Shopping Tips and Guidance by Mandy Claire

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," daily delivery of delightful deities! I'm your host, Anne Johnson. Anne Johnson is my real name. When I was in high school, my best friend was Lisa Jones. Which proves that my mom wasn't the only woman with no imagination.

I'm getting a feeling that I have two or three new readers. So, as we enter Holy Buzzard Week, now is a good time to re-hash what we at "The Gods Are Bored" are all about.

My name is Anne Johnson (see above).

In 2005 I read a newspaper article about a woman who got all her vet bills paid by readers of her blog. I thought to myself, "Well, I don't have a dog, but you never know. I might some day get a dog. Better fire up a blog, because vets are expensive."

I still don't have a dog. So, why do I blog?

It's simple, really. It all comes down to jealousy.

In the Bible, God admits he's jealous. He tells his followers not to have any other deities but Him. All right, so that just proves there are other deities. How many of these deities are sitting around watching the sweep hand on a clock with absolutely nothing to do because God cornered the praise and worship market?

Usually this is the place in this sermon where I go into a riff about Gods and Goddesses selling knockoff Prada bags from kiosks in Manhattan. They're immortal, after all. They  have to do something! Instead, today, I'm going to take this into a more serious track.

If your ancient ancestors lived anywhere but the Middle East, chances are that you don't hearken back to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. If these three men lived at all (and there is some lively debate on that issue, particularly in the case of Abraham), they were leaders of a Semitic tribe located along the eastern Mediterranean. Where were your ancestors in those days? Did they herd for Isaac? Where did they fish -- the Sea of Galilee or the English Channel?

Well, you say. What difference does it make if my ancestors lived in Ireland, or Norway, or the Smoky Mountains in the days of yore? I'm here to tell you. Just as if you put your ear to a seashell to hear the ocean roar, so should you put your ear to your soul to hear the voices of the gods. Your ancestors' gods, not someone else's ancestor's gods. There's been no end of boredom dealt out to deities in the name of religious "progress."

 Fact of the matter is, for quite some time I've wondered what exactly about Yahweh is superior to any other deity, and if He is superior, then why is He jealous? Is the prettiest cheerleader in the high school jealous of the nerdy, pimpled, unpopular girl? What does this perpetually busy and popular God have to fear from the other Immortals out there?

When I first began "The Gods Are Bored," I meant for it to be a place where people would be encouraged to do two things:

1. Use ancient ancestry as a road map to discovery of holiness, and

2. Pay reverent attention to all deities whose aims are true.

Of course, what I've wound up writing about over the past four years is vastly more important stuff like supersized flatware, mending upholstery, rat finks, night school, politics, kittens, and ... drum roll ... buzzards, buzzards, buzzards! You might say I'm off topic more often than I'm on topic.

Truth be told, it didn't take me long to realize that a web log is the perfect place to battle the blues with laughter. By the time someone asked me to synchroblog photographs of my house, and I Google Imaged "trailer park," "landfill," "velvet Elvis painting" and "outhouse," I knew I had found a silly soapbox, not a serious one.

I'm totally human, with all the problems the human race dishes out. I've just decided that my work here at "The Gods Are Bored" will not be to pick away at heartache with tweezers ... not to devote my energies to one particular praise and worship team ... not to hang my dirty linen out to dry ... but to shake my fist at my troubles and laugh! Laugh!

In other words, let the world crumble around me. I'll still sit here and write about upholstery, rat finks, and vultures. With an eye to making us all laugh. Laughter is the best medicine, and I, Dr. Anne Johnson, prescribe it in copious quantities! Pay at the register. This pharmacy is never closed.

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored" on International Rat Fink Day!

All right, I have no authority to declare International Rat Fink Day. Guilty as charged. I own a few late models. My sis has some vintage ones. But we're certainly not Grand Wazoos in the Ed "Big Daddy" Roth cult of the wicked hot rod. If you've never looked at original Rat Fink artwork, and you're contemplating worship of some excessively elaborate bored deity, you can check out this site or this one. And if those links work, no Fink is a jerk!

Here are some requested photos of my sister's Rat Finks doing the electric slide. And classically swilling a little too much Fink champagne, thereby going into a funk.

Wednesday was one of the hardest work days of my entire life. I hadn't had such a tough gig since 1999. During the school day I had four teachers, a consultant, and my department supervisor in my 7th period class. They had come in to watch me ask 17 kids under the age of 17 to sit absolutely still and not move a muscle for five minutes. (It was to experience what complete muscular disability would be like.) My department supervisor was not supposed to be there -- this was supposed to be a teacher-watching-teacher opportunity. But the supervisor came, not in an official capacity, mind you ......

Hey. Supervisors have to supervise. They've got to grade something, they're all ex-teachers!

I took a huge chance with my students. They could have crucified me. I even told them, the day before, that this was their chance to hang me out to dry if they hated me.

They don't hate me. They sailed right through the lesson, saying and doing all the right things. The objective of the lesson was to interest them in reading a slight piece of fiction called Stuck in Neutral. By the end of the class, they were fairly drooling over the book and vowing to read it in one sitting (which is entirely possible, it's only 114 pages long).

After being observed, I was "debriefed" by the teachers, consultant, and supervisor. They liked the lesson. The veteran teachers noted that they would never have attempted something like that with their students. (I didn't attempt it either with my other sophomore classes. You've gotta know when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em.)

After that hurdle, I had to go to (key audio, "Stooge Sounds") night school, for another lengthy lecture by Mr. Bigwand. At least this time he didn't exhort a bunch of penniless teachers of penniless students to travel the globe. But he did repeat all his other mantras. They're too numerous to mention. Actually I would mention them if I could remember them, but at my age you've either learned to tune things out, or you've gone into in-patient psychotherapy.

Murphy's Law being what it is, I also had to do my teaching demonstration that evening. Like I hadn't been on stage enough that day! Oh! The humiliation! There's nothing like trying to give an entertaining lecture on raising foster kittens to a room full of exhausted, stressed, and Bigwand-bored first-year teachers on the far end of their 12-hour day!

Mr. Bigwand rarely says anything mean about his students' silly little game-playing lessons. He liked mine. The class did too -- no, actually they would have said anything to get out of that room and home to their kith and kin. They sprinted for the door the minute Bigwand said, "See you next week for another thrilling story of my adventures in the Coast Guard."

I was packing up my cat carrier and found myself next-to-last to leave the room. Ah. Bigwand cornered me and showered me with delightful anecdotes about his departed kitty. Under any other circumstances, with any other person, I would have loved to hear a few new cat stories. But this is Mr. Bigwand. If you own a cat, he owns a celebrated, highly-intelligent and peerlessly bred cat. If your cat knocked over a vase, his knocked over an entire rack of bar glasses and sat in the shards purring.

The kicker was being unable to get out of the Catholic School parking lot because of all the SUVs and snowdrifts making it impossible to K-turn. Who needs to die to go to hell, I ask you?

Then I came home to all your kind comments. Thank you, my friends! The whole reason I wrote that post was to feel your presence as I marched through a grueling day. You were there with me, every step of the way.

That being the case, you had to go to night school with me. I have to apologize for Mr. Bigwand. You see, he wanted to be a preacher. Instead he became a teacher. Sadly, he's a long-winded creature. Without a redeeming feature.

Back to Rat Finks. You give me a sandbox and a dozen Rat Finks, and I'll show you how to spend an afternoon in an alternate universe without ever hitting a computer key. Forget all about the collectible crap! I'll make them a castle. With a moat!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," planting primroses along Memory Lane since John, Paul, George, and Ringo were Satanic! Honestly, do you really believe that "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" is about a kid's picture?

Tonight, for reasons known only to her, my daughter The Spare hauled out my old Beatles records. I mean records. Those round, black things with grooves in them. Some time ago, Mr. Johnson bought a record player, and Spare got that up and spinning. The music sounds so different!

It sounds like a younger me.

I just love the first songs on "Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band." And my favorite ... possibly my all-time Beatles favorite ... is "With a Little Help from My Friends."

Wow, I'm one unique puppy, eh?

Hearing that song come out of a tinny record player, from the records I spun when I was in college, made me think of all the friends I've had over the years. The tall and the small. The meek and the bold. The jokers and the smokers and the midnight tokers. The ones who walked away, and the ones who stayed.

And you. And you, and you, and you.

I have met wonderful people through this web site. I've gotten comments from people I thought of as heroes (Isaac Bonewits, Rodger Cunningham). I've had drinks with a few of you and met others at the Fairie Festival at Spoutwood. I've learned to love the Dallas Cowboys from you.

I get by with a little help from my friends, with a little help from my friends.

Stay with me, won't you?

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" In this post, we're determined to entertain the bored gods -- and you!

We all know the difference between dogs and cats. Dogs are slaves. Cats have slaves. And you're the slave! Aren't you sick of it? Want to turn the tables?

I, Anne Johnson, can give you a tip that will make your cats sit up and beg. They'll follow you around loyally. Heck, if you use it right, they'll fetch your newspaper and slippers. What I am about to reveal is a food item that turns ordinary house cats into groveling wretches. If you've lived with cats as long as I have, you're really ready to see them humbled.

This is Ninben brand Dried Shaved Bonito. I purchase mine at the convenient Korean grocery store in Cherry Hill, New Jersey.

Dried shaved bonito could better be described as fish flakes. Stinky fish flakes. Korean cooks use them as soup stock, and I can imagine that combined with water and vegetables, dried shaved bonito becomes somewhat more palatable. In the form you see here, however, the stuff smells like a pack of kippers left out too long on a sunny day.

Never mind what Ninben Dried Shaved Bonito smells like. You want your cats to make asses of themselves, don't you? Okay then. Go to the Asian grocery store, purchase a big bag of fish flakes, bring it home, hold your nose, and call Fluffy. She will swoon. Then she'll be your bitch for life. Wherever you take the stinky fish flakes, she will call home.

In this way, my daughter The Spare convinced our cat, Alpha, to be a nightly bed companion. Spare doesn't even need to put out a bowl of fish flakes anymore. Alpha just sits there every night, hoping Spare will deliver.

Don't be fooled by those expensive cans of "Kitty Caviar." You know what that is? Dried bonito flakes! Cheap as all that in any Asian grocery!

Yes, you can make your cat do stupid pet tricks if you offer bonito flakes as a reward. Nothing is too stupid if it leads to fish flakes. Trust me, this treat goes where catnip never can. It turns the proudest animal on the planet into a drooling, fawning toady. And since people don't suck up to us, our cats should. Shouldn't they?

As usual here at "The Gods Are Bored," this handy advice is offered completely free of charge. Are you loving us yet?

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Are you looking for a deity to praise and worship? Our Gods and Goddesses must pass rigorous, continuous, and unscheduled evaluations in which we measure disciple satisfaction and engagement with all sacred practice...

Wait a minute. Scratch that. Sounds like a textbook for teacher training. You need a deity? We'll serve you. Satisfaction guaranteed.

Yesterday the Shrine of the Mists partly emerged from its thick mantle of snow. This evening I re-lit the candle to Cernunnos, the Horned One, guardian of the forests. As luck would have it, the thrift store had one each red, blue, green, and white candle -- it's been too snowy to get to Woodstock Trading Company for Quarters candles. But now I have some, and they are kindled to the Quarters and dedicated to Queen Brighid the Bright, Goddess of the home and hearth.

I also pray peace from the Quarters. Perhaps you've noticed this: Without peace, nothing gets done.

My practice, as I have said before, is very simple. I light candles, I salute the Quarters, I honor Danu and Bile, Brighid and Cernunnos. My only prayer is for peace throughout the world.


I've never accepted the notion that someone -- human or divine -- died to take my sins away. My sins are my own. They are my responsibility. I must work to make myself better and more pleasing to my deities. Just a little "I'm sorry" is not enough.

There's no solid rock under my feet, because even rock crumbles. Sand is nothing but tiny bits of rock. So I move with life and try to do my best not to harm anyone. I don't think that eating a little piece of blessed bread and drinking a little cup of blessed wine is going to cleanse me. For that cleansing I'll need my own scrub brush and a mirror, so I can see what needs to be washed away.

As I light my dusk candles and pray for peace, I'm including in my prayers the inner peace we all need to do our work. Without peace, nothing gets done.

Off I go into another week of my life. I'm led by deities that ask me to consider the value of knowledge, justice, and the love of divine and all goodness.

Goodness! It's my responsibility.What a daunting task! But it must be done. With peace first, so the doing is possible.

My friends, may your deities be lights in your lives. May you be a light to Them, easing Their boredom and giving them cause to rejoice. So might it be.