Groupthink: It’s Okay to Hate Clowns!

Disclaimer:
I almost didn’t post this entry because on Thursday, Willow made a post about her dislike of clowns. I want to say right off the bat that this is not in response to that post. I had decided last week to post this entry about clowns for Halloween. I understand why Willow feels the way she does–she has some bad memories–so she's not the kind of person I’m addressing, okay?

If you perform a Google search on “scared of clowns”, you will get 813,000 results. “I hate clowns” brings 1,090,000 and “clowns should die” harvests a shocking 6,260,000 results. There's even a site dedicated to the hatred of clowns, an anti-clown online community, and a number of similar forums.

What is it you hate or fear about clowns? I’m not talking about a casual dislike of clowns and clowning, or actual, diagnosed clinical coulrophobia (fear of clowns). I’m talking about those of you who say you hate or fear them because it's part of the groupthink. The truth is, we've been programmed to find fearing and hating clowns totally acceptable. Let’s face it. It’s safe. I mean, if you were to say in a group of people that you hated or feared knees (genuphobia), or paper (papyrophobia), they’d look at you a little strangely, or suggest you get help. But say that you hate clowns, or that they terrify you, and everyone breathes a sigh, starts laughing, and echoes, “Me too!”

I understand not liking clowns, but whole websites and forums dedicated solely to spewing violence and venom against them? That, I don't understand. It tells me more about the hater than it does about the clown. It tells me that in some cases, there's more beneath the surface than an unpleasant childhood experience, or a personal disinterest. We can no longer voice that kind of vitriol against race, gender, age, or sexual identification/orientation, so we have to put that somewhere (I guess). Human nature has always demanded a scapegoat, and the clown seems to be it at this time. But clowns are people trying to bring laughter and happiness to our world. They're not cartoons or concepts, they're people.

Throughout the centuries, most cultures have had clowns. A pygmy clown performed as a jester in the court of Pharaoh Dadkeri-Assi during Egypt's Fifth Dynasty, about 2500 b.c.e. Court jesters have performed in China since 1818 b.c.e., and when Cortez conquered the Aztecs in 1520 b.c.e., he discovered Montezuma's court included jesters similar to those in Europe. Most Native American tribes had some kind of clown characters, who played important roles in the social and religious life of the tribe, and in some cases were believed to be able to cure certain diseases.

The fool, or jester, was intended to show the simplest state of a human being--a person without money, social standing, or intellect. With our modern sensibilities, most of us are uncomfortable with the idea of ranking someone because of the misfortunes of birth or circumstance. We like to de-emphasize the differences that separate us from the less fortunate, rather than emphasize them. Things were different in earlier centuries, however. The fool or simpleton was unabashedly mocked and scorned on the one hand, but on the other hand became a vehicle for many profound ironies. In Shakespeare, for example, it's the fool who speaks the most profound truths. A clown acts as a mirror, showing us the hidden parts of our nature that we prefer not to reveal. So you see, it’s not the clown who is hiding something, it's you.

It has been said that our response to a clown might depend on where it is seen. At a circus or a party, a clown is expected, perhaps funny, but the same clown knocking on your door at midnight is more likely to evoke fear rather than amusement. This effect is summed up in a quote by actor Lon Chaney, Sr.: "There is nothing funny about a clown in the moonlight." This may or may not be true, but I've seen paintings of dogs playing poker, and I'm not afraid of or feel any hate for either poker or dogs.

When people tell me they're terrified of clowns, I ask them if they're also afraid of Carnival maskers. What's the difference?

Why do we find this worthy of loathing and fear...

...but find this pretty, even exotic?
I'm not talking about the esthetics,
I'm talking about the absurdity of fear and hate.

Certainly it's not, as some say, about people hiding themselves, or frozen, expressionless faces, because traditionally, clowns over-emphasize these while Carnival masks are expressionless. Talk about hiding something! Who knows what's going on under those masks? With a clown, it's no secret.

In my surfing around anti-clown forums on the web, I was surprised to read so many comments by people who said they hate clowns because "they're fake", "their make-up is weird", and that "they're creepy". Oddly enough, most of these were people who would have no problem watching a Marilyn Manson video, or complimenting each others' facial piercings. And most of them, young toughs whose every other word was "f***" or "Fa**ot" said they were afraid of clowns. Big men. I'll bet it doesn't keep them out of McDonald's.

The fear and loathing of clowns wasn’t so prominent before the slasher movies of the 70s and 80s. With the circus no longer a town’s annual “big” event, kids have seen more of these scary clowns than actual, trained clowns. Hollywood, being what it is, took something innocent and morphed it into a monster, exploiting both clowns and children.

As a final thought, allow me to add that I'm in no way confusing this issue with other kinds of hate and discrimination; I doubt that most people would actually physically attack a clown, refuse to rent to one, or deny a clown a table in a diner. If I decided to go to clown school, I doubt you'd suddenly turn on me. I know that it's not the people who become clowns that bother so many, it's what clowns represent. And that's my real point. To see a clown in a dream, symbolizes absurdity, light-heartedness, vulnerability, and the childish side of your nature. The countenance of the clown is a reflection of your feelings and emotions. Perhaps you fear or hate clowns because you mistrust these things in yourself.

Ready for Halloween

The pumpkin is carved, the seeds are soaking in the kitchen, and I'm ready for whatever is going to happen between tonight and Saturday night. As you can see, we're not into all the decorations, probably because, raising five kids between us, we're pretty tired of the whole thing! Maybe next year we'll get some stuff. Click to enlargiate.

I put one of those amber 'flame' bulbs in the porch light, and we cut the pumpkin
from the bottom so that it could sit in this prominent place.

A little closer in. The porch looks so bare without all of the green plants!

Jack's close-up! We wanted a traditional, happy Jack-O-Lantern this year.
Pay no attention to the peeling paint; that's a job for next spring.

Jack's View.

A basket of acorns from our oak tree sits by the front door.

Winter is on its way!

Halloween in a Bible Banging Town

As if the powers that be couldn't get any more idiotic, the people who run the City of Stillwater have decided that Trick or Treating will be held tomorrow, rather than on Halloween. And why? Football. That's right, there is a game on Saturday night and our City Council doesn't feel that Stillwater parents can sufficiently handle their own children to ensure their safety where traffic is concerned.

Whu???

This means, of course, that people will get Trick or Treaters on both Thursday and Saturday, because 1) not everyone will receive the news in time, and 2) some people will just flat out rebel. And, of course, this means that Wal*Mart will make a killing selling more Halloween candy than usual.

Come on, Stillwater. This is a nationally observed holiday. Do you think other, larger cities do this whenever a home game coincides with Halloween? And I'll bet you wouldn't pull this if a game coincided with Christmas or Easter, because that would be messing with Jay-sus.

____________________________
UPDATE Thursday the 29th:
According to a comment that Nettl left earlier today, the real reason is because OSU is playing Texas on Saturday (their biggest rivals) and the game is going to be televised. Whatdaya bet they're moving this nation-wide, ages-old tradition so that parents don't have to either take their kids out, or answer the door to dole out candy? Of course, they didn't move it to Friday night because there's a high school football game that night... It's pouring rain today. I'm betting that most parents will ignore the change and adhere to Saturday night. We'll see. All the same, I still have to carve our pumpkin today, when I wanted to do it with Nettl on Saturday afternoon. Humph!  This has really put a damper on something that's supposed to fun, and I'm just no longer in the mood. I wouldn't be so upset if we hadn't just had an entire weekend given over to Homecoming.

Those Were the Days, My Friend

See that sweet, innocent l'il thang? That was me 40 years ago. 40! Where does the time go? That was my senior picture. My high school (Adolfo Camarillo in Camarillo, California) is having our 40th reunion this weekend, and although I probably wouldn't go if I still lived out there, I'm still waxing nostalgic over the website that one of our classmates put up.

I was looking through the senior pictures and I knew only about three people, because we moved to Camarillo from Solvang the summer between my junior and senior years. No time to get to know anyone, really.

Anyway, in those days I stood 5'2" in my bare feet and weighed 95 pounds soaking wet. Sigh... Enough of that. Just thought I'd share; I haven't seen this picture in years!

My First Real Autumn

Last night when I returned with Micah from the airport, we pulled into what used to be a driveway. Both it and the back porch area was a veritable ocean of oak leaves, and the thought of raking them was exhausting. "It would be a monumental task", I told myself. "Screw it. It's Oklahoma. Let the wind take care of it." But when I looked outside this morning, I knew that the wind would only blow it onto the lawn, and it had a sea of its own (which I'm going to ignore, allowing it to mulch the grass). Looking up at the leaves that remain on the Oak tree, I knew that we were only about half-way through the battle. If that were to be added to what was already on the ground, we'd need a crane to get out of the driveway. I put on my sweater and went outside to start the job. This photo isn't of my pile of leaves, but the pile was at least this size. I would have taken a picture, but I scattered the pile into several smaller ones, which doesn't look quite so impressive. When it was one huge pile, it must have stood about four feet high.

I imagine that by the weekend I'll be out there doing it again. This is new to me. I'm from southern California, where few trees lose their leaves, and although I've lived here for 9 years, this is first house we've lived in that has real trees. It wasn't so bad, really. It felt good being out in the crisp air and in the sunshine.

(By the way, does anyone know what tree is in the right side of the picture? It's my favorite, and I'd like to get one for our front yard. Click to enlarge.)

I Need a Weekend

This weekend was one of continual work on Nettl's book, which we hope to release within a couple of weeks. It's crunch time and I'm beat!

We relaxed a lot at Ville's annual Halloween party on Saturday night. We all needed a good party, so we got silly and childish, playing a game we called, "Ceiling Fan Ring Toss". It consisted of one spinning ceiling fan and a bunch of those glow-stick necklaces. You figure out the rest. Joel got the night's best "ringer" as the rest of us tried to top him. As I said, we all really needed to get stupid, and we did not disappoint.

Sunday was spent napping and eating, with some work on the book on Nettl's part. I played Sudoku. During the evening we played no less than five games of Scrabble, then she went to bed and I worked on some last-minute edits and posted another chapter of Night Music. Tonight at 8:30 I leave for OKC to pick up Micah at the airport. I can't believe it has been two weeks already!

I've been told that I should be getting my laptop back tomorrow, or Tuesday at the latest, which means that I'll spend one of those days reloading all of my data files and setting it up again. Despite that, It'll be nice to have it back. I miss it.

Next Saturday is Halloween, isn't it? That means that I'll be carving our pumpkin, sweeping the leaves off of the porch, and throwing a bug bomb under the house. Sounds like fun.

The Intergalactic World Wide Web Somethingorother

Well, now I know without a doubt that I'm experiencing blogger guilt for not posting as much as I'd like to. Last night, or this morning, I should say, I dreamed that Blogger sent out a message that if we didn't respond to a certain confirmation email within the hour, our blogs would get deleted. They were trying to get rid of all the dead blogs and marketing schlogs. In the dream, I woke up an hour too late and I saw my different blogs as a file folder icon on my desktop, full of exploded files, which looked kind of like sawdust. I was irate. Incensed, as it were... I went online and started searching the situation and found that Blogger had merged with a worldwide cult called, The Intergalactic World Wide Web somethingorother and complete takeover was eminent. This must be symbolic of how unhappy I am about the merger between Blogger and Google, and how Firefox figures in there somehow.

That's what I get for working until 6 a.m. on Nettl's manuscript. We're tantalizingly close to a publishing date now and I want to make sure that every i is dotted and every comma is spliced. I'm a perfectionist that way. It's taking me from regular (and decent) blogging, but I'll be finished soon, I promise.

Now for another cup of coffee and back to work!

Slow Start

I'm just now starting to feel my day beginning, and here it is, 2:00. Sheesh. I haven't been sleeping lately. Well, I've been sleeping, but in fits and starts, and I can't get down into that good old REM stage. This morning, a little after 9:00, I crawled back into bed and didn't wake up until nearly 1:00 while Nettl was home during her lunch hour. I don't know how you would feel, but I feel like the world's biggest lazy ass if I'm still in bed when she comes home. I go back into that mode my mother put on me about sleeping too much. Because she didn't need very much sleep, she assumed the rest of us didn't, either. And by much sleep, I mean anything over five hours. Of course, she was bi-polar, but she never took that into account.

So here I am just beginning my day. I'm waiting for a client to connect with me; every time we get each other on our cell phones, the call ends abruptly. Perhaps those solar flares know that I really don't want to talk with him today.

Just Stuff

It's been a while since I've experienced the kind of fatigue that I did yesterday. Since I got on the new meds last August, I've been feeling back to my old self again. I think Nettl and I pinpointed this episode to a bout of fibromyalgia that hit me over the weekend, but last night she massaged the little nodules right out of me and I felt instantly better.

Thanks for being so nice to our cat during my day in bed, by the way. Don't mind her selfishness though. I'm giving the orange tabby food because he's old, toothless, and can hardly walk. He lives in the dog house in the back yard, so I cleaned it out and put an old rug in there for him. Our cat will just have to deal.

Despite all efforts to avoid it, I've gotten addicted to Sudoku, I'm afraid. Numbers, you know. Numbers, order, problem solving... I admit it, I'm a geek. Since my laptop broke down (I'm expecting it to return home to me any day now), and we still don't have cable, I have spent my evenings with crosswords and other word puzzles. In the book I got last weekend there was a page of Sudoku puzzles and I got hooked really fast. Now I want a book with nothing else in it. Hopeless, really.

Wow! It got up to 80°F yesterday. It was nice having the windows open, although it was pretty windy. I hope today is a carbon copy! Speaking of today, I'm finally going to bed.

The State of Things - My Perspective

Hello everyone. I just thought that I'd tell you what's going on around here. I'd tell you my name, but I'm not sure what it is. At first, they called me Sweetie, but that's been changed to Kitty, sometimes Cat (when my people are angry at me for God knows why) or, worse, F**ker-Cat. Sheesh. I don't understand people. I like things to be a certain way, you see. I like my meals on time, doors to stay open, and my litter box to be clean. Is that so much to ask? In fact, what prompted me to write is the subject of food.

Why is it so hard to get a fripping meal around here? I know that my meals are always at 7:00 am and 5:00 pm. That's why I start two hours earlier to remind my people that meal time is coming. If I didn't, they'd probably forget. You don't know what a hassle it is working a four-hour split shift just so these bozos don't forget to feed me. Besides, it works. Sure, they get mad and call me names, especially when I sharpen my claws on the furniture, but I do that stuff on purpose, you see. All this hard work, and do you know how they reward me? They go and give MY FOOD to that old yellow Tom who lives in the dog house in MY BACK YARD! Out of MY Bistro feeder! Just great. He gets an unlimited supply of food that he can have anytime he freaking wants it, and I have to wait for MY food. He doesn't even have to do anything to get it, either! I've never been more insulted! I hate ferals. Get a job, ya lazy-ass!

As if that isn't enough, there's that calico Tom who sits on MY porch and stares at me through the door like I'm a piece of meat or something, the birds that sit in the bush just outside MY window, teasing me, all these damned neighborhood dogs, and worst of all, that ugly-assed cat that walks around on MY roof at night. At our other house I was top cat in our neighborhood! I was a force to be reckoned with! But here? A mere shadow of my former self. And now they're feeding that old fart in the back yard.

Well, that's all I really wanted to say. I feel much better now; I think I'll take a nap. Thanks.

Homecoming Weekend

The Homecoming weekend wasn't as noisy as I'd anticipated. It was actually a lot of fun and, outside of a small group of students staggering home on Friday night, there were no incidents in our neighborhood. Things kicked off on Friday evening with the Fraternity and Sorority Walk-Around on University Avenue. As I said in an earlier post, we didn't go to that, but we couldn't help but hear the Garth Brooks concert in the new stadium. Garth graduated from OSU in 1984 and the little Victorian house he lived in still has painted upon its eave, "Garth Brooks & Sandi Live Here". While he lived here, Garth started his performing career by playing in bands in the student taverns on the Strip.

The Homecoming parade was held on Saturday afternoon and Nettl, Joel and I walked the two blocks to Main Street to watch. Here are some pictures (will embigiate when clicked):

Just to prove we were there.

Grand Marshall Garth Brooks.

Pistol Pete brands the University of Missouri tiger.

The slogan this year was, "Branded For Life".

Cooper's Bicycle Shop's entrty.

An OSU Orange horse...

...and the Horse Shit Brigade.

The International Students Association got a big ovation from the crowd.

We have a large international population here, which makes Stillwater

one of the most progressive-thinking cities in the state.

Everyone always enjoys the Kappa Sigma Lawnmower Drill, which is led

by a guy who carriers a weed-whacker.

A tiny 4-Wheel Drive.

The OSU Marching Band.

Ole' Pistol Pete.

My favorites: the Shriners in their clown cars.

Snoopy tops the entry for the OSU Flight Training School.

This was a beautiful stage coach led by six Clydesdales.

Looked to me like they were giving Missouri the finger.

We got home in mere minutes, but our corner was gridlocked for over half an hour.

Walk next time, suckers!

I just have two questions, though, where was the mayor and where was the Stillwater High School Marching Band?

I forgot to say that last night our neighbor, Matt, who is a theater professor, came over and invited us to his house for dinner. He'd been expecting friends, but they begged off at the last minute. We enjoyed a lovely salmon with comfit and a bottle of chardonay over some great conversation.

Today, we've been as lazy as can be imagined. In all, it has been a perfect weekend.

The Dreaded Weekend

Today begins Homecoming Weekend here in Animal Town Stillwater. Tonight, every soul in town will park their cars in every available space in every back alley and church parking lot to attend the Walk-Around on Fraternity/Sorority Row. The houses there will be lit up and the yards decorated with sets and scenarios, the like of which I've never seen before. I think I'll pass this time. The street is usually crowded with high school kids on their cell phones and skateboards, and women in polyester pushing strollers while scarfing down street food while their husbands look bored as hell and wanting to get back home to the TV.

Tomorrow morning we will be wakened by the parade on Main Street a mere two blocks from here. Then, the game will take place and things will quiet down for a few hours. I'm going to use that opportunity to take my camera to the war zone that is Fraternity/Sorority Row the morning after the Walk-Around. There's one frat that always looks like the Delta House the next day.

I'm anticipating a noisy night in our neighborhood tonight; I'm certain that most of the students will be partying until dawn. Sunday will be eerily quiet due to thousands of hangovers, but that's what makes this town kind of cool. College towns have a lot of young energy and it's only one weekend after all. Have fun kids, play safely!

Not a Man, But a Hausmandl All the Same

C'est Fini - Wish I Had a Beer

This house is much easier to clean that the monstrosity we moved out of last August, but I still want a Merry Maid someday.

Notice how she smiles no matter what chore she's doing? That's because back then women had a specific gene that made them love housework and cleaning up after everyone.

A Rainy Autumn Afternoon

I love rainy Autumn days, but this yawn-inducing gray-ness is playing havoc with my sleep center. If we were having all-out storms as we did last month it would be different. The electricity in the air rejuvenates me and lifts my spirits, but this drizzly kind of weather is different. It's quiet. Few cars pass by, no one is out walking their dogs or pushing prams. No students ride their bicycles. The cat remains curled up on her faux fur throw in the bay window.

I have things to do today and little desire to do them. It is an altogether gloomy Tuesday although I am otherwise in good spirits. I showered, I dressed, I made the bed, poured a second cup of coffee, and here I sit telling myself to get up and take my laptop to the post office, vacuum the carpet, clean the litterbox, put on some music.

The lane in front of our cottage is bright orange from the flooding; our state is known for its red soil. I like it because it makes me half-believe that the streets are still made of brick in this town. They used to be and a few, downtown, a few blocks away, still are. When my mother and I spent two weeks in a town south of here in 1959, it was the orange brick streets I remembered most. I loved them then and I love them now.

One more cup of coffee and I'll get busy.

Stop the World & Let Me Get Off

Harvested from Badger's awesome blog, Vienna For Dummies (go there and read his entry -- it's much better than this one!):

"Curvy women have no place on the catwalk," iconic German fashion designer Karl Lagerfeld was quoted as saying, after a fashion magazine said it was banning skinny models in favour of "real women".

"No one wants to see curvy women," Lagerfeld was quoted as saying on the website of news magazine Focus on Sunday. "You've got fat mothers with their bags of chips sitting in front of the television and saying that thin models are ugly," he added.

Claiming the Lake and Other Matters

I don't know if it's this gray, drizzly weather, but I've been sleepy all week, despite how much sleep I get. Last night I went to bed before ten and woke up around 7:30. If that's not enough sleep then I don't know what to think. I have a busy day lined up, so that should keep me from getting the sleepies, at least until after dinner.

Lauren came up Friday evening and, after getting groceries, I made a tea tray and brought it into the bedroom where she and Nettl were talking. We shared some cups and I settled back, cozy in the bed, with my latest read, Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Pierre Choderlos De Laclos, translated by P.W.K. Stone.  Lauren, who speaks French like someone who has lived in France her entire life, said that it is a perfect translation. It's a slow read, however.

What did I do on Saturday... I can't remember. Read, brought plants in from the porch, not much else. In the evening I received an email concerning the possible publishing of my book, Night Music. A publisher has been reading it online and, although he says it's very well written, in a warm style and with impeccable research behind it, he does not know how to market it. I can't tell you how many times I've heard this--it's what every publisher has told me through the years. What's the big deal? It's an historical fiction like those written by Margaret George, who has written the memoirs of Cleopatra and Henry VIII. Hell, the bookstores are full of historical fictions! It's beyond me why I keep hearing this. I wrote a rebuttal, but publishers have never been known for their imaginations, and these days they're more concerned with "the bottom line" than they are books. I will continue to put chapters on the book's website and then I will publish it myself through Lulu.com. Pfui! It's time for writers to take their work away from the corporate business majors, time to regard writing as an art and not as a commodity like a bottle of ketchup. It's time to do what the Bloomsbury Group did and set up our own publishing and help out fellow writers by advertising each other's works. I've decided to make an area in the sidebar dedicated to advertising books that are written by authors of like mind, people who will exchange banners with me in order to help each other out. I'm tired of sitting on the pier with my line in the water, waiting for "the big one" that always seems to get away. I'm going to claim the damned lake! If you're a self-published writer, send me a banner and I'll display it for you. Let's do this together.

Yesterday I took Micah to the airport in OKC for his two weeks in England. He's in London as I write this, probably walking around Regent's park, which is close to where he's staying in Camden Town, or sitting in a pub enjoying an afternoon pint. Just thinking about him being there I can smell the city, hear the sounds, envision the light. I love London with a passion--it rivals Vienna in many ways--and I miss it. I can't wait until I can take Nettl there.

Meantime, I'm drinking my coffee, shoring up for the day ahead. Have a great Monday, whatever you find yourself doing.

Flood Control on Our Street

I don't know about other parts of the country, but I've noticed that here in Stillwater, any kind of road work, regardless of how large or small the job may be, requires at least six people: one to run the big Tonka trunk and five to stand, smoking and spitting, to watch. Every now and then, one of them will break from the pack, get into a pickup and drive away, to return 30 minutes later. I can only assume he's going over to the Blue Note for a Budweiser.

I want that job! The hard hat would be fun to wear and I would get paid to stand with my hands in my pockets, or my thumbs through my belt loops.

And That's All I Want to Say About That

The American public--and in many ways the world at large--has been the victim of a fear-mongering, abusive right wing for so long that now that they are no longer in power, they want to continue the old way of keeping the rest of us "in line". Now that the main fists have been removed from Capitol Hill, those that remain are scrambling around in an attempt to continue "business as usual", or at least as they had come to know it.

Last January, the abused stepped forward and said, "No more!" by electing a man who is dedicated to peace and human dignity for all people, not just those who agree with him. As an abuse survivor, I recognize these dynamics all too well. From every corner we're hearing the right wing yell, "I'll give you something to cry about!" and "He'll never love you like I did!". They look for their leaders and cannot find them--all they have are radio and television big mouths. They have been abandoned by those whose abuse they swallowed as if it was the natural state of humankind. A new leader stepped up and, like cockroaches when the light comes on, they scurry, in search of the dark corners.

There certainly are times when we have to concede a little, to say that we might not understand or even agree with the changes in Washington, but now is not the time. I'm not talking about big things, mind you, but about small things. However, when facing down these hate and fear-mongerers, any concession we make sounds to them like, "I know, but I love him". It's time to be strong, to be certain, and to be confident. In the past I've had to face down my abusers and it's damned hard. It takes guts. But every time, the abuser, when shown that I was no long afraid, backed down. Abusive people are bullies, you see. They take the power we give them and, right now, our press is giving the radical fringe far too much attention and power. Fear feeds on fear.

It's important to remember that many of these people hear from their church pulpits every Sunday that President Obama is, literally, the Antichrist, that he is Satan incarnate--basically the same nonsense that the Taliband says about America in general. They will not be happy until they make their prophecies of Armageddon actually come true, taking the rest of us down with them. In this, they are no better than suicide bombers and hijackers. In fact, they're worse because they need their Bible to be the last Word and their religion the only Truth so desperately that they would be willing to sacrifice our planet to make it so.

I will not bend an inch while they wave their fist in my face. I'm standing behind President Obama and I congratulate him for receiving the Nobel Peace Prize. I don't care if the right wing gets mad and I don't care if they holler and throw a tantrum about it. It is not an American award and, as Lynette wrote to someone in Facebook, "Americans need to understand that not everything is about us". You will not hear me voicing concern over the committee's decision--the last I knew, I wasn't asked for my vote.

America has gotten ugly. The old regime is dying and, like the wizard in Dragonslayer said, "It's in great pain; it has gotten mean, spiteful." I will not argue with them, I will not give them breath in my world. They are an abusive force and I quit allowing that energy into my world a long time ago.

Congratulations President Obama. Once again, you have made me proud to be an American.

Mish Mash of Pish Posh

I awoke this morning to a particularly boisterous thunder storm and an accompanying deluge. Sometimes the thunder sounds like it's going to crack the roof open! I love mornings like this. In fact, I love full days like this, and this year I've been favored by Thor and his friends. I hope this goes on all damned day. This is a picture I just took of a pickup driving past the cottage. Click to enlarge.

I'm sort of half-waiting for one of my clients to stop by with a disk of files I need for a site I'm working on. I say half-waiting because pinning him down to anything is slippery at best. On Sunday, he said that he would give it to Nettl at rehearsal on Monday night, but he forgot. Then he emailed to say that he would drop it off on Tuesday, or Wednesday, Thursday at the latest. That stuff irks me. I don't know why he didn't just zip up the files and email them to me in the first place.

I've become reclusive where older modes of communication are concerned. Our land phone is seldom on, for instance. Nettl and I have grown to regard the phone as intrusive and demanding, so we rely largely on our cell phones. That way, we have control over who can call us and who cannot. And if you can't reach me any other way, there's always email. I'm connected to my computer, to some degree or another, 24/7. People who don't like email? Sorry about your luck.

Micah leaves for England on Sunday; I'm driving him to the airport in OKC that morning. I hope he enjoys it as much as I did. He is in fact going to be around my old stomping grounds in Sussex, and it's beautiful this time of year. I'm so envious! But hey, I've been there three times; it's his turn now. Have a great time, Micah!

Today feels like a writing day, a day to drink lots of tea, and just write. I still haven't sent my laptop up to Kansas City, so I'm in the bedroom, at the desk. I've gotten really spoiled sitting in the living room in my wing chair. This desk just isn't very comfortable for leisurely writing, but at least I can stay home and write at all. I remember all too well my years, nay, decades, in the cubicle!

My use of the word "nay" in that last paragraph was entirely for comedic effect.

All-Nighters

I've pulled a couple of all-nighters this week, which explains, I suppose, my not posting an entry yesterday morning. I used to post every night; I wonder why I don't do that anymore. Anyway, I've been working on two new websites, one to promote an Italian cookbook for a woman who lives in Arizona and another for Nettl's book, which will be coming out before the year is up.

 Nothing much is going on besides that. Night before last I went over to our neighbor, Matt's, house and asked him if he wanted to come over for a glass of wine. I was listening to the Crosby, Stills & Nash LP, Déjà vu, and feeling a little mellow. I ended up staying over there until about 9:30, talking to him. He's a voice professor, photographer, and old hippie. It was cool and I was in the perfect mood for it.

A Perfect Weekend

At my age, the perfect weekend is not about going somewhere, doing something, or keeping busy. It's about staying home, doing whatever I want when and if I feel like it, and being relaxed. I remember the days when a weekend was a complete dud if I wasn't out dancing both Friday and Saturday nights and partying on Sunday. That was a lot of fun and I regret nothing, but I'm enjoying life just as much now that I've slowed down a bit.

This weekend could not have been more perfect. Nettl and I did nothing but giggle and talk, and spend time together. She cross-stitched a Celtic knot and I read and worked crosswords. On Saturday afternoon I laid out an English tea and that evening we had a "picnic without ants" by candlelight, listening to Mozart. On Sunday she grilled while I raked oak leaves and acorns off of the drive.

Two of our neighbors came over on Saturday, Matt (who is a professor in the theater department at the university) to introduce himself and give us a standing ovation to his front porch where he likes to drink wine, and Ray (who is a typical Okie type) to tell me that if I ever need to use any of his yard tools, just let him know. Nettl also talked to the girl across the street, Maisha, who bought a bicycle from us last week. Good people. It's good to have neighbors who are friendly.

More weekends like this, please!