vance Randolph, Ozark Superstitions

In which I'm pretty much an action hero

2010-09-30T22:39:00.010-05:00

A telephone conversation between myself and the Conjure Doctor:

Dr. E. - "... so even though it was a dark and painful moment in my life, I ultimately realized that I had the strength to..."

Me - "SHIT. Stop talking. There's a cockroach in my kitchen."

Dr. E. - "Well, squash it. It's just a bug."

Me - "Dude, It's huge. There's no way I can squash it. Hang on a second."

guzz guzz guzz guzz

Dr. E. - "Evn? What was that? Are you still there?"

Me - "Yeah, I'm here. That was the sound of my bug spray. It has a motorized nozzle. The roach is dead now."

Dr. E. - "Oh. Okay, good. Because what I was saying was..."

Me - "Crap. It's not dead. Be right back."

guzz guzz guzz guzz

Dr. E. - "Evn, seriously, just squash it."

Me - "NO. I got it... wait, fuck, it's climbing up the wall."

guzz guzz guzz guzz

Me - "WHY WON'T YOU DIE?!?"

guzz guzz guzz guzz

Dr. E. - "Please just squash it. I promise it's just a bug."

guzz guzz guzz guzz

Dr. E. - "I'm really kind of worried about how much insecticide you're inhaling at this point."

Me - "Oooh, okay, I managed to herd him into the sink."

Dr. E. - "Oh, dear God..."

Me - "Can you speak up a little? I can't hear you over the garbage disposal. I've got the faucets on full blast, but he's swimming against the current. STOP SURVIVING, GODDAMNIT."

Dr. E. - "Evn, I need you to focus on the sound of my voice, okay? Slow down your thoughts, find your center, and... "

BAM. BAM BAM BAM.

Dr. E. - "Um... what just happened?"

Me - "I gave up on spraying and beat him to death with the bottle."

Dr. E. - "So basically... you squashed it."

Me - "I did. And blech. I don't think this is what they meant by 'kills on contact.'"

Dr. E. - "I am so hanging up now."

Fin.

Putting the Fun Back in Fungus

2010-09-22T19:25:00.006-05:00

I have never been, nor will I ever be, a morning person. I don't pop out of bed, ready to face the day with kind words and gumption; instead, when my alarm goes off, I curse like a sailor, hit the snooze button and pull the covers over my head, only begrudgingly crawling out of my bedroom when my options for getting to work on time have dwindled to not shaving or teleportation.

Not being particularly clear of mind come daybreak, and not having a very well-lit apartment, I tend to... well, see things as I'm trying to wake up. I don't mean visions or second sight or anything useful: I mean my eyes are all blurry and my brain's not quite ready to process optical information, so mornings often involve amusing traumas like "AAAAUGH giant cockroach!!!... no, no wait, that's a sock." So when I saw a mushroom growing out of my living room carpet, my first thought was not, "Why the hell is a mushroom growing out of my carpet?" but, "Huh. Whatever that thing that's not a mushroom is sure does look like a mushroom. I need caffeine."

I got some caffeine. I looked again. There was in fact a bulbous, three-inch-tall mushroom blossoming from a disconcertingly sooty splotch in the corner of my living room.

This could... not be good. But I had to get to the office. As such, I decided the best course of action was to slip into a blissful, trancelike state of denial and flee.

By the end of my work day, my logical, conscious self had almost convinced me that I hadn't actually seen what I thought I'd seen. Sure, there must be something not quite kosher over in that corner, but a mushroom? Pish tosh. Mushrooms don't grow in apartments, silly man. Now who wants cake? I know I do. [Ed. note: My logical, conscious self likes cake.] I got back home in a chipper mood, ready to tidy up whatever insignificant, innocuous grime some visitor or other had tracked in, bounded confidently into my living room, and HOLY FUCK THAT REALLY IS A MUSHROOM GROWING OUT OF MY CARPET.

I lunged for my phone and called the management office. The conversation went something like this:

Them - "Thank you for calling [name of apartment complex]! How can I help you?"

Me - "Hi, this is Evn..."

Them - "Hello, Evn!"

Me - "... and I've got a mushroom growing in my living room."

Them - "Okay, well why don't we just... wait, I'm sorry, did you say a mushroom?"

Me - "Yeah."

Them - "And it's growing in your living room?"

Me - "Affirmative."

Them - "That ain't right."

Me - "One hopes not."

Management assured me that they'd take care of it first thing in the morning, so I did my best not to think about it and eventually went to bed. And, true to their word, when I came home from work the next day, my carpets had been thoroughly cleaned, and there was nary a mushroom to be seen.

"Whew," I thought, admiring the rows of fresh vacuum cleaner tracks. "Glad that's over with."

The next day, the mushroom was back, its mottled cap flared triumphantly.

"Fine," I said. "This is your house now." And I ran away.

Another discussion with management got the situation, as they put it, escalated, so I got to spend the next eight hours picturing walls full of black mold and scary men in hazmat suits and spending the rest of my life confined to an iron lung until I couldn't take it anymore and called my mom.

"Oh, honey," she said comfortingly, after I'd filled her in on the details. "Do you happen to know where that carpet was made?"

I admitted that no, no I did not.

"It's just that some carpets are made, you know, overseas," she said, her voice dropping to the tone she uses when discussing minorities or democrats. "And sometimes, those carpets come over here with... spores in them."

I should mention that my mother is a conspiracy theorist par excellence and has never met an urban legend she couldn't spread like oleo. In this case, I think she may have gotten "carpets" mixed up with "crates of vegetables" and "spores" confused with "killer spiders from the Amazon," but regardless, she freaked me out enough to where I called management back and very politely begged them not to let me die.

"Dishwasher," they said.

"Um, what?" I asked, wiping my eyes.

"Your dishwasher has a bad leak, which caused some water to pool up under the carpet pad on the other side of your kitchen wall. We're installing a new one tomorrow."

And so they did. And the mushroom never came back. And my flatware has never been so sparkly. And I put the whole incident out of my head.

And then my birthday happened.

My mother is also an amazing artist, while at the same time being blessed with, shall we say, a differently-abled sense of humor. When I dropped by my parents' house last Saturday for a nice, relaxing birthday lunch, she handing me a wide, slim package and announced, "I painted it just for you!"

Flattered and unsuspecting, I pulled back the wrapping paper and...

Taking my sudden gasp as a sign of confusion, she decided to clarify. "It's to hang it in your living room. You know, to commemorate the event."

The scary part is, it totally goes with everything else hanging in my living room, and the only available wall space is right over the spot where the mushroom first sprouted.

Sometimes I wonder which one of us is more of a Witch.

Quote o' the Moment - I swear it made sense in context

2010-08-21T12:48:00.000-05:00

"People always have such issues with human sacrifice."

-Chrion

And speaking of Lovecraft...

2010-07-25T12:39:00.002-05:00

.... I am very pleased to announce that Vacation Necronomicon School is currently accepting ~~willing, juicy appetizers~~ enthusiastic students.

(Hide it under a bushel? No! I'm gonna pray to be eaten first. Let it shine, let it shine, Shub Niggurath! Ia! Ia!)

I can't decide whether I'm flattered or disturbed.

2010-07-18T12:39:00.004-05:00

I write like
H. P. Lovecraft

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Better Left Unknown

2010-07-01T15:26:00.000-05:00

A buddy of mine recently suggested that I install analytics software on my blog, possibly out of concern for my general well-being. (In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have told him how much time I spend Googling myself to find out how many other webpages link to me.) I was initially skeptical, but then I got a look at the various search terms that've led people to my site. Here's a sampling:

what is strife

who invented witchcraft

suffer not a poisoner to live

is the queen the whore of babylon

hoodoo guadalupe altar

my eyebrow twitches

twitches in eyebrow

why my eyebrow twitching

how can you stop twitching an eyebrow

my eyebrow is twitching how do i stop it

what does that mean if my eyebrow twitches

hugh jackman

dirty dr pepper

hanukwanzmas

When I first started blogging, I had ambitious visions of becoming the Brave New Voice of Modern Paganism. Instead, I've apparently become the definitive online source for information on twitchy eyebrows. And... tainted soft drinks, I guess? Wow. This is not how I thought things would go.

But eh, whatever. Fame is fame.

Oh, and also, your eyebrow is twitching because you need sleep. You're welcome.

The Seven Year Witch

2010-06-24T13:26:00.006-05:00

On June 24, 2003, I looked out the window of my downtown Houston office just in time to see a giant, flamingo-shaped balloon drift lazily by. After processing the sureality of the moment, I thought, "You know, I should really write this down."

And with that, I officially entered the blogosphere.

Happy Anniversary, Loyal Strifemongers. I may not be the greatest or most prolific of writers, but I'll be damned if I don't have the best readers.

Seriously, thanks so much for sticking around. You guys totally complete me.

Quote o' the Moment - I want to be a Satyr

2010-06-20T12:17:00.000-05:00

"The God of Wild Places disappeared two thousand years ago... A sailor off the coast of Ephesos heard a mysterious voice crying out from the shore, 'Tell them the great god Pan has died!' When humans heard the news, they believed it. They've been pillaging Pan's kingdom ever since. But for the satyrs, Pan was our lord and master. He protected us and the wild places of the earth. We refuse to believe that he died. In every generation, the bravest satyrs pledge their lives to finding Pan. They search the earth, exploring all the wildest places, hoping to find where he is hidden, and wake him from his sleep."

-Rick Riordan

Love to hear the Evn go tweet tweet tweet

2010-06-18T14:19:00.005-05:00

I haven't really been hungry for meat over the last couple of days, which means:

1. I'm eating more vegetables than normal (a good thing).

2. The sudden drop in protein and amino acids has caused my Attention Deficit Disorder to spiral wildly out of control (not so much with the good).

Fortunately, Twitter is the perfect outlet for an unexpected attack of ADD. Should any Loyal Strifemongers be interested to see how my brain works when I'm only capable of thinking in disjointed, 140-character bursts, go right on ahead and click here.

Quick Note - I'm officially going to Hell

2010-06-11T17:17:00.001-05:00

So I may or may not have just encouraged someone to fake a psychotic break and go on a homicidal rampage, because, and I quote, "You can totally plead temporary insanity after the fact. It's like declaring bankruptcy."

As I understand these things, I'm either a sociopath or an excellent candidate for law school. I leave this decision to my Strifemongers.

This is why I love my friends

2010-06-04T11:23:00.011-05:00

Seeing as how my affection for b-rated horror movies is common knowledge, I feel no shame in admitting that Angel Heart is one of my all-time favorite films. I mean, hey, Voodoo, Satanism, gratuitous nudity and Di Nero as the Devil: What's not to love?

Occultism and nipples aside, there's one moment in Angel Heart that never fails to crack me up. It's a scene between Margaret Krusemark (played by Charlotte Rampling) and Harry Angel (played by a steamy Mickey Rourke, before he had his eyebrows surgically repositioned to the top of his head):

Margaret - "Do you want some tea?"

Harry - "Oh, yes. Thank you."

Margaret - "Darjeeling, jasmine or oolong?"

Harry - "Oolong."

Margaret - "Not many people like oolong."

Okay, I know this doesn't seem hilarious at face value, but you have to understand how Rampling, in character, pronounces the word "oolong." She attacks the first syllable with this weird, Creole/generic European accent, so instead of "oolong," it comes out "euhrlong." With that in mind, let's look at the dialogue again:

Margaret - "Do you want some tea?"

Harry - "Oh, yes. Thank you."

Margaret - "Darjeeling, jasmine or euhrlong?"

Harry - "Oolong."

Margaret - "Not many people like euhrlong."

Okay, okay, so nobody thinks this is funny but me. Regardless, it's a memorable scene, fraught with Tension and Symbolism. Okay, so it's not. But it makes me giggle, and that's what counts.

All that aside, my compatriot Veles and his co-Witch Aithne are staying at my place for the next few days. As they were settling in last night, I asked if they'd like some tea.

"Sure," Veles said. "What kind do you have?"

"Well, let's see," I replied, digging through my pantry. "I've got green tea, Irish Breakfast, chamomile and... euhrlong."

And then (I swear I'm not making this up), Veles and Aithne screamed, in perfect unison, "OH MY GOD, ANGEL HEART IS THE BEST MOVIE EVER."

Keepers? I vote yes.

Quote o' the Moment - Relapse and Recovery

2010-05-12T19:02:00.006-05:00

"Maybe you can keep me from ever being happy, but you're not gonna stop me from having fun."

-Ani DiFranco

Stockings of Strife

2010-05-07T07:55:00.002-05:00

Behold, mortals! Fear my witchy socks!

And also... I, um, kind of forgot to do laundry this week. It was either these or wear flip-flops to work.

But they're still witchy! Booga booga!

I believe the preferred term is "Aviator-American"

2010-05-06T16:42:00.006-05:00

Remember that Very Cool Episcopalian Guy I told you about (forever hereafter known as EpiscoPete)? Here's his favorite joke:

EpiscoPete - "What do you call a black guy flying a plane?"

Unsuspecting Victim - "I don't know. What?"

EpiscoPete - "A pilot, you racist asshole."

Loyal Strifemongers will understand why we get along.

Generations To Go

2010-05-05T11:24:00.003-05:00

My HR Director just forwarded an e-mail to me, which he prefaced with, "Uh, yeah, I think you should see this." Apparently, someone I'd interviewed, and who'd ultimately declined the position offered to him, was still interested in working for us. However, he didn't like the required schedule, so he thoughtfully provided us with the days and times he would be working. Also, the starting salary was too low for his tastes, so we needed to bump it up by a couple of thousand. But after that, he can't wait to get started!

To sum up, he'll come in when he wants, not when we need him, and we'll pay him more for it.

Oh, and he misspelled "interview."

Fail.

I know my co-workers wish I would shut the hell up about it, but they're also not anywhere near as battered by this mindset as I am. They only see it in our department, when we're trying to ~~herd cats~~ keep our employees motivated. I, on the other hand, leave the office, traipse out into NeoPaganism, and see it everywhere.

Leads to angst-management issues, that does.

Before I go any further, let me just say that there are a number of young Pagans who freakin' blow me away with their insight and abilities (Veles, Chiron and Annyikha being shining exemplars). But also swelling in ranks are the tenderfoots who seem hellbent on academically improving Paganism without having truly experienced it. And the thing is, Paganism is an experience over anything else: Regardless of beliefs or book-learnin', the only way to benefit from any permutation of Pagan spirituality is through active engagement.

This does not seem to be universally understood among the up-and-coming generation.

A bright young lass popped up on a British Traditional Wiccan listserv awhile back, introducing herself with enthusiasm. She'd been reading about Wicca for a few months, and while she thought it was nifty and all, she also had a laundry list of changes that needed to be implemented before she could participate. And to be clear here, she wasn't talking about developing her own personal practice: She expected BTW as a whole to reinvent itself in order to accommodate her. So, y'know, if BTW initiates could get on that for her, that'd be great.

As you may have guessed, her requests were not particularly well-received. And if it had been a one-time occurrence, maybe the other list members would've been able to keep their annoyance under control. But the sense of entitlement exhibited in this situation is spreading in waves, and those of us swimming against it are finding it harder and harder to keep our patience afloat.

In a recent article on Witchvox, a high school student described her disenchantment with the gender roles of Wicca. (And believe me, no one is more legitimately world-weary than a suburban, upper-class teenager.) She doesn't like the God/Goddess "model" as it stands, so she decided that in her Wiccan practice, the Gods, while partnered, are androgynous and celibate. Which, hi, sorry, that ain't Wicca. I mean, if she wants to worship genderless deities who don't have teh icky het-sex, more power to her, but it's not Wicca. And frankly, there's a helluva lot more to Wicca--or any Pagan practice, traditional, ecclectic or otherwise--than "Metaphorical Boy Polarity Gets Metaphorical Girl Polarity."

Again, it's that lack of engagement. And it's a cop out. Because it's easier to rework someone else's perception of the Divine until it's nice and safe than it is to actively commune with the Gods in a ritualistic context to determine how They might choose to reveal Themselves. It's easier to demand that an entire tradition adjust itself to one's comfort level than it is to challenge oneself to grow as an occult practitioner.

It's easier to stay unemployed than it is to accept an entry-level position.

Apoplexy aside, I do have quite a bit of faith in the next generation, both Pagan and non. For instance, I just hired two spectacular new employees and promoted another for kicking much ass at her job; meanwhile, in the Realms of the Beyond, the Veleses, Chirons and Annyikhas of the world are doing amazing and inspiring things. But I don't want any of these guys to be exceptions: I want them to be examples. I want their peers to see what they've accomplished and think, "You know, with a little effort and focus, I could be an example, too."

Which, granted, is a tall order. But hey, I lived down the stereotype of "Generation X." If my generation can get through that crap, I guarantee Millennials can do anything.

My First Official "Shut Up and Kiss Me"

2010-05-01T11:44:00.007-05:00

This Very Cool Episcopalian Guy I've Been Hanging Out With - "Evn, I really like you, and I enjoy spending time with you. But I also have to admit that your religious beliefs freak me out a little bit."

Me - "You know how you graduated from the University of Texas? The ancient Cretans worshipped a solar Bull God. That's kind of like how your school's mascot is the longhorn."

TVCEGIBHOW - " ... "

Me - "I swear what I just said makes sense."

TVCEGIBHOW - "Surprisingly, I stll enjoy spending time with you."

And then... well, see title of post.

Happy Beltane.

Quote o' the Moment - Intent to Deceive

2010-04-27T18:35:00.000-05:00

"There are some things that are simply not Wiccan. Any spiritual path that celebrates them, and calls itself Wicca anyway, is doing so with the intent to deceive. And a religion that starts out lying to you about what it is isn't likely to be healthy to seekers and other living things."

-Rosemary Edghill

Y? Because I said so. Now get back to work.

2010-04-23T16:57:00.002-05:00

My company is in the midst of a hiring blitz, and I ended up in charge of interviewing prospective candidates for my department. I was initially thrilled at the idea, picturing myself handpicking an elite cadre of editorial assistants, and I was even happier at the number of résumés pilling up on my desk—I figured I’d have talented new team members installed in cubicles within days, if not hours.

And then I started the actual interview process, and oh dear Gods please rescue me from this hellish fate.

The positions I need to fill are entry-level and advertised as “excellent opportunities for recent college grads.” So recent college grads are applying. Which means I’ve spent the last month wishing I could somehow go back in time and mass sterilize the potential parents of Generation Y. The kids coming in to meet with me are intelligent; they’ve got degrees in English and Communication; they are very good writers; and not a damn one of them can follow direction.

As part of the interview, they have to take an editing test, which involves reading through a two-page article and correcting the spelling and punctuation errors. “Don’t try to rewrite the article,” I tell them. “Just focus on spelling and punctuation. There’s no deadline involved, so please take all the time you need. Oh, and here’s a dictionary. Again, don’t rewrite the article.”

So what do they do? All together now…

They rewrite the article. Every freakin’ bit of it. And in their zeal to upgrade the wording and rearrange sentences, they overlook almost all of the EYE-GOUGINGLY OBVIOUS SPELLING AND PUNCTUATION ERRORS.

Actually, wait, before I start punching walls, let me go back and clarify something. It’s not a matter of “can’t follow direction” as much as it is “won’t follow direction." And I say this because I manage an entire group of Gen Y’ers, and trying to train them to do their jobs in the manner expected of them is akin to Underworld tortures generally reserved for treacherous Greek kings.

It doesn't bother me that my employees lack experience: That will change with... well, experience. But they're inexperienced and self-entitled and put far too much energy into coming up with unrealistic ways to "improve" how our department operates, not realizing that if they'd do their damn jobs, our department would run just fine. And I honestly used to think there was just something up with the people who were attracted to our want ads, like maybe we phrased the text in a way that suggested the job was perfect for unmotivated, micromanagement fetishists. Now, though, I'm beginning to suspect it truly is a generational issue, in which case I am simply unwilling to accommodate it.

Co-Witch K. and I had a discussion about managing Gen Y employees a few months back, after she'd read a "how to" article on the subject. "The author came up with some tips that I think you'd find very effective," she said. "For instance, let's say someone comes in for an interview, and he's perfect for the job. You really want to offer him the position, but unfortunately, he doesn't want to work on Wednesdays, because he goes surfing every Wednesday. Instead of passing him over, you could compromise and tell him he can take Wednesdays off as long as he comes in on Saturdays."

"Why would I offer a job to someone who tells me he doesn't want to work on Wednesdays?" I asked.

"Well, like I said, he's perfect for the job," she replied.

"Not if he won't come in on Wednesdays he's not," I spat. "I would never hire that guy. He's stupid and I hate him."

"Um, he kind of doesn't exist," she said, scooting away from me a little. "That was hypothetical."

"If he wants to surf that badly, he should become a professional surfer and get the hell out of my office."

"Alrighty, then. Here's your monkey."

Maybe I'm just getting crotchety in my old age. Maybe professionalism went through a paradigm shift when I wasn't paying attention, and now I just need to suck it up and ~~lower~~ revise my standards. And if this is the case, maybe I'll go right ahead and nurture a crippling narcotics dependency, because that's about the only thing that'll bolster me enough to slog through the next round of interviews.

Pray for me, Strifemongers. And send pills.

If my eyebrow doesn't stop twitching, I'm going to kill everyone.

2010-04-21T19:01:00.001-05:00

Okay, so the title of this post is a little... um, psychopathic? But I'm way behind on sleep, and my right eyebrow twitches whenever I'm exhausted.

And the twitching annoys the fuck out of me. And chronic annoyance sends me to a place where I probably shouldn't be allowed to do grown-up things like drive through Houston traffic or speak.

More Strife soon. Promise. After sleep.

Now Playing: Pants On Fire

2010-04-03T12:44:00.009-05:00

A conversation between myself and my buddy Smokey Q, who for some reason is not speaking to me at the moment:

Smokey Q - "Hey, we're going to go see Clash of the Titans in 3-D today. Want to come along?"

Me - "Nah, I've got too much stuff to take care of. Plus I don't know how I feel about that movie without Maggie Smith as Thetis. Thanks, though."

SQ - "I've actually never seen a 3-D movie before. We won't, like, need to bring our own glasses or anything, will we?"

Me - "Oh, no."

SQ - "Okay, so they'll give us glasses at the theatre."

Me - "No."

SQ - "I don't understand."

Me - "You just have to let your eyes go out of focus."

SQ - "Um... what?"

Me - "Remember those optical illusion posters that were so popular back in the 90's? It's like that."

SQ - "Please tell me you're joking."

Me - "The trick is to look at the screen without looking at the movie itself. Eventually, your eyes will adjust, and the three-dimensional images will come to the forefront."

SQ - "I... really don't want to see it now."

Me - "Oh, and also? They'll give you glasses at the theatre."

SQ - [stony silence]

Me - "But please let me know if Maggie Smith has a cameo."

SQ - "I hate you."

Coincidentally, none of my friends invite me to their poker nights anymore.
Go figger.

The Dong Heard 'Round the World

2010-03-20T12:22:00.007-05:00

I realize that this is an odd question to ask, and that it won't make much sense to most of my Loyal Strifemongers, but I really am curious:

How many people are now reading and/or following this blog because of the whole raccoon penis bone thing?

Quote o' the Moment - Musings of a Preadolescent

2010-02-15T14:28:00.001-06:00

"Stupidity and mankind have a deep spiritual bond."

-Sean

The Calendar of Pagan Saints

2010-02-12T10:44:00.016-06:00

"All through [Joan of Arc's] history she seems to have been advised and guided by a number of persons. Some have thought that this must have been a powerful secret society. Of course, she said that they were 'saints', St. Michael and St. Catherine, both of whom are old divinities in Christian disguise; St. Michael taking the place of the Sun-God, and St. Catherine that of Cerridwen, the Celtic Nature-Goddess; hence the popularity of these two saints as the patrons of churches and chapels built on hill-tops, the old 'High Places'."

-Gerald Gardner

You know how I'm always blathering on about Pagan Gods masquerading as Christian saints? Well, I had this idea awhile back that I was going to write a blog post on the feast day of each of these saints, which would eventually coalesce into a publishing contract and a best-selling NeoPagan book. But then I realized this is me we're talking about, and I never finish any project I start. So instead, I decided to slap together a calendar of Pagan-spawned Catholic memorials, complete with the Gods who are either lurking behind a veneer of legendary canonization, or who, over time, have become associated with particular historical personages.

Some of the connections listed on the calendar are pretty well-established, while others are theories I cooked up on my own, looking at symbology, patronage, and regional veneration. And sometimes I just read a book and believed the author. Also, a few entries are marked "FHH," which stands for "Fourteen Holy Helpers." This group of saints was petitioned extensively during the Middle Ages for protection against the Black Plague--since about half of them trace back to earlier Pagan worship, I went ahead and listed all of them, even if I don't yet know exactly Who they represent.

Finally, please note that this list is largely theoretical, involving quite a few not-entirely-sound leaps of pseudo-logic. But I stand by what passes for reasoning. So whatever.

And away we go...

JANUARY
Nothing Pagan happens in January.

FEBRUARY
01 - Feast of St. Brigit (Brigid)
03 - Feast of St. Blaise (Veles, FHH)
14 - Feast of St. Valentine (Faunus)
23 - Feast of St. Milburga (Grain Mother, "Old Bessey")

MARCH
17 - Feast of St. Gertrude of Nivelles (Diana)

APRIL
19 - Feast of St. Expedite (Hermes)
23 - Feast of St. George (the Green Man, Al-Khidir, FHH)

MAY
01 - Beltaine; Feast of St. Walburga (Ceres)
07 - Feast of St. Achatius (FHH)
30 - Feast of St. Joan of Arc (Margaret Murray's poster child)

JUNE
02 - Feast of St. Erasmus (FHH)
15 - Feast of St. Vitus (FHH)
29 - Feast of St. Peter the Apostle (Janus)

JULY
08 - Feast of St. Sunniva (Sol)
13 - Feast of St. Mildred (Holda)
20 - Feast of St. Margaret of Antioch (Juno, FHH)
22 - Feast of Mary Magdalene (Persephone)
25 - Feast of St. Christopher (Guinefort, Anubis, FHH)
26 - Feast of St. Anne (Danu, Annis)
27 - Feast of St. Pantaleon (FHH)

AUGUST
08 - Feast of St. Cyriacus (FHH)
15 - Feast of the Ascension of the Virgin Mary (Artemis at Ephesus)
26 - Our Lady of Czestochowa (Matka Ziema, "Moist Mother Earth")

SEPTEMBER
01 - Feast of St. Giles (FHH)
16 - Feast of St. Cornely (Cernunnos)
20 - Feast of St. Eustace (Herne, FHH)
26 - Feast of St. Cyprian (not a God per se, but patron of occultists)
29 - Feast of St. Michael (Lugh)

OCTOBER
04 - Feast of St. Francis (not Pagan, but who doesn't love the guy?)
09 - Feast of St. Denis (Dionysius, FHH)
21 - Feast of St. Ursula (Artio, Freya)

NOVEMBER
03 - Feast of St. Hubert (Herne)
25 - Feast of St. Catherine of Alexandria (Cerridwen, FHH)
30 - Feast of St. Andrew (Apollo, Belanos)

DECEMBER
04 - Feast of St. Barbara (Athena, FHH)
13 - Feast of St. Lucy (Lucina)
26 - Feast of St. Stephen (Frey)

Know of any other saints with dubious origin stories? If so, just drop me a line and I'll add them to the list. Also, if a Loyal Strifemonger could please ghost-write a best-selling book on the subject and tack my name to it, that'd be great: I'm kind of busy this week.

The Key Is in the Cards

2010-02-04T09:59:00.006-06:00

My dear friend Trothwy has devised an excellent way to contribute to the Haitian relief effort while simultaneously giving Pat Robertson the finger. She's set up a new Web site, Key for Giving, to collect donations for Doctors Without Borders. Donate through her site, and she'll give you a divinatory reading in return.

Trothwy is, among other things, a cartomancy whiz, so even with the standard "Entertainment Purposes Only" disclaimer, you can't get much more win-win. She's got a fundraising goal of $500, and I'd love to see her reach it--if you haven't already had a chance to help out, now's the perfect opportunity.

ETA: If you look in the comments section, you'll notice that Trothwy received a glowing testimonial from Nettle. (Thanks, Nettle!) And druids aren't allowed to lie, or else they get scabies. So make with the deductibles already.

Having gambled and lost, our hero returns

2010-02-03T12:47:00.224-06:00

"If you're going through hell, keep going." -Winston Churchill

Under normal circumstances, I'm a big proponent of blogging without obligation. I'd love to spend my days cranking out brilliant post after brilliant post, but sometimes I get stressed out, or distracted, or I just can't pull anything witty out of my head. So, y'know, I choose not to worry about it.

However, over the past week I've received several e-mails from concerned Strifemongers, inquiring about my general well-being and tactfully making sure I didn't have another break-up meltdown. And I was all, "The hell? It hasn't been that long since I've posted anything." And then I looked at my calendar and thought, "Geez, no wonder everybody thinks I'm dead."

Guys, I sincerely apologize for causing any... um, strife. Unintentionally, that is. But as an act of contrition, I'd like to share a quaint, autobiographical tale of personal mortification: A parable of sorts, with a neat little lesson about How Things Work thrown in at no extra charge.

Before I get started, it's important to understand that I have what could be described as an "unpredictable" digestive system. For instance, I can wolf down bacon-wrapped jalapeños stuffed with ground beef and cheese to no ill effect, but if I eat a cookie on an empty stomach, I'll wake up in the middle of the night feeling like an alien's trying to claw its way out of my chest. Also, I burp a lot, a side effect of low-grade acid reflux issues. And sometimes I just get bloaty for no damn reason at all. With this in mind...

I woke up last Saturday morning to discover I was out of cat food, an oversight not unnoticed by my precious babies, who were busy staging a formal protest in the living room. (I'm not sure how they managed to make signs without the use of opposable thumbs, but I will say that their spelling was atrocious.) Throwing on some clothes and a jacket, I braved the unseasonably cold weather to trek down to Ye Olde Neighborhood Quick-E-Mart.

The convenience store in question is right across the street from my apartment complex. However, the complex itself is a sprawling, multi-acre affair, and I live in the very back of it. A walking trip to the store and back is a good half-mile hike, but a little light exercise never hurt anyone, so briskly off I went. I made it to the store in good time, picked up a box of kitty chow as well as a few other sundries, and left in happy spirits. But as I jogged back across the street, dodging my way through a barrage of Houston traffic, a low rumbling emanated from my innards, indicating an impending attack of what we in the South call "the vapors."

Not being much of a "pull my finger" kind of guy, I generally try to keep the coarser of bodily functions restricted to the privacy of my own home. Unfortunately, an insistent gurgle had joined the intestinal cacophony: Like it or not, I was, as Geoffrey Chaucer once put it, about to leet fle. Glancing both ways to ensure there were no witnesses, I relaxed certain internal mechanisms, gave a gentle nudge with certain others, and then...

Oh, Strifemongers. I miscalculated.

There are a multitude of thoughts that race through one’s mind when one realizes that--as a 34-year-old man; as an upper-level executive; as a High Priest of the Witch Cult--one has just crapped one’s pants in the middle of a busy, metropolitan thoroughfare. Once those thoughts settle down a bit, one is able to perceive the variety of options in front of oneself:

1. Burst into tears.

2. Die.

3. Suck it up (so to speak), ignore adversity and get to where one needs to be to rectify the situation.

I chose door number three.

Slapping a confident smile on my face, I strode purposefully across my complex, waving cheerfully at neighbors as we passed and doing my best not to break into an awkward and obvious duck walk. I climbed a flight of stairs and let myself into my apartment, where the cats, now holding candles and singing "We Shall Overcome", ran to block the bathroom door and herd me towards the food bowl. So I got them fed and settled, undressed, started a small, unscheduled load of laundry, then catapulted into the shower and boiled myself like a freakin' lobster. And then I went on with my day. The End.

Okay, yes, this story should really be filed under "let us never speak of it again" instead of "not at all inappropriate blog fodder." But the point I'm trying to make is this: Sometimes, through no fault of your own, the Universe will make like a caged monkey and throw a surprise volley of shit in your path. When this happens, you can either stand around idly, waiting for someone else to come along and clean it up for you, or you can keep walking.

Keep walking, Loyal Strifemongers; no matter what, always keep walking.

Just don't forget to wipe your feet.

Overprotection Sets In

2009-12-28T14:20:00.002-06:00

In honor of my niece's arrival, I have composed an open letter to all newborn male babies in the greater Boston area:

Dear newborn male babies,

IF ANY ONE OF YOU LECHEROUS LITTLE FUCKERS EVER GETS WITHIN FIFTEEN FEET OF MY PRECIOUS ANGEL, I WILL TASE YOU IN THE FACE.

Please re-read before hitting puberty.

Cordially,

Uncle Evn

PS: I also have a machete.

Niece of Strife

2009-12-27T21:34:00.000-06:00

Welcome to the world. I am totally going to buy you a pony.

Hooker Heels Sold Separately

2009-12-16T12:39:00.004-06:00

Me - "I need some new furniture, but I don't have any money."

My buddy N. - "Why don't you just go to a thrift store? Or the Salvation Army? Or a second whore shop?"

Me - "That's not a bad... wait, a what?"

N. - "A second who... um, a second hand shop."

Me - "Quite a Freudian slip there, bucky."

N. - "I honestly have no clue why I said that."

Me - "Is there anything going on in your personal life that I should know about? I mean, are you, like, in the market for a gently-used whore?"

N. - "Okay, okay. Moving on."

Me - "I'm just saying I'm never going shopping with you."

N. - "You're going to torture me with this for awhile, aren't you?"

Me - "Probably."

N. - "Wonderful."

Me - "Whoremonger."

H-Town Pride

2009-12-13T01:21:00.000-06:00

Although we're one of the largest cities in the United States, Houston is lacking in a lot of ways. We don't have a unique, unifying personality. We're not a mecca for celebrities. Our mass transit sucks.

But you know what we do have?

The nations's first lesbian mayor.

In your face, Los Angeles.

FeminEvn

2009-12-04T22:57:00.004-06:00

Sarah: "I really like that new Lady Gaga video."

Me: "LADY GAGA IS A TOOL OF THE PATRIARCHY."

Sarah: "Evn... I acknowledge and appreciate your awareness. Really, I do. But it's important to remember that not everyone is a tool of the Patriarchy."

Me: "That's what the Patriarchy wants you to believe."

Sarah: "Just out of curiosity, how many feminist blogs are you misinterpreting I mean following these days?"

Me: "A couple."

Sarah: "Define 'a couple.'"

Me: "Well, Shakesville, of course. And Shapely Prose. And Feministe."

Sarah: "Okay..."

Me: "And Feministing. And Fugitivus. And The Rotund. And Fetch Me My Axe. And Renegade Evolution. And Rage Against The Man-chine. And I Blame The Patriarchy. And I Shame The Matriarchy. And Bitch, Ph.D..."

Sarah: "Okay, wow. I think you may have overdosed."

Me: "And you know what's weird? For the past few months, I've been feeling so angry all the time. You know? Because society inherently favors men and equality is an illusion?"

Sarah: "Apropos of nothing, but do you still have issues with Attention Deficit Disorder?"

Me: "Well, yeah. Why?"

Sarah: "Because I'd like you to play with this stuffed-toy monkey until I figure out how to explain feminism in a way that will help you become a positive force for change instead of an impotent, insulting conspiracy theorist."

Me: "Monkey! Hey, wait a minute... what kind of monkey?"

Sarah: (rubbing her forehead) "It's a gender-neutral, sexually ambiguous capuchin with a Masters Degree in Interdisciplinary Oppression Studies from the University of California at Berkeley, okay? Are you happy with that?"

Me: "SEXUAL AMBIGUITY IS A TOOL OF THE PATRIARCHY."

Sarah: "Get out of my house."

Thou shalt not suffer a poisoner to live

2009-12-01T10:53:00.000-06:00

And by "poisoner," I mean the Popeye's Chicken on the corner of Richmond Avenue and Chimney Rock.

I thought those crawfish tasted funny.

Alas, no trivia this week, unless I miraculously find myself able to digest anything other than toast and applesauce. In the meantime, feel free to go all open thread on my comments section. Stories that do not involve crawling to the bathroom at 3:30 a.m. would be most appreciated, since, y'know, I'm already living that dream.

Tuesday Trivia Solutions - We Want Lips!

2009-11-24T16:26:00.002-06:00

Still even more trivia: The voice belongs to Richard O'Brien (Riff Raff), but the iconic lips belong to Patricia Quinn (Magenta).

Now let's have a sing-along, shall we?

Tuesday Trivia - Cult Classics and a Hidden Theme

2009-11-24T10:09:00.008-06:00

(Hidden theme solved by Nettle and Red Delicious.)

1. A humanoid alien comes to Earth with a warning. (Solved by Nettle.)

2. 1930's serial film, remade with a little Queen. (Solved by Nettle and Deinos.)

3. Although it was his first American screen appearance, only his voice is heard until the end of the film.
(Solved by Melville.)

4. The Tempest. With a robot. (Solved by Veles.)

5. "I don't think it would be too amusing for the youngsters if I conjured up a demon from hell for them."
(Solved by Veles.)

6. Part of the title became a British term to describe large or menacing plants.
(Solved by Veles.)

7. The ship's passengers are chosen by lottery. (Solved by Deinos)

I am not okay

2009-11-20T12:15:00.020-06:00

[Ed. note: Humorous and/or righteously indignant essays about the State of NeoPaganism Today will return shortly. And this post may disappear within the hour. If it does, don't worry. I probably just decided to stop dragging everyone else down with me. Also, please know that I'm not preparing to fling myself off a bridge or anything--I'm just getting some stuff out.]

When Jack and I broke up, I was upset but not particularly crushed. The end of our affair was a long time in the making, and while we haven't always seen eye to eye over the past couple of months, we've managed to cohabitate reasonably well, to the point of even getting along with each other.

Then Tuesday happened. I'd pulled an admittedly stupid, disrespectful stunt, and Jack was understandably pissed off, and I tried to apologize, and in doing so I suddenly blurted, "I am still in love with you." And hey, funny thing, but I didn't know I was still in love with him until I heard those words burble out of my mouth. I honestly thought I was, like, healing and shit. Instead, I discovered that I'm really, really good at lying to myself.

Fuck.

And I know, okay? I know I should've tossed some clothes in a bag and broken our lease the second the relationship officially ended, and cut off all contact until I felt whole again. But I didn't, because (brace for more delusion) I had it in my head that this was just a phase: Jack would get whatever out of his system, come to his senses and be down on his knees begging me to take him back well before our anniversary. And I would say no, and vengeance would be mine. In anticipation of this grand event, I refused to deal with the reality of the situation, and when Jack didn't prostrate himself at my feet, I freaked out and threw things at walls, because Look how crazy my love for you makes me! Look how I prove my worthiness to you by going violently out of my mind! Which, y'know. Always works.

The truth of the matter is this: Jack is not going to beg me to take him back, because he does not want to get back together. No amount of unstable or self-destructive behavior on my part is going to change that.

Have you ever seen one of those "depression hurts" commercials? I always assumed that the "hurt" thing was figurative, but no, it does indeed physically hurt. I desperately want the pain to go away, but depression is unfamiliar territory. I don't know how to navigate it. I'm afraid I'm going to get lost in it. In the meantime, as I've been mucking through this gray, Sisyphean landscape, Jack is... blossoming. He's been working out, hitting the town with new friends and generally just loving life. That hurts even worse. He's happy, while every morning I look in the mirror to find a wilted, ugly thing with bloodshot eyes staring back.

I understand that I shouldn't be beating myself up so badly, that I should be doing something to repair my devastated self-esteem, or at the very least start looking for a new apartment. But all I'm able to do right now is fixate on how weak I truly am. You see, despite my fantasies of empowerment and revenge, I was ultimately the one who broke down and begged. Above everything else, that hurts most of all.

Tuesday Trivia - Solutions

2009-11-17T14:05:00.003-06:00

New Strifemongers Cat and Melville knocked these out with no problem. Clearly, the ante must be upped next week.

Hidden Theme: The Zodiac.

1. Bull Durham

2. Twins

3. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

4. The 40-Year-Old Virgin

5. The Scorpion King

6. The Men Who Stare at Goats

7. A Fish Called Wanda

Tuesday Trivia

2009-11-17T12:47:00.011-06:00

I'm very proud of how much work I put into today's hidden theme, which means someone's probably going to guess it immediately. (Cat got it.)

1. A veteran catcher mentors a rookie pitcher. (Solved by Melville.)

2. The brothers are a future governor and a former dispatcher. (Solved by Cat.)

3. Based on a children's fantasy novel, which was the first written but the second chronologically. (Solved by Cat.)

4. The lead actor really did have his chest waxed, which he later described as "unnecessarily painful." (Solved by Melville.)

5. "We have killed Babylonians! We have killed Mesopotamians! But we have never had the pleasure of killing an Akkadian." (Solved by Melville)

6. An army training program for psychic spies. (Solved by Cat.)

7. The stuttering animal lover accidentally kills three terriers. (Solved by Melville.)

Just in time for Christmas. And Confession.

2009-11-10T12:10:00.000-06:00

The 2010 Calendario Romano has been released. For those not in the know, it's a Vatican-approved calendar that features a different smolderingly handsome Catholic priest for each month of the year.

Because hapless crushes on straight, married dudes no longer cut it for me in the "You'll never tap that" department.

Tuesday Trivia - Solutions

2009-11-10T11:39:00.003-06:00

I really thought Red Delicious was going to clean up on this one. He may have no choice but to seek revenge.

Anyhoo...

Hidden Theme: Movies made into musicals.

1. Big

2. Billy Elliott

3. Legally Blonde

4. Reefer Madness (a.k.a. Tell Your Children)

5. The Wedding Singer

6. The Little Shop of Horrors

7. Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

Tuesday Trivia - Name That Theme

2009-11-10T09:48:00.005-06:00

(Hidden theme solved by Wendy.)

1. "I like you, and I want to spend the night with you." "Do you mean sleep over?" "Well, yeah." "Okay. but I get to be on top." (Solved by Rebelleink.)

2. "Find a place on that bloody wall and focus on that spot. Then whip your head 'round and come back to that spot. Prepare!" (Solved by Wendy.)

3. "Don't stomp your little last-season Prada shoes at me, honey."
(Solved by Cat.)

4. "I'm going to ask you a straightforward question: Isn't it true that you have, perhaps unwillingly, acquired a certain habit through association with certain undesirable people?" (Solved by Veles.)

5. "Please get out of my Van Halen t-shirt before you jinx the band and they break up." (Solved by Wendy.)

6. "You didn't mean it. You never mean it. You didn't mean the time when you put up the bouquet with the 'get well' card in the funeral parlor, and sent the black lilies to that old lady in the hospital." (Solved by Deinos.)

7. "I've got culture coming out of my ass." (Solved by Veles.)

Quote o' the Moment - Point of Balance

2009-11-06T12:38:00.000-06:00

"Traditional Witches often put down Wiccans as 'Fluffy Bunnies' because they are generally more inclined to lighter, gentler practices, but Wicca is a tradition as valid as any passed on within a family for generations, and Gardner himself showed evidence of tapping the bone when he wrought his Wicca out of the pieces he was given by his initiators. Likewise, Wiccans often put down Traditional Witches as being dark, even demonic, when the truth is that we all come out of the darkness, and the point of balance is where there is greatest power and beauty."

-Peter Paddon

Tuesday Trivia - Solutions

2009-11-04T11:55:00.002-06:00

May all my Strifemongers have the opportunity to kiss his buttocks and sign his black book.

1. Devil's Advocate

2. Race with the Devil

3. The Devil Rides Out

4. The Devil Wears Prada

5. The Devil's Rain

6. Devil in a Blue Dress

7. Daredevil

Hinty Freshness

2009-11-04T07:29:00.004-06:00

Only one more movie to go! Stab at it valiantly.

Tuesday Trivia - 'Tis the Season

2009-11-03T08:09:00.010-06:00

Think of today's theme (which will become very obvious very quickly) as a belated "Happy Samhain" from Chick Publications.

1. He breaks the fourth wall to announce his favorite sin. (Solved by Christina.)

2. Why is a schoolbus out on a Sunday? The roadblock is a trap.
Texan Witches chase a recreational vehicle. (Solved by Brother Christopher.)

3. She has not yet been baptized into the Astronomical Society.
(Solved by Brian.)

4. The most expensively-costumed film in history. (Solved by Debra.)

5. ...and then the cast melts. The End. (Solved by Veles.)

6. "A man once told me that you step out of your door in the morning, and you are already in trouble. The only question is are you on top of that trouble or not?"
(Solved by Lisa.)

7. A blind lawyer from Hell's Kitchen. (Solved by Lisa.)

Things I say to justify the things I say

2009-11-01T23:26:00.010-06:00

"I'm, like, the David Hasselhoff of Wicca."

Discuss.

Full Body Proselytism

2009-10-29T06:44:00.093-05:00

Ye Gods, but I need a massage. Seriously. The muscles in my upper back could deflect bullets right now, and the overall tension has started affecting my subconscious: Last night, I dreamt that I booked an appointment with a "licensed, professional" massage therapist, who instead turned out to be a creepy gynecologist. He made me submit to a series of x-rays, examined my back for a second, then berated me for asking to use the restroom and made me take out his garbage.

Repressed frustration or frustrated repression? You decide.

Several years ago, I was lucky enough to be a client of Greatest Massage Therapist of All Time (tm). Total teddy bear of a guy, Pagan, gay, could completely work this one knot out of my shoulder that most therapists can't even break into, just an absolute prince. In fact, here's a For Real picture of him:

I know, right? Sadly, he moved to New Orleans to be with his boyfriend and pursue his art career. Because true love and national recognition for one's creative endeavors are more important than my shoulder. Apparently.

After he left Houston, I spent many moons vetting new massage therapists, but I couldn't find one with whom I clicked. They couldn't quite get the crunchies out of my problem spots. Or they were crazy. Or they weren't crazy enough. One guy did a great job, but his studio was way the hell across town. Plus all the pot he smoked before sessions made him overly chatty, which did not particularly help me relax.

A few months back, I wandered into a chain massage company down the street from my apartment, and lo, finally met an adequate replacement therapist. Nice person, very intuitive, listened to my needs and adjusted his style accordingly. Sounds perfect, no? Um, no. A skilled and talented masseuse he may be, but... well, here's another picture:

Yeah. I should explain.

I was at the massage place, getting a nice, deep-tissue rubdown and teetering on the edge of consciousness, when my therapist went, "Hey, Evn?"

"Blurgh?" I responded, coming out of my coma. "What's up?"

"Can I ask you a question? I kind of need some advice."

"Sure..." I replied, still not quite awake but feeling a vague need for caution.

"Well, I recently met this girl, and I like her a lot. We've gone out a couple of times, and she seems to like me, too."

"Congratulations," I said.

We chatted about the girl for awhile, and I could tell that he really did like her, mainly because whenever he brought up one of her many favorable attributes, the pressure he was exerting on me went from "firm" to "interrogation technique." Eventually, he realized I wasn't yelping out of the sheer joy I felt now that he'd found a special someone. He apologized profusely and got back to his quandry.

"So, anyway, here's the thing. She used to go to church on a regular basis, but she feels like religion has... failed her. And I want to tell her about my religion and the church I attend, but I'm not sure how to bring it up."

"Okay... what religion are you?"

"Jehovah's Witness."

I thought for a moment. "I'd recommend letting her bring it up. When that happens, you can take the opportunity to share your beliefs with her."

He nodded. "Yeah, that's a good plan. Thanks! So, are you a religious person?"

Experience has taught me to tread carefully in these situations, so I mumbled something about being raised Episcopalian.

"And did the Episcopal Church... fail you?"

I don't think I've ever felt so naked in my life. Not just because I actually was naked (although that wasn't really a problem: I mean, hell, I'm Gardnerian), but because it was such a moment of helpless exposure. I was lying face down on a table, with this guy who could snap me in two towering over me, digging his fingers into my leg and gearing up to ask if I'm in the market for a new denomination. Awkward.

Oh, and by the bye, WTF is with the whole "... fail" thing? Does he have a freakin' script memorized?

I ended up telling him that the Church didn't fail me (it just fired me) as much as it wasn't the right place for me. I went on to say that I hold some deeply personal spiritual beliefs with which I'm extremely content. He caught my italics and didn't press further, and the session came to a close. Stress-free at last, I limped my way home.

And now I'm desperate for another massage. I've got an appointment booked this afternoon with a therapist I found through an online directory. His bio didn't mention a stance on organized religion, but regardless, I'm totally going to case his studio for the current edition of The Watchtower.

Wednesday Trivia - Solutions

2009-10-28T12:04:00.003-05:00

Vanquished in a timely, thematically-appropriate manner.

1. 48. Hrs.

2. Labyrinth

3. On The Beach

4. The Ring

5. Switching Channels

6. The Day After Tomorrow

7. Pitch Black

To make up for my tardiness...

2009-10-28T11:18:00.004-05:00

... I went ahead and dropped a hint.

Tuesday Wednesday Trivia

2009-10-28T07:47:00.010-05:00

What? I got busy.

With that in mind, today's movies all revolve around deadlines and time management.

1. Two days of temporary parole. (Solved by Siobhan.)

2. One guard always tells the truth; the other always lies. (Solved by Siobhan.)

3. A Coke bottle nudged by a window shade. (Solved by Lisa.)

4. The tree featured in the video is a Japanese maple. (Solved by Christina.)

5. "He's pardoned, and you're pardoned, and you're pardoned, and you're not."
Superman, a Bandit, and the three-time love interest of the son of Spartacus.
(Solved by Melville.)

6. The students trapped in the library burn books to keep warm.
(Solved by Red Delicious.)

7. Eyeshine and a total eclipse. (Solved by Lisa.)

Heterocidal

2009-10-27T10:13:00.022-05:00

In looking back over the details of the whole bloody debacle, it's clear that the biggest mistake we made was "asking" rather than "doing." See, my buddy Sphinx and I thought it might be fun to start a social/discussion group for gay male Pagans in the Houston area, so what we should have done was chosen a date, time and place, and then send out an announcement via Meetup.com. Instead, we decided to see if anyone else was interested before we moved forward, and so we posted an inquiry on a local Pagan listserv.

Like the legendary invasions of Ireland, the responses came in waves.

First Wave: Accusations and condemnation. By expressing the intent to form a group for like-minded individuals with common interests and experiences, we're being divisive and separatist. And we're destroying the community. And we hate black people. Apparently.

Second Wave: An animated discussion between several self-styled "fag hags" about how much they just love their gays. Because, y'know, nothing makes one feel more human than being perceived as a fashion accessory.

Third Wave: General consensus that this currently-theoretical group for gay male Pagans will be open to everyone. Sphinx and I replied that no, actually, we'd like to keep things limited to gay men, which was met with...

Fourth Wave: Condescension. It's so cute when the gays try to think for themselves. But really, we know what's best for you. Bless your sexually deviant little hearts.

Fifth Wave: More decrees of forced inclusion. The group will now be open to gay men and any cisgendered woman who has (I swear I am not making this up) an invisible, "phantom limb" penis.

After the last round of attempted appropriation, we gave the fuck up. Oh, the group's still happening--several other guys have expressed interest, and an official Meet & Greet's in the works--but we've removed ourselves from NeoPagan Big Brother at Large. Safe space will be created away from the willfully ignorant, with outside approval neither desired nor required. And anyone in the Houston (cough) community who takes issue with that is more than welcome to bite me.

Quotes o' the Moment - Theory v. Reality

2009-10-22T08:17:00.005-05:00

"Never complain. Never explain."

-Katharine Hepburn

"Some mornings, it's just not worth chewing through the leather straps."

-Emo Philips

(PS: Emo Philips made me come out of the closet. True story.)

Tuesday Trivia - Solutions

2009-10-20T20:40:00.005-05:00

You guys rock. Which means you should all go out and immediately rent #4. Seriously. It's one of the few true Best Movies Ever.

Also, you should all go out and rent #7, because, well, wow. Fisting. 'Nuff said.

That aside...

1. Trick

2. Jeffrey

3. Love! Valour! Compassion!

4. The Ritz

5. To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything, Julie Newmar

6. Brokeback Mountain

7. Cruising

Tuesday Trivia - Men Who Love Men

2009-10-20T11:10:00.004-05:00

I'm feeling a wee bit heterophobic at the moment, so today's movies all revolve around the gay male experience.

1. He was dumped by a Whiffenpoof. (Solved by Veles.)

2. "Maybe you didn't hear me. I'm a Catholic priest. Historically, that falls somewhere between chorus boy and florist." (Solved by Melville.)

3. Eight friends spend three banking holidays together. (Solved by Veles.)

4. He's a businessman, hiding from his mobster brother-in-law, but a lounge singer thinks he's a producer. (Solved by Brian.)

5. "I know what you want. Do you know what you career girls want?" "Careers?"
(Solved by Veles.)

6. She says her husband was killed in an accident. He doesn't believe her.
(Solved by Debra.)

7. Deep undercover in the Meatpacking District. (Solved by Debra.)

Ring My Bell

2009-10-15T11:05:00.008-05:00

A late-night chat with an online buddy:

Him - “You should get Skype so that we can finally talk face-to-face.”

Me - “Dude… you know we’ve met in person, right?”

Him - “We have? When?”

Me - “At PantheaCon 2008. We sat next to each other during the ‘Dangerous Herbs of the Witches’ workshop.”

Him - “We did?”

Me - “Yep. After that, we hung out in the GLBT hospitality suite, where we got into a lengthy debate about the merits of emerging shamanic paths versus British Traditional Wicca…”

Him - “Okay, I did go the hospitality suite. But to be honest, I drank a lot that weekend. And I met tons of people. It’s all kind of a blur. I’m sorry, but I just don’t remember you.”

Me - “… and then a drop-dead gorgeous, 7-foot-tall guy with dark, soulful eyes and really large hands told us about the time he got fucked in the ass on a church altar.”

[beat]

Him – “Oh. My. God.”

Me – “Yeah.”

Him – “Oh, my God, Evn!!! We were out on the balcony, you were wearing a green plaid shirt and standing to my left, it was a balmy evening with a light breeze blowing in from the Southwest…”

And that’s how you jog a memory.

Huzzah!

2009-10-13T12:46:00.006-05:00

Good job, guys! Alison Bechdel is very proud of you. Probably. I haven't asked.

1. Bound

2. Aliens

3. Hairspray

4. Arsenic & Old Lace

5. Clueless

6. Empire Records

7. The Opposite of Sex

Tuesday Trivia - The Bechdel Test

2009-10-13T07:17:00.015-05:00

In order to pass The Bechdel Test, a movie must a) feature at least two women, b) who talk to each other, c) about something besides a man. The following films all qualify.

1. "If there's one thing I can't stand about sleeping with women, it's all the fucking mind-reading." (Solved by Veles.)

2. Him: "Have you ever been mistaken for a man?" Her: "No. Have you?"
(Solved by Yvonne.)

3. "Love is a gift. A lot of people don't remember that. So you two better brace yourselves for a whole lot of ugly coming at you from a neverending parade of stupid." (Solved by Rebelleink.)

4. "Insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops." (Solved by Annye.)

5. "Why should I listen to you, anyway? You're a virgin who can't drive."
(Solved by Melville.)

6. "Well, Sinead O'Rebellion. Shock me shock me shock me with that deviant behavior." (Solved by Veles.)

7. "If you think I'm just plucky, and scrappy, and all I need is love, you're in over your heads." (Solved by Veles.)

The open letter I'm waiting for

2009-10-12T12:24:00.007-05:00

Dear Citizens of the United States of America,

Thank you for not electing another fuckwit. Please accept this as a token of our deep appreciation.

Sincerely,

The Norwegian Nobel Committee

In the words of the Captain of Road Prison 36...

2009-10-09T14:06:00.001-05:00

Jack and I had a huge fight last night: A real fist-shaking, door-slamming, make-the-neighbors-uncomfortable kind of affair. At one point, having exhausted all of my arguments, I kicked over the coffee table. This did not, as I'd predicted, clarify my position. It did, however, scare the fuck out of the cats, so at least something good came out of it.

Somewhere along the line, Jack and I lost the ability to communicate. We talk, and we listen, but neither one of us can understand what the other is trying to say, which infuriates both of us. We're like what would've happened if Abbot & Costello had been cast in Enemy Mine.

Here's an excerpt from a recent telephone conversation:

"Hello?"

"Hi! Do you work today?"

"That's why you called?"

"Um... yeah. See, I was wondering if..."

"I'm off tomorrow."

"Okay, but do you work today?"

"You already know that I'm off tomorrow."

"I do understand that you're off tomorrow. But I wanted to ask..."

"My vacation starts tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes. Yes, it does. But I don't know what your schedule is today."

"And I just told you that I don't work tomorrow."

[beat]

"Let's try this again. Do you work today?"

"Tomor-"

"Do you work today?"

"My vaca-"

"Do. You. Work. To. Day?"

[extended pause]

"I am working today."

"Okay. Okay, great, thank you. Are you working a morning or evening shift?"

"I'm off tomorrow."

[cue laugh track; applause]

What kills me is that away from each other, we're both excellent communicators. I've been a professional writer and editor for eight years; prior to that, Jack worked in radio for 14 years. We know our shit, y'know? We're both really talented when it comes to expressing ourselves. But put us in the same room, and we're immediately stricken with aphasia.

Thank the Gods we never adopted. We would've had to hire interpreters.

Aside from showing the cats who's boss, last night's screamfest did provide a little insight into why we're so terrible at interacting with one another. I tend to read body language, watching for physical clues that tell me whether or not I've gotten a particular point across. Jack pays more attention to words themselves, and derives the intended message without the use of non-verbals. So, for instance, I'll say something like (quoting Belle) "When you told me blah blah I felt blee blah because mergh," and Jack will respond based on the words I've used, and I'll respond to that based on his body language, and both of us start feeling like we're not being heard, and then furniture gets broken.

Maybe we're both overthinking this. Like, if we'd just communicate instead of trying so damn hard to communicate, we'd have less reason to be pissed off all the time. Or maybe a gypsy put a curse on us. Hard to say. But I do hope we get through this. I hope that one day, we'll be able to chat like old friends. And most of all, I hope when that day comes, we really will be old friends.

Time will tell.

So I will do my best to listen.

Three Little Words

2009-10-07T12:27:00.006-05:00

Batman: The Musical.

Red Delicious explains.

Tuesday Trivia - Solutions

2009-10-06T19:24:00.006-05:00

Well done, my Loyal Strifemongers! Not a single hint needed.

But don't rest on your laurels, pumpkins. Once Deborah's elite cadre of movie experts finds out that Tuesday Trivia has migrated over here, they are going to Bring It. I suggest memorizing IMDB.

Seriously.

That said...

1. School Ties

2. The 13th Warrior

3. Hocus Pocus

4. Stigmata

5. Clash of the Titans

6. Season of the Witch

7. The Ten Commandments

Keep up the good work!

Tuesday Trivia 2.0

2009-10-06T09:55:00.018-05:00

For the past four years, Deborah has hosted a weekly movie trivia quiz on her blog. It was a smash success and a jolly old time from the very beginning, but unfortunately, Deborah's super-swamped with work and outside projects, and needed to suspend the game indefinitely.

But never fear, Loyal Property-of-a-Ladyites! Me being ~~afflicted with a chronic impulse disorder~~ an altruistic go-getter, I volunteered to host the show from here on out. Below you'll find seven clues to seven movies. Post your guesses in the comments section; hints (if necessary) will go up tomorrow, and the answers will be revealed on Thursday.

In keeping with the nature of my own blog, this week's theme is Religious Strife. En garde!

---

1. Takes place at a boarding school. According to my Fundamentalist aunt, the lead actor "isn't Jewish in real life." (Solved by Melville.)

2. He fights with a big-ass sword. She fights with a bear claw dipped in poison. It's pretty much a tie. (Solved by Miakoda.)

3. Two of the Witches appeared together in a later film, this time as an ex-wife and a trophy wife. (Solved by Cat.)

4. Ironically, the actor portraying the Catholic priest went on to play Satan in his next movie. (Solved by Miakoda.)

5. "Once he even tried to ravish me disguised as a cuttlefish." "Did he succeed?"
(Solved by Veles.)

6. She forgot to attend church on the first day of Lent. Fortunately, there are ashes in the fireplace. (Solved by Veles.)

7. The orgy scene alone took three weeks to film. (Solved by Kitty.)

Why I Hate Wal-Mart

2009-10-04T11:49:00.015-05:00

Me: "Pardon me, but where are your restrooms?"

First Wal-Mart Employee: (gesturing to the Northeast) "Straight over yonder."

[ten minutes later]

Me: "Ma'am? Hi. Where can I find a restroom?"

Second Wal-Mart Employee: "The restrooms? They're right back that way, next to where Shoes used to be."

[ten minutes later]

Me: (starting to shake) "Please tell me where the restrooms are."

Third Wal-Mart Employee: "Okay. What you're going to want to do is this: Go back the way you came, and..." [I swear I am not making this up] "...look for the intersection of Toys and Walmart.com."

[ten minutes later]

Me: (curled in the fetal position, somewhere in the uncharted backwoods of Electronics) "Can't... hold it... any... longer..."

Fourth Wal-Mart Employee: "Sir? Am I to understand that you're looking for the restroon? Please take this ball of string and follow me through the Labyrinth."

I'm fully aware that I spent a good portion of Thursday bitching about the minor inconveniences of online shopping. With that acknowledged, if I never again in this lifetime patronize an establishment larger than a linen closet, it will be too goddamned soon.

Other White Meats

2009-10-02T14:06:00.017-05:00

Disgruntled Vegan Employee: "I like animals more than people."

Me: "I do, too. They taste better."

And then she got all offended and gave me the Vegan Glare, which I just dismissed as a lack of omega-3 fatty acids in her diet.

Somebody please explain to me how I ended up in management.

I have issues. And statues. But mainly issues.

2009-10-01T11:02:00.005-05:00

Instead of, oh, I don't know, working, I spent the morning on an occult retail Web site, gazing longingly at a Goddess statue I don't really need. This is one of the drawbacks of a polytheistic worldview: There is no such thing as too many Goddess statues. (Even though, let's face it, there probably should be.)

If I were a little more pantheistic, I could just grab one of those standard-issue, Faceless And Vaguely Woman-Shaped With Handless Arms Raised High figurines and be done with it. But no, I've got to make sure Everyone has Their own votive. I may be convinced that St. Expedite and Thoth are ultimately the same divine being, but I couldn't rest until I found two different representations of Them, both of which are currently nestled in equal but separate areas of my living room.

Sometimes I worry that I've conflated "sincere religious devotion" with "neurosis."

Speaking of, one of my other fun personality quirks is marked indecision when it comes to spending money, coupled with mild obsessive-compulsive tendencies. The two together make for a fabulous inner monologue:

"Okay, I'm going to buy this statue. No, wait, I'm not. Although it's not that expensive. But I spent way too much in Boston. But what if they sell out before my next pay period? Good point! I'm going to buy it right now." [click] "Huh. Shipping's more than I thought it would be. I should wait a month. Yes, I'll wait until next month. Or next week. Tomorrow, maybe? Oh, just buy it." [click click] "There. And then click on 'submit,' and... no, wait, let's really think about this..."

[Repeat for five hours]

Th psychic deadlock eventually wore me down, and I decided that this was a job for divination. I opened a desk drawer and pulled out one of my geomancy decks (I keep one deck at home and another at the office, because there's something wrong with me), drew a card, and... Laetitia. Not thrifty advice.

Oooh, time for another quick geomancy lecture. The sixteen geomantic figures can be divided into two categories, based on their inherent stability or mobility. In a yes/no reading, a stable figure means yes, and a mobile figure means no. Unless (there's always a catch) Laetitia appears, in which case the message is "No, but do it anyway."

So I bought the statue. Because a bunch of dots told me to. Yay for geomancy! Yay for statues! Except...

I'm not what one would call blessed with that virtue known as "patience." I normally try to avoid online shopping all together, since not being able to get my hands on the merchandise right this very second often results in me flushing vast amounts of cash away on next-day delivery. This particular metaphysical shop does not offer multiple shipping options, which did save me a few bucks. However, as soon as I a made my purchase, I received an e-mail confirmation that was all, "Thank you for your valued business. Your order will ship in one to four weeks. Or January. What day is it again? We're a little high right now."

So basically, I'm being held hostage by Pagan Standard Time, with nothing but my eleventy-billion other statues to comfort me. I'll bet this is exactly how the Amish feel.

8 Miles Wide

2009-09-30T07:28:00.006-05:00

Y'know, considering I'm a freshly-minted initiate of a Gay Mystery cult, I'm really starting to wonder why I can't get this song out of my head:

Beantown on a Broomstick, Part the Second

2009-09-29T08:53:00.069-05:00

The evening of the Fall Equinox found me on a train heading North, where, once again, I managed to misunderstand the payment system.

After we embarked, a porter came by and asked for my ticket. I handed her my light-rail transit card. She did not think this amusing.

"This is a commuter train," she said flatly. "We don't accept transit cards."

Nor did they accept credit cards. And I didn't have any cash on me. I'm pretty sure she wanted to punch me. Instead, she took my driver's license and wrote down my address. I'll be getting a bill for $5.25, payable to the State of Massachusetts, in four to six weeks. But at least they didn't kick me off, because that would've been unfriendly to my enterprises.

The whole point of this leg of my journey was to meet face-to-face with a Minos (High Priest) of the Minoan Brotherhood and present myself as a candidate for initiation. Which... well, happened. And it's funny, because I've been sort of secretly fascinated by the Minoan Brotherhood ever since I first heard about it, but until very recently I never pursued it the way I did Traditional Wicca. When introduced to Minoan initiates at pub moots or parties, I'd be polite but not express curiosity. If asked if I was interested in the tradition, I always responded, "It's really not something I want to look into right now." Even though it was. And it took a verbal smack upside the head for me to figure out why.

I was on the phone with Deborah awhile back, complaining about relationship issues and what-not, and I don't remember exactly what I said that sent up a red flag, but she suddenly cut me off and went, "Wow. You are really uncomfortable being gay." This was not an easy thing to hear, mainly because it's true: I'm not particularly comfortable with my homosexuality. I mean, I don't see it as a bad thing, or something of which I should be ashamed, but sometimes being gay feels like wearing a suit that's a little too big. Or like when I was a kid and my family would go to the beach, and everyone else would play in the surf while I hung out at the hotel pool, because it wasn't as scary as the ocean.

My various attempts at queer spirituality were supposed to fix this, but they didn't, and sometimes they just plain exacerbated the situation. I'm thinking of the Radical Faerie circles Jack and I used to attend, which always seemed to denigrate from celebratory to giggly-naughty, i.e. "In this ritual, we're going to be skyclad, tee hee!" Granted, a good time was generally had by all, but it quickly became clear that what we were doing was less about honoring our specialness and more of an excuse to get grabby. Which in itself led to serious drama, usually when some of the "committed and monogamous" Faeries couldn't seem to keep their hands out of other Faeries' sarongs.

So there was that, coupled with the whole Gardnerian issue. Thing is, I love being Gardnerian. I love our rituals and the Gods we venerate and my Co-Witches. Love 'em. Unfortunately, within the gay ghettos of NeoPaganism, British Traditional Wicca is often... not frowned-up, exactly, but viewed as... geez, what's the word I'm looking for, dismissible? Unworkable? Obsolete? Whatever, long story short, I get weird looks from gay Pagans when I tell them I’m Gardnerian, and sometimes they don't want to play with me anymore.

The obvious solution is, of course, stop telling them, you moron. But acceptance is a twisty little monster. When straight Pagans get huffy with me about being Gardnerian, I offer them a cheerful "fuck off" and go on with my life. When gay Pagans give me grief over it, I get twitchy and angry and desperately want them to like me.

This, methinks, be not beneficial.

And sadly, this is also what kept me away from the Minoan Brotherhood, even when it should've been a no-brainer. [And not just in terms of homosexuality: When I was 16, I wrote a term paper on the enduring influence of the Minoan Snake Goddess in classical Greek mythology. I received a solid A, because, quoth my high school English professor, "I honestly have no clue how to grade this."] But a week ago tonight, I managed to step out of my insecurities and give my full trust to a fellow gay Pagan, knowing I was in the right place at the right time, doing what was right for me. And knowing that this particular path would not be an option if I wasn't the gay man I am.

Through this experience, something just on the edge of definable clicked. Within the Gardnerian Tradition, I found the family I'd always wanted. Within the Minoan Brotherhood, I found a key, missing piece of myself, a piece which fits perfectly between my healthy self image and (I'm owning it) my sacred sexuality.

The train trip back to Boston was a whole nother adventure.

Beantown on a Broomstick, Part the First

2009-09-24T08:24:00.034-05:00

I just got back from Boston, where I spent the past week celebrating my birthday (okay, fine, that was mercenary, whatever) with my brother, his wife (they live there) and my parents (they drove up). My brother's apartment isn't quite big enough to accommodate five people comfortably, so he booked me a room at the Samuel Sewall Inn, a quaint little bed-and-breakfast around the corner from his place. And it was adorable. It was darling. It was... named after one of the judges of the Salem witch trials:

Holy shit! This is a trap!

Upon calming down and doing some research, I discovered that after the trials, Sewall recanted everything and became a women's rights activist. Knowing this made me feel a little safer sleeping there.

First up on my family's itinerary was a Red Sox game at Fenway Park. I was not terribly excited at this prospect, as I am not a baseball fan. Whatsoever. I mean, I know a couple of my Loyal Strifemongers believe that baseball is a metaphor for life, and I hate to break this to them, but they're wrong. Hockey is a metaphor for life: The rules are incomprehensible, and everyone gets hurt. That said, I've never had an experience quite like watching a Red Sox game. The energy at the park is intense enough to measure on the Richter Scale, and halfway through the eighth inning, everyone jumps up and sings "Sweet Caroline" at the top of their lungs. For, like, no discernible reason. It was surreal. Or possibly Postmodern. I'm not sure which. I'd had a few beers by that point.

Once my parents headed back to Texas, I decided to have an adventure and hopped a ferry to Salem, where my buddy N. agreed to show me the sights. He's lived in the Salem area for most of his life and is decidedly over the tourist kitch, but he was very accommodating when I demanded to see the statue of Samantha Stevens and then dragged him through the Witch Museum. And oh, ye Gods, the Witch Museum. It was like walking into a Dennis Wheatley novel, and I had no choice but to buy a commemorative T-shirt. Oh, and also we almost got kicked out, because N. turned on one of the talking displays in the Witches: Evolving Perceptions exhibit ("I am a midwife! You might call me a Pagan.") before the museum employee who was trying to lead a guided tour could get to it. So that was entertaining.

My brother and sister-in-law both had to work the next day, so I figured out how to navigate the subway system and went to meet (get ready) Famous Pagan Artist Thalia Took! Squeeeee! And she was lovely and funny and snarky and I would've totally proposed to her except for that whole "I'm a big homo" thing, which is really just a technicality but still kind of a deal-breaker. Anyway, we drank iced hot chocolates and wandered around Harvard Square, looking for the law office of Dewey, Cheetham & Howe (we didn't find it) and having a platonically gay old time. Thalia also explained the importance of paying for subway rides, which, coming from a city with nigh nonexistent mass transit, hadn't really occurred to me. I apparently owe Boston a lot of money.

Someone remind me to send a check.

More to come.

Quote o' the Moment - Proper Etiquette

2009-09-12T15:01:00.004-05:00

"Can a magician kill a man with magic?" Lord Wellington asked Strange. Strange frowned. He seemed to dislike the question. "I suppose a magician might," he admitted, "but a gentleman never could."

-From Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, by Susanna Clarke

Things Witches Say

2009-09-05T23:23:00.001-05:00

"I need to go back to the Temple and find my underwear."

If he calls you next, just say "The Bible."

2009-09-04T09:46:00.010-05:00

My phone rang promptly at 6:55 this morning. Caller ID listed Co-Witch A.'s number, so I scrambled to answer, hoping nothing was wrong.

"Hello?"

"Hi Evn!" said Co-Witch A., in a voice that was perky yet murderous. "Do you have a sec?"

"Sure," I said cautiously. "What's up?"

"Well, Sean was supposed to conduct a survey for school this week, but he forgot about it, and it's due today. So now we're calling people who are usually awake at this ungodly hour. Would you mind answering some questions for him?"

"No problem!" I said, since I'm always happy to be of assistance to Sean, and I'd very much prefer that Co-Witch A. not wind up on the evening news. "Put him on."

"Hi Evn," Sean said. I could hear growling in the background, which I quickly understood to be Co-Witch A. reminding him to thank me for my help. "Thanks for your help! I'm just going to ask you a few questions about reading. Do you like to read?"

"Yes," I said.

"Okay," he replied. "Do you read for entertainment or for information?"

"Both."

"Where do you normally like to read?"

"My living room."

"Cool. What's your favorite book?"

"Hmm, let's see..."

"Your favorite book that would be appropriate to discuss at my school."

Yes, that's right, I just got clocked by a 10-year-old, who was fully prepared for me to toss out The Story of O or Llewellyn's Practical Guide to Ritual Disembowelment in response to a 5th-grade literature survey and felt the need to put his foot down before I could answer. The kid knows me too well.

I ended up saying that my favorite book was Blue Heaven, which is a very funny novel, but, I realized a second too late, one that goes on and on about homosexuality and recreational drug use. Again, maybe not terribly appropriate. So then I tried to change my answer to Maybe The Moon, which is another wonderful novel, but one which also goes on and on about homosexuality and recreational drug use and the interracial sex lives of dwarves.

Why I couldn't have come up with something like Anne of Green Gables is anyone's guess. Granted, it's totally Sean's fault for waiting until the last minute, but I really, really, really hope his teacher doesn't start poking around on Amazon.com.

Mind Over Melancholia

2009-08-26T11:06:00.012-05:00

Here's another fun comic book analogy for you.

Way back in the mid 80's, during a stressy period in the lives of the X-Men, the second Phoenix went kind of berserk and decided to whack Selene, the Black Queen of the Hellfire Club. Phoenix broke into Selene's residence and proceeded to go all Medieval, but then Wolverine showed up and tried to reason with her. I don't remember the exact dialogue, but it went something like this:

Wolverine - "Vengeance goes against everything the X-Men stand for."

Phoenix - "Rahr!"

Wolverine - "Please calm down."

Phoenix - "I will, I will. Right after I finish kicking Selene's butt."

Wolverine - "Really, I mean it. You're starting to freak me out."

Phoenix - "The only way to stop me, Logan, is to kill me!"

Wolverine - "Fine. Stab stab!"

Phoenix - "Ow! Dude, you are such an asshole."

Selene - "Okay, wow. This is awkward."

And so it was. In a valiant attempt to Do The Right Thing, Wolverine ran his claws through Phoenix's heart. But she survived, against all odds, by using her mighty telekinetic abilities to hold her wounds together. She couldn't concentrate her powers on anything else, but she survived.

I find myself in a similar position.

A couple of weeks ago, I stopped practicing Witchcraft. Not intentionally--I mean, it wasn't like there was some formal passing-of-the-athame or a reintroduction to Anglicanism, just that all the regular, Witchy aspects of my life mysteriously dried up. No lighting of candles or burning of incense; I can't remember the last time I worked up a geomantic chart, and I completely forgot to hold my annual Nemoralia celebration.

Oh, but I did attend a guided meditation workshop. I'm told my snoring was gentle and not at all distracting to the other participants.

I wake up every morning and go to work. I put in eight or nine hours, come home, watch TV, have a couple of cocktails and go to bed. On the weekends, I hang out a British pub around the corner with a few old college buddies. Realistically, I should be screaming and crying and grieving the death of a 7-year relationship and refusing to leave my apartment, but instead I'm going about my daily routine and maintaining a relatively positive outlook, just without any of the occult interests I'd normally spend all my free time cultivating.

It's weird to feel normal, when by all rights I should be wasting away. Hell, it's weird to feel normal period, and not like a Practitioner of the Dark Arts in Good Standing. I like feeling like a Practitioner of the Dark Arts in Good Standing. It's a big chunk of how I define myself. But it's gone at the moment, and I think it's because the part of my mind/spirit/whatever that would normally be focused on the metaphysical is now dedicated to holding my wounds together.

On one hand, this is a good thing: A couple of nuclear meltdowns nonwithstanding, I'm handling this whole crappy situation way better than I ever thought I could. Plus it's cool to be able to identify with one of my favorite superheroes. On the other hand, I miss Witchcraft. I miss being the Great and Terrible Evn. But I don't have the emotional strength right now to be anything other than... well, me.

After her showdown with Wolverine, Phoenix went away for a while, then snagged her own limited series and made a spectacular comeback with the Excalibur franchise. This morning, one of our receptionists dropped by my office with a package. Seems I'd won a contest over at Good Mom/Bad Mom (totally slipped my mind), my prize being the following:

My first thought as I gazed upon my tumescent little tchotchke was What in the HELL am I supposed to do with this?

My next thought was Feature it as the centerpiece of a shrine devoted to the Ancestors of Men Who Love Men, as revealed by the Unnamed Path. Then go clean your altar.

I'm ressurecting nicely. Slowly, but nicely. Phoenix would be proud.

I'm not dead

2009-08-19T16:38:00.001-05:00

Quiet, and kind of sleepy, but not dead.

And I'm going to be fine.

New posts soon, Loyal Strifemongers. Stay tuned to this channel.

Quote o' the Moment - The End of an Era

2009-08-05T18:20:00.003-05:00

"'But some things can be fixed,' you say. True, but can your relationship be fixed? Anything is possible, but we'd say probably not. Generally, if one person thinks that the breakup is the right move, they're probably right even if it feels so wrong. Because unless there are two people putting on the coveralls and getting down in the trenches with some duct tape and superglue and a fierce determination, it isn't going to happen. Need more convincing? How about this: The person you loved took a good look at the awesomeness that is you, evaluated your relationship together, and said, 'No, thanks. I'll try my luck elsewhere.' Or you said it to him. Either way, that alone should make you realize that it wasn't a match made in heaven and they're not worth donning coveralls for. Anyone who assesses you or your relationship as disposable is not worth your time or tears.

"Right now, your brain is probably working overtime to come up with all the reasons that you should still be together. Your heart is hurting and your mind wants to find a way to undo the pain. Just remember, though, that any reasons you come up with are ultimately irrelevant. The harsh reality is that even if you have everything else in common, the one thing you don't have in common is the belief that this relationship can work. That, my friend, trumps your shared love of puppies, The Dave Matthews Band, and Mexican food."

-Greg Behrendt and Amiira Ruotola-Behrendt