Shopping Tips and Guidance by Mandy Claire

Day One of the stomach flu, I pretty much stayed on the couch watching t.v. After a day of that, having a job seemed like a great big blessing.

Day Two, I felt better. So I grabbed the Netbook and started messing around.

"The Gods Are Bored" is such a fabulous intellectual property that I thought I'd better secure its name elsewhere. So I fumbled through Tumblr and made one for "The Gods Are Bored." If you have a Tumblr, come and follow me! I'll be posting different stuff there from here ... but this blog will still be your central clearinghouse for all things bored god.

Day Three, it's cold as can be outside, but I took a minute to mess around with the camera in this Netbook. Voila! Here's my Shrine of the Mists, lieblings!
Okay, okay. It's not quite focused. Neither am I.

Most of the rocks on this shrine are from my former farm. I brought a few at a time every time I visited over the last 18 months. There's some Marcellus shale and some brachiopod fossils. Around the flat stone are landscaping pebbles, Marcellus shale,  sea glass, quartz crystals, marbles, various weird stones I've found, sea shells, and leaves from the surrounding trees. At night I put a single candle on the flat stone and shield it with a hurricane globe, but only if meteorological conditions are right. This is the place where I "All Hail" the very most ancient deities whose names have been lost to time.

Some nights I speak to the Green Man here. I have learned to be very careful what I say.

I went back and forth philosophically over whether to post pictures of my shrine, since it is such a personal thing. However, I have had many people ask me how to make one, and what it should look like. Well, here's what it looks like, and if I get enough comments, I'll write a post about how it was made.

Trust me, you can do this. I only worked as a stone mason for part of one summer. And that was a long, long time ago.

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," old friends and new! If you're just happening on this little love fest, please be forewarned: 'Tis not necessarily the season to be jolly around here. This is New Jersey. It gets dark at 4:30, and people's hands rest perpetually on the horns of their cars, pressing violently as needed. Fa la la HONK HONK! Humbug.

We had some road work done in Snobville this summer, and they lopped a little bit of land off the public library property. Our borough Xmas tree is now closer to the street.

Today, when I drove past, I noticed that someone had erected a nativity scene under the tree. Not far away there was a menorah, wishing everyone a Happy Hanukkah.

It was the same last year, but the displays were not so close to the street. And somehow it didn't bother me, because, after all, the tree itself is Pagan.

This year it bothers me.

Snobville has a Jewish population but no synagogue. Snobville has a charming Baptist church on Main Street with a huge nativity scene. Do we absolutely, positively need religious symbols on public property? No one asked the Garden State Pagan Alliance for a holiday sign. I would make one, but I suck at art.

Time for Plan B.

I've got 500 little pocket-sized copies of the U.S. Constitution. Tomorrow a dozen of them are going into the nativity scene, all propped open at the First Amendment. Over the protests of the Spare, one will also be posted at the base of the menorah.

I have no objection whatsoever to religious-themed displays on religious or private properties. But my taxes pay for the library, and I don't see a Pentagram on the grounds.

There have been highly-publicized fights about this in other towns of every size. I don't prefer to exercise my snit in a big public forum. It's so much easier to give Baby Jesus a little light reading to brighten his stay in the manger.

If you need some copies of the Constitution for your own community, contact me, email me your address, and I'll get some off to you. I'd have given you more notice, but the nativity scene just went up in Snobville -- so I can't promise delivery by December 25.

But I will deliver.

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Wake up, all of you zombies! Festival in the air!

The final full moon of the calendar year is/was upon us, shining vibrantly in the sky. What better time to put an old year to bed and start thinking about 2012, Apocalypse Now?

Ah, forget the Apocalypse. Some little species always survives ... and life goes on.

Do you ever have one of those days when there are two "must-not-miss" events on your calendar? Saturday was one of those days for me. At noon: my very first ever Mummers rehearsal. At dark: The fabulous Firebird Festival in Phoenixville, PA! And only 40 miles of busy freeway between the two!

I'm a ham at heart, and so I have always watched Philly's Mummers Parade from the comfort of my recliner with a little bit of yearning. The parade is eight hours long, held at the coldest season of the year. And yet, the people in it seem to be having so much fun! How long was I going to sit out on this spectacle? Well, I've done just that for 25 years. But now I'm off the recliner, shopping for Under-Armor and gold paint for my run-down walking shoes!

I joined a comic brigade. Our first of two rehearsals was Saturday. And I must say that everyone there made me feel right at home. Mumming is a very proud tradition in these parts, and it just happened that the closest brigade to my house is a big one that has finished in the top ten every year for a decade. The rehearsal was fun and well-run, the routine is a hoot, and the 20 little kids will send it over the top in cuteness. I can't say any more now, because I don't want to give our secrets away to the opposing brigades. I'll get you a YouTube on January 2.

After practice ended, I drove over to Phoenixville. Given the town's name, it's not surprising that they would have a Firebird Festival. But what is surprising about the thing is how they don't do much at all to minimize the Pagan undertones. It is held close to the Solstice, and the crowning event of the evening is the immolation of a huge wooden bird-shaped structure, with Native American drummers and fire-dancers creating the build-up atmosphere. Many of the children were carrying long wands with a fancy bird on the top.

The object of the Firebird Festival is to send the old year out in a blaze and to begin a new one with renewed intent. For a small donation, you can write a wish on a slip of paper that gets put into a box. Just before they light the firebird, they put the box inside. Your wish goes up into the sky on a bright tongue of flame, to your deity of choice! Since I have so many to choose from, the sky must have been cluttered with happy bored gods!

I don't know how many little towns would set a bonfire so big you can see it two miles away, with minimal firefighting presence and maximum crowds of people. All I know is that the phoenix must have had some big-time accelerant in it, because with one touch of the torch it started to flame in dramatic fashion. By that time the somber Native American drum circle had become a lively multi-cultural drum event of epic proportions.

You go, Phoenixville! This was a blast with a big ol' B.

Holiday preparations are under way, so it might be a light week here at "The Gods Are Bored."  If you come here, and you've already read my drivel, check out the great bloggers in my sidebar! Not a dud among 'em.

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Enough with the Mummers already, that's local talk. The veil grows thin, the faeries romp, and it's time to turn our thoughts to Samhein! Have you kissed your First Amendment today? The government can't legislate away our bored gods. So might it always be.


This lovely artwork is part of a series of pin-ups by Gil Elvren. Wowsa. I like it!

It's time to revise our definition of Witch to include "sexy."

One of the appeals of Paganism, in my modest view, is how little it asks of you in the way of attire. How few strictures it places upon you in matters of the flesh, so long as you're not harming anyone when you strut your stuff. (*mmm* strutting *mmm* Mummers ...)

Okay, where was I? Back on topic here!

This picture does not offend me in any way. In fact, I find it delightful. I enjoy the fact that my religion attracts people who like to dress ... oh, slightly more modest than this, maybe. Maybe less modest, if you include the festivals. And if you consider nudity immodest, then ahem. What are you doing at "The Gods Are Bored?" Go tour Amish country on a bus!

With the advent of sensible family planning, the only curb I can see to rampant flesh-press is that you must be mindful that sex and love often co-mingle. As well they should. The bored gods set up the sex and love thing back in the day, before the pill and the condom. But bored gods, unlike busy ones, are more flexible when it comes to modernization of their praise and worship teams. Go to town, you sexy witches! Queen Danu approves!

It's not a bad thing to want to be attractive, sexy, seductive. Dress the part! All acts of love and pleasure are divine ... so long as no one gets hurt and the furniture remains stain-free. (The latter can be accomplished by using the great outdoors or your nice no-wrinkle cotton percale sheets.)

As we occupy Wall Street, let us also take back the Right To Have Fun. Enjoy yourself! Your body is a temple, and one of the best rooms is you-know-where.

I'm Anne Johnson, and I approve this message.

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Are you wondering what union-bashing and a killer earthquake/tsunami have in common? Well, read on -- and please pardon the typos, I don't have my computer glasses on.

When people wonder why the very wealthiest people everywhere are squirreling away their money and are not willing to part with it through taxes, they're overlooking the obvious. Within about 20 years, a very wealthy person will be able to live indefinitely.

Advances in cell biology and robotics are bringing us closer and closer to fabulous longevity. Not just some geezer living to be 100. A vibrant, young, healthy 200-year-old, spending an afternoon on the links after a morning jog and a fling with his mistress.

Wealthy people will soon be able to cheat death. And when you're planning to live 400 years, you don't want to be paying the doctor bills for someone who's only going to suck up the planet's resources and then die anyway.

Oh, brave new world! Am I the only one who sees this as the end game?

The one great leveler of the playing field is death. Once death can be conquered, the rich will truly be different from you and me.

This is when Gaia will step in and keep that playing field level.

Our planet is restless. Its landmasses float around on a liquid mantle, crashing and crushing against each other, causing volcanoes and earthquakes. Outer space is loaded with debris that can and will fall from the sky. And that fickle star from which we draw all life could get a bit stormy and short out the whole planet's power grid. Yes, I read this on Yahoo ... It's a worst case scenario, but it could happen.

If the power grid fails for even a few days, the playing field will be leveled in a snap. Just ask hurricane (or earthquake) victims what happens at night when there's no electricity. Now imagine it being that way for weeks.

My message to Joe "The Plumber" Billionaire is this: Go ahead and seek physical immortality. You may just live to see the most dreadful geological event in human history. Ah, what fun! May you be on your 89th visit to Yellowstone when it blows. You'll be just as dead as the worker who can't get cancer treatments, the one whose health insurance got reduced while you never saw a tax increase.

Joe, you cannot cheat the Reaper. On Planet Earth, even the king must die.

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," on Imbolc 2011! Blessed be the Goddess who presides over our homes and hearths, the Goddess who sparks our creativity and who bathes us with Her warmth! It was She who spread her cape over the world to rid it of evil creatures and make way for humankind. Don't believe me? Walk outside tomorrow morning, and you will find threads of that cape sparkling on the ground.

There's no "written-in-stone" scripture to tell us how to praise and worship on Imbolc, the holy day of Queen Brighid the Bright. I see this as an opportunity. We at "The Gods Are Bored" are not dedicated to any sort of liturgy that can't evolve with changing circumstances.

That being said, here are my tips for those of you who want to celebrate this sacred day.

1. It's against our green intentions, but just for this one night, turn on every light in your house. Have your whole home blazing in electric glory. This will emphasize to you the blessings Queen Brighid has visited upon you, to provide you with a warm home that beats back the cold and gloom.

2. Be mindful of the popular traditions. Groundhog Day? You're kidding me, right? Isn't that disrespectful of Queen Brighid? Pish tosh! Imbolc symbolizes the crushing of winter by the first vestiges of spring. In our modern times, this is played out by a fat rodent held up for cameras. So what? Either way we have only six more weeks of cold weather, and then spring arrives! Embrace your inner groundhog.

3. Do you go to work? Ah, yes. Anne's personal dilemma. After all, the only authentic holy days on the Celtic calendar are August 1, October 31, May 1, and February 2. Can you imagine our nation's Christians going about their daily toil on Good Friday? Well, the truth of the matter is that many of them do, and they aren't struck by lightning. And their god is big on lightning strikes, so I hear. So if our nation's workers can shuffle in and punch the time clock on Good Friday, then we who hold Queen Brighid dear can take joy in our toil and work on Imbolc ... just not very hard, and leave early if you can.

4. Do you want to honor Queen Brighid in a way that will touch her heart? Build a fire, write a poem, bake a cake for your kids, light a candle against this dreadful winter chill. Make some resolutions and have Her bind you to them. Reach down and touch the earth. Find the softness of Her mantle through the week-old snowdrifts. Know in your heart that when the Sun warms the Earth, you will either be here to feel the change ... or with Her in the Summerlands.

5. Laugh. Always laugh. If you can't chuckle, chortle, guffaw, snort, or snicker, get a coach and work on it until you can roar! Delete all mental files having to do with self-pity and guilt. Back up the files that empower you to see the humor in everything that harms no one. If you are worried about politics at this time, just remember that Queen Brighid has seen it all and survived every last bit of it. Tra la la! Laugh!

6. Pour exactly 8 ounces of wine outside for the faeries. Neither pour thou 6 ounces nor 9. Eight thou must pour. And then slap down a nice piece of high-end dark chocolate. Voila! You've pleased the faeries and also satisfied your inner Monty Python. Win win.

More free advice from "The Gods Are Bored!" How can we give this away? I don't know, it's dumb luck so far. Or the work of Queen Brighid the Bright. We prefer to consider the latter. Helps us sleep at night.

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we do not believe in segregated water fountains! But think about it for a minute. Our holidays in this nation (so long as working people will be allowed holidays) mostly revolve around the Christian calendar.

For a Pagan, this can be a hassle.

Last school year, my district had about four snow days. Those days had to be made up in June. By the time we got out of school, it was almost the Fourth of July.

This year, any snow days we accrue will be taken off the calendar during our much-ballyhooed Spring Break, beginning with Friday and proceeding backwards through the week.

Having grown up in farm country, I never had a Spring Break until my college years. And school never lasted beyond the 8th of June. Often it was finished by Memorial Day.

Spring Break in my district begins on Good Friday and lasts all through the following week. Ah, and here's the rub. The Friday after Good Friday, April 29, is the first day of the Glen Rock Fairie Festival ... which is already in the planning stages.

School districts far and wide frown upon, and often don't grant, personal days that dovetail with holidays. So, if we get even one snow day this year, I will be scheduled to come in and placed in a very delicate situation if I request a personal day for religious purposes.

(None of this would matter if I had tenure, but Governor Fat Ass Christie is trying to see to it that I never get tenure. Me and every other poor soul who had the bad fortune to begin teaching during his blighted administration.)

Before you tell me to demand my Pagan rights, there are a few mitigating factors. First, the Fairie Festival is not strictly a religious event. In fact, the Rituals have been structured so as to remove any affiliation with any particular Path. Second, the day I would be requesting is April 29, and not May 1, which is a Sunday and which is on the sanctioned list of holy days (students only can stay home without taking an attendance hit, not teachers).

I'm sure those of you visiting here for my Druid take on life will feel my frustration. I'll sit home, or hit the laundromat, on Good Friday. I'll sit home on Easter, drowning my sorrows in Peeps. And I'll have to miss a whole day of the Fairie Festival if we get one snow day.

Now, think about this. If 700 students have a whole week off and are told they have to come to school for one day on Friday, how many of them do you think will show? We had Three Kings Day this week. More than 300 kids stayed home. And that wasn't a Friday at the end of a vacation week.

One snow day, and I'll find myself sitting in an empty school building with a handful of kids vying for perfect attendance, while the Fairie Festival commences with a Ritual that I have supplied.

It's snowing here today, with more snow forecast for Tuesday. Due to the nature of my school district, we're often among the first to cancel for the elements. I therefore think it beyond any petition to the bored gods to so arrange the weather that we have no snow days this school year.

Instead, tonight's Shrine of the Mist petition will go to the bored deities of the Siberian steppes. Bring on the white stuff! Lots and lots of it! Lop all the days off Spring Break, not just Friday! Thursday, Wednesday, Tuesday! Can I get two blizzards here?

Heck, if we have to work Wednesday and Thursday, then I could take off Friday with no hassle!

I think I will put in for the personal day anyway, mindful that the moment I get tenure, I will never work on May 1 or October 31 ever again.

The wren, the wren, the king of the birds,
On Stephen's Day was caught in furze;
Up with the kettle and down with the pan,
And give us some money to bury the wren."

 Before anyone gives me sass about the cruelty of killing a wren, I say to you: Wrens, doves, goats, people ... we live in the 21st century now, and few cultures kill living things for their deities. Religions -- all of them -- change with the times, some more quickly than others.


Wren Day marks the return of light and the expectation of spring. This is ironic here today in New Jersey. Our first winter storm has begun, and it is my aim to save wrens, not sacrifice them. Off to the store for bird seed!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Stare at the sky? Why? Because it's there!

Tonight, smack dab on Solstice, there will be a total lunar eclipse. The bored gods have arranged this unusual celestial event to recognize the hard work of Pagans everywhere, toward the goal of re-establishing Divinity in all its fantastic pluralism.

And so, my friends, arise tonight in the darkest hours, wrap yourself in warm blankets, and behold a gift from Those Who Would Be Re-established!

Smile, Luna. All eyes are on You tonight. Blessed be Luna, now and forever.

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," discoursing occasionally on Pagan topics, but otherwise just fluff and frizz. I'm Anne Johnson, your host. My Pagan name is Peace Eagle. Jot it down so you don't forget!

Do you believe in reincarnation? I never did, for a long time. The older I get, though, the more plausible it seems.

I'll tell you why it's making more sense to me.

You'd never know it to see my wrinkle-free face and my girlish figure, but I'm now officially a Crone. Since becoming a Crone, I have had the strange notion that I have lived previous lives but never came this far before. The age I am now is so "new" to me. It's as if I don't recognize myself because I'm covering ground I've never been over before.

Oh yes, the skeptic would say this is because I'm now teaching school instead of writing books. New profession brings a feeling of oddity. Of course that could be part of it. But many times lately, I've experienced something annoying that would have, in my earlier years, sent me into a big blue funk.

Take, for instance, my recent (negative) teacher evaluation by our newly-hired department chairman. I'm not tenured, and this dude seems intent on seeing it stays that way. Even as recently as a year ago I would have been all upset, convinced that I would be out of a job, living on the lawn of my foreclosed house, dying of strep throat because I don't have insurance. Now, on this very day, all I can do is smile. Why don't I care anymore? Where has this calm come from that has enveloped me?

Know what I think? I think that in a past life I must have been in agony on my deathbed at this age. Something has shifted. I feel wise and whole, and every pain-free step I take is a blessing. (Some of you might recall that I have a titanium hip, so I have been through some health stuff.)

This coming Saturday is South Jersey Pagan Pride Day, and I intend to celebrate my entree into the Cailleach years.

Guess what else? Next Wednesday I'm going out to dinner with ... Mr. Bigwand and his wife!

See? I told you something has changed.

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," mixing magick, mayhem, and mirth since 2005! I'm your host, Anne Johnson, author of The Porpoise Driven Life. Everything you would want to know about my attempts to build a theme park for dolphins that would feature humans tap-dancing for cheeseburgers.

It only takes a handful of evildoers to stir up a very caustic black magick spell. That's exactly what Fred Phelps and his band of dirty demons of the Westboro Baptist Church are doing, even though he would argue vigorously to the contrary. It's certainly not novel to suggest that a deity is behind the death of soldiers, but the idea that the deity is letting the soldiers die because certain fellow citizens are homosexual ... Mmmm. Well, let's just say I'm glad it's the busy god who's taking the heat for these haters, and not some poor bored god already down on His or Her luck.

But we all know the Threefold Law, right? Fred Phelps, meet the counter spell of goodness that you have wrought!

It's probably been five or six years now since the Patriot Guard was formed, and a little less since the Warrior Watch started. These two groups are composed primarily of Vietnam vets, along with anyone else who likes to wave the American flag while driving a Harley. The Patriot Guard and the Warrior Watch both attend military funerals to keep a human barrier between grieving families and the Westboro demons. One look at these men and women is enough to know you wouldn't want to get on their bad side for any reason, let alone for disrespecting a fallen soldier.

Monday I saw these groups in action for the first time.

It's hard for me to imagine that Vietnam veterans are starting to die from the illnesses that take us in late middle age. One of my co-workers lost her husband to cancer. He was a Marine during the Vietnam War. The Patriot Guard/Warrior Watch showed up at his viewing, funeral, and burial.

I went to the viewing, but I was doggoned if I was going to sit through a funeral Mass. Thus I found myself outside the church, observing the Patriot Guard as they prepared to escort the deceased to his final resting place. It turned out I knew one of the guys. He's the yearbook photographer at my school. We started up a conversation while the tough-looking PC/WW dudes set up their honor guard.

I said, "What a world, that we've come to this. People can't even grieve their loved ones without protection from lunatics."

This is what the Patriot Guard member said in reply:

"You know what? It's actually a good thing. So many of these guys say it's healing for them to perform this service. They've bonded with each other, and they know they're doing a good thing. And it helps to blunt their own leftover pain."

And thus the vorpal blade goes snicker-snack ... and black magick begets healing! What an amazing counter spell! You don't have to be a Pagan to see the alchemy in this. Especially if you're the same age as me, and you can remember how those Vietnam vets were treated when they came back from that savage war.

Reader, you should have seen that funeral procession. It was headed by four dozen Patriot riders, all of them flying large American flags from their motorcycles. From the distance they looked like a mad dance of red and white ribbons atop a float of shiny chrome.

I'm not one to wave the American flag with mad passion, but for some people the act of doing it restores their souls. Forget the politics of the Vietnam War ... the guys doing the grunt work couldn't change it any more than the poor souls on patrol in Afghanistan. What's happening now is that former soldiers are protecting their own from haters. To me this is a righteous thing, a holy thing, a sowing of goodness to offset evil.

As I left the cemetery, some of the Patriot Guard were leaving as well. I saw one grizzled dude turn to another and say, "Well, see you next time."

So mote it be.

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," home page of Anne Johnson, She Who Believes in Everything! Don't believe me? Put it to the test! I don't even snicker when I drive through East Baltimore and see the window shrines to Elvis. Someone is drawing solace from meditating on a King, looking at his picture, and lighting candles to him. To me this is a sacred thing, and who am I to belittle it?

There's been some talk over at The Wild Hunt about having a Pagan Coming Out Day, where presumably anyone who considers themselves Pagan would openly declare their path to family, friends, and -- ulp -- workplace colleagues.

When I told my sister I had become a Druid, she asked if that meant I was going to slaughter kittens in a pentagram.

See? That could have snapped our relationship right there if I hadn't bitten my cheek and dug deep for the big, broad, flexible outlook.

Now we're down the road a few years, and Sis has come to a few faerie festivals. She calls herself a "Pagan Christian." I'm not sure what that means, exactly, but I do know that Sis has been more reflective on the people around her at her fundie church and has rejected their "legalistic" agenda. She has friended some of my Druid Grove members on Facebook. So I think "coming out" to Sis did help her to begin to question all those answers she was getting on "Focus on the Family."

But soft! What exactly does it mean to "come out" as a Pagan in the workplace?

My workplace is a public school. If my students were ever to ask my religion, I would evoke the First Amendment. I'm not Wiccan, so wearing a Pentagram is not an issue. I wear a wooden acorn on a hemp string at least twice a week, and my students sometimes ask me, "Why do you wear that acorn all the time?" I tell them I like trees. Which is true.

The reality at my particular school is that a great many of my students are Roman Catholic, and some of the rest are Evangelical Christian, with a smattering of Jehovah's Witnesses. Not only can I not "come out" to these kids, I have to be especially vigilant not to let it slip that I'm a Pagan. Do I need to sit here and tell you why it wouldn't work for me to be open about my Path? Because just now I have a workshop to attend, and I need to take a shower, and if you want more explanation you'll have to ask for it.

Having had extremely mixed results when I tell people I'm a Druid, I will go on record as not being supportive of a "coming out" movement. For Pagans, not for gays. The difference between Pagan and gay is that you choose to be Pagan. And as for closeted gays, I can totally see their point too.

Everyone's comfort level is different when it comes to discussing religion. My personal comfort level has declined over the past year, after I confided in a few teachers who I thought were friends, only to see them shun me and make snide comments about my apparel and behavior.

Remember that our U.S.Constitution gives you the right to worship in any way you please (or not at all) and does not demand that you reveal how you worship, to authorities, friends, or family. This, to my way of thinking, should be a personal decision on your part. The only pressure you feel to "come out" should come from within. Let your conscience be your guide.