The Lords and Ladies and Wenches of Misrule

I was in the Mummer's Parade. It was a Saturnalia of the first stripe (at least our portion of the parade was). I felt like I was participating in something ancient, very ancient, a rebellion against rules, and propriety, and decency, and the powers-that-be. The weather was beautiful. I spent more than half the day dancing in the sunlight, surrounded by people who know how to have fun.

The official t.v. camera did not catch our whole act, but in the clip below, if you don't blink, at 19 minutes you'll see a German barmaid in blond braids run past, smiling up a storm. Guess who?

Happy 2012! I don't have to say "Long Live Misrule." It will.

Two street stompers 2012 mummers

Misrule Triumphant

It is without a single jot of humility that I announce that the 2012 Comic Brigade Champion in the Philadelphia Mummers Parade is ... the TWO STREET STOMPERS!

We won.

Philadelphia Mummers Parade Live Stream

Wow, I am not sure this will work, but the Mummers Parade should be live streaming on the channel that broadcasts it to Philadelphia.

The Mummers will be cleansing Philadelphia of the negative energy brought into the city by the Dominionists and their DC40 campaign. In the grandest tradition of the bored gods, we turn everything upside down, break all the rules, and have a wonderful time doing it!

I am a proud member of Two Street, an award-winning Comic brigade. We will be marching second overall ... virtually opening a parade that lasts more than eight hours! Our routine is based on Oktoberfest (another grand festival of misrule). If you see us perform, send me a four-star review! Best viewing time would be between the hours of 10 and 11 a.m. New Year's Day.

If you get the stream later in the afternoon, be prepared. Those string bands you see? Amateurs. Word. You won't believe it either.

Here's the link, but best to copy and paste or Google:

http://www.myphl17.com/ 

 

 

In Which I Paint My Shoes Gold and Change My Life

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," 1702 posts strong! Lord love a fruit fly! The freakin War and Peace of vulture worship on the Web!

Today is a watershed moment in my life.

As I write this, a man from Cumberland, Maryland is driving to Bedford, Pennsylvania to finalize the paperwork and set down the money for my family's property on Polish Mountain. The property from which my great-great-grandfather marched to the Civil War.

The buyer is a nice man who has gone out of his way to let me know that I will always be welcome to "come home." He's not even changing the lock on the door. But part of his relentless protesting about my still being a part of the farm is the tacit understanding we both have that this will not be the case. In our modern culture, a signature on a piece of paper has enormous emotional and temporal significance.

Yesterday I read in the New York Times that the kind of titanium hip replacement I have has serious design flaws, and that these devices are wearing out and jeopardizing the health of many people who have them. Well, my surgeon was honest when he said I would get 20 years out of the hip. I was 49 at the time.

So, what do you do with 15 years of quality life remaining, when you can't go home again because home ain't there anymore, when your lack of ambition has led to epic failure, when your kids are nearly grown and your husband doesn't really need you so much as all that?

First you ground. Center. Breathe. Then you dedicate your life fiercely to the bored Tricksters.

In short, time to stop worrying and learn to love Philadelphia.

And so it was with reverence and a feeling of oneness with the Gods that I took a worn-out but comfortable pair of sneakers into my back yard and spray painted them gold. For most people who do this, it's just another pre-Mummers Parade chore. For me, it's a rite of passage.

On January 1, 2012, I will step out with my possibly bum hip and march in Philadelphia's biggest and longest parade. I will revel with the other participants in the neighborhood that hosts their antics. I am really and truly ringing out the old and ringing in the new.

Now I must go and put anther coat of paint on those shoes. I hope they will be just as comfortable now as they were when I used them to walk the land. Look for me in the Two Street Stompers New Year Brigade. At home with Loki and the ghost of Benjamin Franklin.

Buzzard Blogging, for a Change

Welcome, brothers and sisters, to the Church of the Bountiful Buzzards! I'm Pastor Annie, priestess of the putrid since 1975! Wing it! The sky's the limit!

With wind speeds in excess of 40 miles per hour today, the time seemed right for a little worship of the Holy Sacred Thunderbird, Golden Purifier, a.k.a. buzzard. So I took my little Dodge, and my daughter The Heir, and we went to Wenonah to praise and worship. (Well, I praised and worshiped. Heir just went along for the ride.)

Wenonah is the winter residence for a huge flock of turkey and black vultures. They scour the countryside during the daylight hours and then return to Wenonah's mature pines to roost. There are easily 200 birds in this cohort. Maybe more.

It's funny how you don't see a buzzard for miles around, but the minute you pull up in Wenonah, they are chock-a-block everywhere. Today they were positively playing in the wind. Figure it out. If the wind is gusting at 40, and a bird is flying with the wind, how fast is that bird going? Those buzzards looked like they were having fun. All hail!

When Heir and I left, most of the flock had settled into the pines, where they pack themselves in tightly. (I haven't figured out yet how I can persuade Mr. J to move to Wenonah, but I want to do it.) I said a prayer to them, to make me healthy, wealthy, beautiful, and carefree. And like anyone else who prays, I expect them to deliver.

Now, secure in the vigilant care of the Holy Sacred Thunderbird, I'm going downstairs to read a front page New York Times story about faulty hip replacements, courtesy of the company that supplied the one inside me. But I have no fear. I'll carry on until I'm carrion ... and then, home to the vultures I go.

Putting the Hollandaise in the Holidays

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Right on time for the holiday break, my computer has sprung a leak and won't hold content. So this post is being done on the fly at school, and I don't know when I'll be able to post again. Maybe from the public library/church in my borough.

Update on the First Amendment: The menorah that I thought had been taken down out of a sense of reason was, in fact, stolen in the deep recesses of the night. Police are baffled. Durrrrhhhh. A five-foot aluminum menorah? Have they checked the prices being paid for scrap metal lately?

Apparently, as predicted, many citizens of Snobville (particularly at the high school) are weighing in against the religious displays on public property. The Snobville Weekly Tattler reports that the displays were done after permits were issued to Hay-bad (not the proper spelling, this is the Jewish group, they are very conservative) and a society called Citizens for Keeping Christ in Christmas. According to our lovely mayor, such permits are legal because they can be issued to any religious group.

Promptly and efficiently, I applied for a permit on behalf of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. (I can't copy the text of the email here. School computers have so much security on them they could double for CIA.) I described the beautiful holiday display the Church would do, using suitable pasta products, a Santa hat, and a sign that reads "Seasoning Is the Reason for the Season." I linked to the FSM home page and warned that failure to issue this nonprofit organization a permit would be deemed religious discrimination.

Readers, you know I'll do it. Given the sentiment at the high school, I'll have plenty of creative help.

Spare was the one who coined the phrase "Putting the Hollandaise in the Holidays." I think that is so beautiful! Won't that be inspirational on a waterproof sign?

To close -- for how long I don't know -- I would just like to say that I don't want to put up a Druid symbol on public land. I don't want any symbols on public land. Xmas trees are universal; to me, they don't really have a religious affiliation anymore. Even my school has one in the lobby.

Religious displays belong on religious property. Which is why you see so few for Druids and Wiccans. Where would we leave stuff? We worship in the woods.

A blessed Yule to all, especially the Flying Spaghetti Monster, a new God among us! Next winter, get ready for Spaghetti!

Reason Prevails: The Menorah Is Gone

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," waging a bittersweet war for the U.S. Constitution during this holiday season. Gains have been made.

The gain is that the Jewish group who erected the large menorah on public property has taken it down.

I'm sorry they had to do it, but they had to do it. My guess is that they did it with a clear understanding of the importance of keeping church and state separate.

Is there any living group of people in the Western World who has suffered more than the Jews in matters pertaining to religion? They are the only people who can connect, in living memory, to a time when their people were systematically and brutally exterminated simply because of their religion. If you can remember a time when you or your family, or all of your family and friends and distant cousins, were rounded up and killed, you might be more amenable to our national Constitution's protections and strictures.

It only took three copies of the U.S. Constitution, with the Establishment Clause highlighted in green marker and the tract folded to that page, to get the Chabad synagogue to reconsider the placement of its electric menorah.

The manger scene is still under the Christmas tree on borough property, but this morning when I dropped off the fourth copy of the Constitution, I noticed that the display was not lit up by the spotlight that had been lit for the past week. At least they've pulled the plug on my taxes illuminating baby Jesus.

Knowing Snobville as I do (it's chock-a-block with lawyers, for one thing), I'll bet the nativity scene gets pulled right after December 25. Then it will only be a matter of going to a city council meeting and respectfully reminding the burghers that they must abide by the rules of 1787, like them or not, during future holidays.

Solstice ritual tomorrow. Gosh -- public property! The local grove of oaks along the pond! Well, I just won't leave any trace behind of the work that is done.