Could you sleep more quietly please?

Oh, is there anything more peevesome than trying to sleep through the riotous cachophony of someone else’s peaceful slumber? I think all of the snorers should go and live on an island with all of the people who sleep with the television on all night, then the rest of us can get some sleep.

Just to digress for one minute--I don't know why, but I seriously have a weird phobia kind of thing about sleeping with the TV on. Not only can't I fall asleep very easily with a TV on in the room, but I truly get this ooky feeling whenever I wake up in the middle of the night and find a television has been left on somewhere in the house. *SHUDDER* I can't explain it. It's like the television unleases something evil into our homes if left on while we're sleeping. Not to mention the weird sensation of having strangers in your home doing stuff--talking or singing or driving or whatever they're doing right there in your house with you while you're sleeping. I don't know why no one else but me feels anxiety about that. Y'll folks who sleep with the TV on, do you invite your neighbors over to hang out in your house during the night--"Just make yourselves at home, we'll be right here sleeping away. Feel free to hang out in the bedroom right here with us, we'll just be using the bed, you're welcome to use the rest of the room for, you know, solving a crime or performing surgery, maybe eat some dinner. You could even have sex if you want, right here next to us."

Back to the snoring, though. I keep a voice-activated recorder by my bed (to record my dreams) so I can say without a doubt, I do not snore.

I come from a family of snorers who could shake the very rafters and foundations of the house. For me, visiting relatives means I’ll be getting little sleep. And oh, the irony, when I’m tip-toeing around so as not to wake any of the sleeping thunder--because their sleeping makes it impossible for me to sleep myself!

How does one sleep when one is making such a horrible racket at such close proximity to one’s own ears? If I can’t sleep through it, three rooms away, how does he sleep with himself?

My sister is the worst I’ve ever heard. Oh sweet Lord and Lady, she makes the loudest, most unfeminine sound imaginable. ’Twould peel the paint off the walls.

Snoring is not just unattractive, it’s unsafe. As a child, I believe I knew this instinctively. I remember shivering in my bed at night, listening to my parents snore, my little heart knocking around in my chest, because I just KNEW something was very wrong with Mommy and Daddy to cause them to make such horrible noises. And if I tried to match my breathing to theirs, I would pass out from lack of oxygen, so I knew they were fixing to keel over dead any second: SHNAAAWWWWWAAAAAWWWWWW--SHNAAAWWWWWWAAAAAWWWWWWWW!!!!

How could they live through it? Better I stay awake and make sure they don’t stop breathing altogether. And this is probably why I can’t sleep with a snorer today.

So if you snore...fix that!! For yourself, for your loved ones, for your poor scared children in their beds, do it for the paint on your walls! You’ll be 100% sexier while you’re sleeping, and will probably live longer when you take that strain off of your heart.

Urban Pagan

Most pagans live in the city. You can think of us as urban tribes, whether we practice as solitares or in groups. The city pagan comes in many shapes and sizes. She may be a warrior in a leather jacket, with tattoos and piercings, or a soccer mom with three kids who shields her home with scattered Fruit Loops. He might be a long-haired tree-hugger, an ancient old shaman or an angry young man, searching for magic and determined to be the magic as well. For us, Harry Potter and Buffy the Vampire Slayer just aren’t enough.

Most pagan rituals, symbols and deities came from an older, agricultural era. They revolve around fertility, growing things, planting, harvest, livestock and the changing seasons of the year. For a modern pagan, these things are harder to stay in tune with. When we throw down on a tasty cheeseburger, we have no idea when or where the animal was slaughtered or who did it. We can assume it was not done in reverence or respect. With a few hundred cows in line waiting for their turn to give their lives for our sustenance and growth, there just isn’t time for ritual or prayer.

So perhaps we lump our respect into one or two generic rituals designed to thank Gaea for everything she provides for us, including our cheeseburgers.

As every city dweller knows, the city has it’s own intense wild energy, unique to itself, from which we feed or with which we struggle each day. I have lived in several cities and visited several more and never felt such a hateful vibe as I do in Dallas. This city hates me, there’s no question, and the feeling is mutual. We simply tolerate each other until I am granted the freedom to get out. Minneapolis was like a friendly puppy; not harsh or demanding but not particularly mature either. Albuquerque was like a beautiful old grandmother with wrinkled leathery skin and eyes sparkling with warmth and wisdom.

Rural energy is that of growing things, birth and rebirth. It is tame, agricultural. City energy is more like that of a wild, untamed jungle. Just as the gods of the woods and swamps are wilder than the gods of the fields, city gods are wild creatures collected in the whirlpool of urban energy. Take the time to get to know some of the city gods and goddesses around you. Learn creative ways to worship them and invoke their power for your rituals and your daily life.

Wilma - goddess of Wal-Mart and other discount shopping centers. She can even be invoked to provide guidance for a successful garage sailing expedition. If you find exactly what you needed at half the price you expected to pay, give thanks to Wilma. (You can call her what you like; I have chosen to give her my mother’s name.) She’s partial to sweets, so as an offering, leave a piece of candy on the shelf in place of the merchandise as you put it in your shopping cart.

Excursion - god of commuting and traffic. His energy comes from the ever-moving arteries of highways and city streets. He can help with clearing gridlock, navigating to parts unknown and avoiding traffic tickets. When you reach your destination without a single red light, tip your hat to Excursion and leave a few coins on the curb.

Techno - nocturnal god of night clubs and partying. His energy flows when you feel the driving beat of the music on the dance floor. Pick-up lines, dancing and laser light shows are of his domain. He’s more concerned with having fun and getting you laid than with protection and safety, so be sure to shield yourself and invoke the protection of a powerful guardian spirit before going out with Techno.

Please Help Me, I Don't Know Right From Wrong!

I'm currently editing a (really excellent) book that pushes the line for what is "legal" erotica in the US. This story involves consentual sex with girls. Not 8-year-olds, but teen-age girls, you know, girls with healthy sexual appetites like we all had when we were teen-agers (and some of us fortunate enough still to possess). I notice the author has taken care to address the age issue, and it amuses me on one hand and irritates me on the other.

For instance, just prior to the sexual incident, the man asks the girl "When do you turn 18?" and she replies "September 28." He then says "Happy Birthday" and they carry on. Well, since we don't know the exact date the story takes place on, we don't know if the girl's 18th birthday was yesterday, today, tomorrow, next week, last week? And it strikes me that this detail is what makes the story legal in the US or not. It's legal for the story to be taking place on the day of her 18th birthday but illegal if it's the day before. It just strikes me as ludicrous, that's all. Makes as bout as much (little) sense as any other attempt to legislate morality.

Last Sunday morning about 10 am I was at the neighborhood Kroger store buying some food and stuff. As I passed down the booze aisle, I decided to stock up. After all, my divorce is final this week and I have something to celebrate. So I grabbed about six different bottles of champagne and a six-pack of beer for the Relentless Tease (he likes Bud Light) and some other boozy stuff and headed for the check-out. The lady frowned at me as she began separating my booze from the groceries and set them on the counter behind her. "Can't buy alcohol before noon on Sunday," she informed me.

Again, that curious sensation of being amused and irritated at the same time. Did someone think that I might rush home and guzzle six bottles of champagne in two hours instead of going to church? Or that I might actually decide, oh what the heck, might as well go to church since I can't buy booze this morning? Or what? Seriously, what is the reasoning behind this silly law? What is the morality that is being legislated here? That I shouldn't drink on Sunday morning? Well why not make it illegal to DRINK on Sunday morning? Obviously if I want to get hammered on a Sunday morning, this ridiculous law is not going to slow me down one bit. If I were a lush, I'd certainly know to buy me booze on Saturday night so I'll be all set to hit the sauce the next morning while all the good people are in church. Instead, all this did was inconvenience me a bit. And I don't even drink that much! Is that the purpose of the law, to inconvenience those who don't indulge in the evil behavior very often while not hindering those who abuse the substance in the least bit?

We also have what's called "dry districts" here in Dallas, which means you might have to drive several miles to find a liquor store. Or you might have to fill out some silly membership card before you can order a drink in a restaurant. You see, private clubs can serve alcohol to their members in a dry district, but not public establishments. So, basically, every public establishment that wants to serve alcohol (which is most of 'em), calls itself a private club. You want to order a glass of wine with dinner, just write your name on this card and viola! you're a club member! (Don't you just love exclaiming "viola!" instead of "voila! "The problem with doing it in writing is that most people just think you don't know how to spell it.)

Am I the only one who finds it fascinating, this idea of legislating a moral code that seems to serve no common code of morality I've ever been aware of here (those who have a moral issue with boozing on Sunday morning or even boozing in general have kept themselves hidden well, if they exist) but merely creates an irritating inconvenience to every average person of drinking age sooner or later while everyone who wants to drink, on whatever day they want to drink, in whatever district they want to drink in manages to do so without being slowed down in the least by the wet laws? And whomever it is these laws are supported by or enacted by or created for don't really seem to mind all that much, since I've never heard anyone complain about the shameless way people get around the wet laws to commit their sinful act of drinking in spite of them. So why do folks grumble about the wet laws when it inconveniences them but nobody ever seems to notice the hypocrisy as I do and wonder who benefits from things the way they are?

Anyway, back to the teen-aged girls in the sex stories. I admit to not being real informed about the exact semantics of the law. For instance, I know it's against the law to publish an erotic tale on the internet involving an under-aged person. But I don't know how "involved" the under-aged person is allowed to be. Is it legal for an adult character in a story to get a hard-on at the sight of a 15-year-old's belly button? Is it legal for the 15-year-old to masturbate or fantasize about having sex as long as no actual adult person touches her in the course of the story? Is it legal for an adult person to french kiss a 16-year-old, and if not, is it the tongue that makes it a description of a sexual act? If you were to describe such a kiss, making it clear exactly the sort of kiss you mean but not explicitly mentioning the tongue or that it's a French kiss, is it still immoral, or is it possible to accuse someone of having a perverted mind if they insist on reading tongues in where some other, wholly innocent, kind of kiss was intended?

And who exactly gets to decide where these lines are drawn? Why do we allow other people to tell us whether our sexual fantasies, behaviors and desires are acceptable? Do we not feel qualified to judge our own?

I know, it's not "our" standards that we worry about, it's "theirs." We have to make sure "they" are not crossing any lines, because even though we know we know what's right, other people always seem to disregard the standards of decency and do dirty things. Gotta keep "those people" in line or this world is headed for hell in a hand-basket! Thank God we have the community to keep us moral and remind us of our good solid family values.

I know I personally would probably be up a creek named S-H-I-T with nary a paddle if I didn't have laws reminding me that I shouldn't drink on Sunday or that I shouldn't write stories about children having sex.

Crotchedy Old Men

I adore them.

Along with crones, they are the most concentrated source of wisdom we have available.

Perhaps grumpy old men are appealing because of the contrast between their frail, fading bodies and their sharp, aggressive minds. Old men know a lot more about women than younger men--and I’m not talking about sex, I just mean they seem to understand women at last after sixty years of cluelessness. Maybe it’s because after spending most of their lives enjoying relative power and privilege, they’ve had to give up most of it and become like a woman themselves.

Oh my gosh, don’t let an old man hear me say that though. I’m sure they don’t like being compared to women any more than younger men do.

I have read that senility is a myth. When we are younger and forget some important matter we say it was because we were too busy and had too much on our minds. When an old person forgets something we are sure that he must be getting senile. The truth is that, for most of us, mental ability remains pretty much the same all of our lives. This is not just my observation but it is proven by research. At Wayne State and Duke Universities studies showed that, contrary to popular notion, intelligence does not decline in old age. I recall an earlier study in which teen agers and elderly people were tested and compared and the adolescents showed more traits of senility than the old folks!

Consider the contributions of people in their eighties and nineties:

~Michelangelo designed St. Peter’s Cupola when he was 83 and remained active until he was 89.

~Benjamin Franklin was past 80 when he helped draft the constitution.

~Chief Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes was in his 80’s when he wrote some of his classic legal opinions and he served well into his 90’s.

~Artist Pablo Picasso as well as cellist Pablo Casals were active into their 90’s.

If you are fortunate enough to know a crotchety old man, treat him to lunch this Father’s Day and let him be as crabby as he wants to be. Listen when he talks--he might know a bit more than you do about most things.

She Would Have Dined Here After

On a night quite unenchanting, when the rain was downward slanting,
And my husband's gentle ranting became too loud to be ignored,
Tipsy and a bit unshaven, in a tone I found quite craven,
He was talking to a Raven perched above the bedroom door.
Pangs of hunger did entreat me to leave my bed and search the floor
Found my socks, nothing more


Clumsy on the rug I treaded, cursing softly as I headed
Into the rainy night I dreaded, to a place I've been before.
While hubby and the Raven chattered, I was searching through the skattered
Lights to find the one that mattered, my beloved late-night store.
“Wendy's” with its menu full of tasty treats galore.
Burgers, fries and so much more


Through the drive-thru in a flash, a little time and not much cash;
Finished up my midnight dash, in time to hear the Raven speaking:
“Nevermore”


My husband, with a drunken snicker, charming when he's had his liquor,
Leaped into bed just one step quicker, hoping to get some sweet amour.
But barely had we begun to play when, slumped and limp, he began to snore.
Only that and nothing more.


Tummy full of “Wendy's” treasure, wide awake and craving pleasure
Bored, frustrated beyond measure, I saw the Raven on the floor.
Ugly bird, but I took pity, warned him “Watch out for the kitty.”
And together we watched “Spin City”, (Michael J. I do adore)
Until our cat, Dandelion, awoke and chased him through the door.
We found his feathers, nothing more.

Click it or Ticket

Amazing how fast this year went by, huh? Another turn of the wheel, doubly significant because the anniversary of my birth happens this month as well.

It tickles me that I got certain Fundie members of my family referring to the Holiday as Yule instead of Christmas this year. But only out of ignorance, unfortunately. They think it's just an old-fashioned word for Christmas, just as they truly seem to believe that Jesus is the “Reason for the Season” and would caution everyone to remember that.

This season, I have been blessed with a number of things to rejoice in as well as a thing or two to grumble about. And since it's more fun to grumble than to rejoice, I'll do my grumbling here, and remember to rejoice with my kids later.

First of all, um, I won't say why exactly, but I found it necessary to do some research this week on what to do when you have a RAGING YEAST INFECTION of monumental proportions. One good thing about a forced lifestyle of abstinence is that you can diagnose your own yeast infections and not worry that it's a STD instead.

But the thing I most want to grumble about today is that bit of disguised fascism known as the Seatbelt Law. Yes, I got a ticket. Actually, I got two this year, and I am really ticked off.

In Texas, they repealed the helmet law because the Bikers got together and collectively raised Holy Hell about it. I guess that particular collective is one whose wrath even the most arrogant politicians are prudent enough to steer clear of. Bikers are not known for tolerating restrictions on their personal freedoms.

The rest of us, however—our willingness to be led like sheep, our tendency to impose our own moral standards onto others, our self-righteous contentment any time we can force other people to behave in ways that we agree with, all are legendary. So it's no surprise that “mainstream” people have failed to join forces and oppose this law.

Most people probably think the seatbelt law was passed to save lives. The truth is, seatbelt laws were put in place as a result of lobby pressure by auto manufacturers who did not want the expense of federally mandated airbag requirements in their vehicles. The federal government said “Okay, you don't want the airbag requirements? Then get to work pressuring the state governments to pass seatbelt laws. If all 50 states pass such a law, we won't enact the airbag legislation.” So the auto makers did a wonderful job of stirring up lots of seatbelt propaganda, which is why we're all so familiar with the crash test dummies, and they succeeded in getting the states to pass these laws. Then the federal government reneged and passed the airbag legislation anyway. Politics is a lovely business in our country, isn't it?

Is it safer to wear a seatbelt? Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. I've seen some contradictory research on that matter. As you know, statistics can be made to tell whatever tale the teller wants told. But if you believe wearing a seatbelt is safer, by all means do so! And if you believe eating a low fat diet is healthier, then go right ahead! But don't pass a law that says the government can write me a ticket if I choose to accept the risk of a heart attack and eat Big Macs. It's probably safer not to jump out of airplanes, but I don't see the government making it illegal to go skydiving!

Everyone has heard the statistics about how much safer it is to wear a seatbelt and we've all seen the poor crash test dummies getting whacked around in those crash simulations. But we've never seen a simulation in which the car catches on fire and the crash test dummy is forced to burn to death because he is unable to escape the seatbelt. We've never seen a crash test dummy forced to watch her child burn, crying and screaming in terror, because she can't get to him to get the seatbelt off. We've never seen a crash test dummy seatbelted in, when the car is flipped over and submerged in water, disorienting the dummy and preventing him from releasing the seatbelt before he loses consciousness and drowns.

I believe each individual should have the right to choose which risk is acceptable. For me, having a wreck and depending on the airbag for protection is an acceptable risk, but being strapped to a burning or sinking car is not an acceptable risk. I don't understand why we have given the government the right to force me to take one risk in order to protect me from the other.

Did you know that drivers and passengers in emergency vehicles are exempt from the seatbelt law and for this reason, police officers are exempt? Did you know that 95% of police officers choose not to wear a seatbelt? (I'm quoting that statistic from memory, and I can't find the reference now. Please, if you have it, feel free to correct me.) The most common reasons given are 1) fear of being trapped in the vehicle, as described above; and 2) need for quick escape and ease of maneuverability. Interesting that these police officers can make those kinds of choices for themselves while giving the rest of us tickets when we try to make those same choices.

Primary enforcement means that police officers can pull you over and write you a ticket for no other reason than your failure to wear the Belt of Death and Terror. To me, at best, this hypocrisy is bad karma and at worst, harassment. It doesn't take a genius to figure out these seatbelt tickets are paying their salaries.

What if, all of a sudden, every driver on the road decided to start obeying all the traffic laws and there were no offenses for which the police could write tickets? Why, that would be a happy day for law enforcement, wouldn't it? After all, that is their goal, to get everyone to obey the laws, isn't it? It would mean a reduction in the police force by at least a third, and I'm sure those police officers would understand and consider it a worthwhile sacrifice, giving up their jobs, having safer roads and so many lives saved.

Right….what would happen is, among other things, the speed limits would then be reduced to artificially low numbers, as I'm sure you have found to be the case in neighborhoods you are familiar with, am I right? They will get citation revenue from us one way or another and it has nothing to do with safer roads or saving lives.

Let’s learn a lesson from the Bikers and repeal those seatbelt laws, folks! They are an outrageous infringement on our personal freedom and an insult to our intelligence. After all, if we all have good enough sense to make choices each day for our own health and safety, do we need the law to do it for us?

Smells Like Fish

..

"This is why many Japanese people's feet smell of vinegar."

I found the path of Enlightenment years ago, when first my friend Sissy and then my buddy Guy began hounding me to try sushi. Raw fish. Sliced up and balanced on a sticky wad of rice, and wrapped up with a strip of seaweed. Oh my, yum. Sounds delicious, doesn’t it? How did I resist for so long?

It is, in fact, a gradual addiction. The first time I tried it, with that adventurous spirit of “oh heck, how bad can it be?” I came away with a distinct “yeah, whatever” impression. I was not yet hooked. Even after subsequent sushi experiences, I still maintained a take-or-leave-it attitude toward the Sushi. It was not yet my Ultimate Satisfaction and Reason for Living on This Earth.

But gradually, the Sushi did take hold of me.

For some reason, sushi lovers do enjoy spreading their addiction around to all their friends. Sissy and Guy did it with me, and soon I had my frequent lunch companion Mr. Steve suggesting sushi for our lunch dates after I turned him onto the treat. I am in the process of introducing sweet Rosanna to the joys of raw fish as well, and she's a bit more of a challenge.

When Rosanna and I worked together, we would often go out for lunch so that I could grumble and groan with her about the Relentless Tease and she could mumble and moan about her own Lord Byron. No matter how much I wheedled and begged, she would not set foot in a sushi place. Finally my opportunity came when she took me to lunch on my birthday, giving me the right, of course, to choose where we’d go, and it should be no surprise that I chose Nagoya, a popular sushi/hibachi joint near our office. She was so freaked out at even being IN the place that she immediately called Lord Byron and told him, “You’ll never guess where I am right now…” She ate a delicious combination hibachi lunch while I gorged myself shamelessly on eel, white tuna, salmon and Philadelphia rolls. I could not get her to try even a nibble.

But I did get her to go back there with me again, and she did try one small crab roll at the end of our lunch. She pronounced it, “not that bad.” The next time, I got her to eat a small piece of eel. She picked up her phone and immediately shared the news with her husband: “Oh my god, baby, I just ate EEL!!!”

Just wait. She’s coming over to the sushi side, I can feel it. Soon she will be as addicted as I, then we shall spend many happy hours rolling around in raw fish, ginger, rice and wasabi, pouring soy sauce decadently upon our naked flesh with wild abandon.

My sister is coming next week to stay with me while I go through all my household possessions and decide what to let her keep for me. It’s funny, I immediately wondered if I’d have the opportunity to drag her out to eat sushi with me, see if I can get the beginnings of her addiction well underway too.