Father of Gump (what would my father think of me)

One of the things that I think about occasionally is what my father would have thought about how my life turned out.

For those who don't know: My father died in a semi-trailer accident in 1984, at the age of forty-two. He died while I was in Army boot camp. His death is the official reason that the US Army and I parted paths--because the Army thought that I was needed more back home (I am the oldest of eight kids). That idea did not pan out because my mom did not want me to return home (she was worried that I would affect her survivor benefits from Social Security)--which is probably a good thing considering how "evil" my life turned out to be (to her dying day, my mother would call me a Satanist...which I am not).

So basically, my father never saw any of my adult life.

Sometimes I believe that I would have been more successful if he would have lived longer. He was always the encouraging one. But I will admit that occasionally, he was ignorant of what direction I was headed. For instance, he was unaware of my desire to be a writer clear up to the end of my senior year in high school.

So I would like to believe that I would quit working food service sooner, that I would have went to college sooner, that I would have gotten treatment for my bipolar sooner, and that I would be more successful in my writing career--because of his encouragement.

Or maybe one of my sisters is right, and he would have completely disapproved of my life, and thought that I needed to taken down a peg or two.

Who f***ing knows.

What I do know is that he affected my politics, my approach to community service, my philosophy,  and how I tell stories.

I spent a lot of time with my father on various jobs. We remodeled houses together, worked on construction sites together (once spent the entire summer camping out on one job site out in the woods of Albert County), took me along to deliver produce to various customers (he actually was training me to take over the family produce company*), introduced me to farming and to the hobby of gardening. He also made sure that I was surrounded by books, and he tutored me and my sister to count change in our heads.

[*My sister likes to point out that the only reason that he was training me was that she wasn't old enough yet, and that he meant for her to take over the family business...which ironically, would have been totally acceptable to me--because I actually wanted to be a writer. This sister also points out that my writing totally s***s and that I will never be successful doing it as a career--she might have a point, but I am a crazy person and generally ignore her advice on that front.]

My father was the first comedian and story teller that I knew. In all fairness, many of his jokes were about Polish people....and I know that it is wrong that they still bring a smile to my face. And he told the same jokes over and over again--because each new job site or customer was a brand new audience. As a result of this, my first lessons in writing and revision came from my father.

We used to listen to talk show radio a lot. And he would argue back at the radio, "Well, that is not going to work out..." Plus him and Mom once campaigned for a candidate running for District Attorney here in Denver. So my getting up on a soapbox and sharing my political opinions would not have been foreign to him. And the rate I upset people, not a surprise at all--he often remarked that I would have been shot by the age of ten if I would have been born in Russia.

(He might have been surprised that I am still registered as a Republican--my mom insisted that all her kids had to be Republicans--hell, she would have demanded that I voted for Trump...except that her threat of disowning me for voting for the wrong person would have carried no weight because I was already disowned for being a Satanic witch.)

My interest in magic and the occult definitely would not have been a surprise--after all, he also sat at the table talking about Wicca and witchcraft with my aunt. He might have been surprised that I ended up in the pagan clergy category--or maybe not. After all, he had a touch of ESP (predicted the unification of Germany at a time that no one thought that it was possible).

I tend to think about him when I am gardening. Dad was the one who taught me how to compost, and stuff like that. He grew vegetables--which given that there was eight of his kids, and we were poor, made a lot of sense. I am not sure what he would have thought of my growing herbs, but I am sure that he would have understood my point that herbs are damn expensive at the store.

My deepest regret is that he never read any of my writing. When he was alive, I had to conceal my writing habit from my mom, who believed that writing was a sin. I was good at hiding what I was really up to. I especially regret that he did not live long enough to meet my wife, and read what I am currently working on--in fact, one of the characters in my Ancient Egyptian stories is partially based on him.

Still what can you do? Just fondly remember the man, and hope that he would have approved of where i am headed with my work. Happy Father's Day Dad--I miss you.

Happy Father's Day!

Hot dog surprise (Tarot Blog Hop)

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The theme of this Tarot Blog Hop is the foodie Tarot! Therefore, it is time to regale you with a tale from my childhood, known as Hot Dog Surprise!

(It was with some horror that one night I was cooking dinner, and thinking about this blog post, and suddenly found myself wondering...)

What Tarot card would Hot Dog Surprise be associated with?

Now, my regular readers, if I have any at all, know that I am the oldest of eight kids, and that my father lost everything when his produce business went under (the house, all of our savings [including money set aside for my college], all of his assets outside a junker of a car), landing us in a house that was the worst I have ever lived in, forcing me to go to high school in a small town (losing all my friends that I had before this point in time) where being slightly odd was almost a criminal offense.

No, I am not bitter at all. And either was my mother who took the misfortune out on all of us.

Now, there are good things to say about my mother....but when it comes to her cooking, I can't think of anything polite to say (she hated to cook--the proof of which is that my sisters were stuck with the job as soon as they were old enough to do so--I only escaped that fate because I was a boy). Basically, one just scrapped the worst of the blackness off whatever dish it was, and wolfed it down (and we were so poor that sometimes we never tasted what we were eating...which probably helped us to survive).

[Ok, there were the home-made jams and jellies...but I am not sure that it offsets the Hot Dog Surprise.]

As an adult, I have also been poor....but never poor enough to make Hot Dog Surprise.

(In my household, I actually do all the cooking because my wife hates cooking, and well, I work from home--mainly I stare at the ceiling while trying to create the perfect sentence--and I don't mind cooking. In fact, I actually like to cook...which is a sin because I am a boy--or so, my mother would say.)

Now, my wife is a picky eater with a gluten problem and a dislike of vegetables and things you can't identify--to say that she was horrified when she heard about Hot Dog Surprise is a slight understatement--she forbid me from ever making the dish, no matter how tight the food budget gets.

So what the hell is Hot Dog Surprise? And where can you get some?

Hot Dog Surprise is hot dogs and sliced bell peppers done in a savory sauce and poured over noodles.

And the secret ingredient? Well, it is not the hotdogs. It is actually Catalina salad dressing. That's right--the secret savory sauce was a bottle of salad dressing.

This is one of those times where you might think that I am making stuff up, but no, like all good comedy, it is the god-honest truth. It was hot dogs and bell peppers cooked in salad dressing and poured over noodles. One can understand my wife's "You are never going to make that ever--I will file for divorce before eating that--I will murder you in your sleep before eating that--pigs will fly before I eat that--the sun will consume the earth before I would eat that." (You know, I think that she might have a problem handling Hot Dog Surprise.)

So what Tarot card would Hot Dog Surprise be? The Death card comes to mind, but that promises some form of change in one's taste buds, food budget, or earthly existence. One could argue the Hanged Man because your world view would have to be upside down to think that Hot Dog Surprise was a good idea. (Except for one of my sisters that still makes it...because if you eat it often enough as a kid, you think that it is normal--I swear I love you sis, but I can't wrap my mind around anyone willing making this if they are not trying to poison people.) The Fool card is a good candidate...because (drumroll please) only a fool would eat this (or a straving dog...but then again, maybe the dog is trying to push the fool off the cliff because of Hot Dog Surprise).

In the end, I decided that Hot Dog Surprise is the Ten of Swords, not so much because my wife will stab me with ten swords if I make it, but rather because of the life circumstances that lead to Hot Dog Surprise being a good food budget option (and yes, the business loss was that bad).

I would have drawn a picture of it (because I am forbidden to actually cook it), but I think that you can imagine a plate of noodles covered in a reddish salad dressing with bits of bell pepper and hotdogs in it...though you might not want to imagine it (the only thing worse than imagining Hot Dog Surprise is actually eating it).

Ain't you glad that you came by to read my blog post this Tarot Blog Hop? I imagine that this post turned out to be a wonderful weight loss plan after reading about all the yummy foods that the other bloggers wrote about. (One assumes that the rest of the bloggers wrote about yummy food...but considering that I am writing this before I read any of the other blog posts, it might be possible that everyone [all fourteen, I think, of us] wrote about Hot Dog Surprise--in which case, welcome to the Drop Two Stone in a Week Because You Read About Hot Dog Surprise More Than Once Diet Plan!)

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If you say I am guilty

Yesterday, on Facebook, I realized that I need to remind people occasionally about one of my ugly habits.

As some of my readers know, my family background is...well, my family had a few problems, and I still suffer from some of the built-in programming. In the case of the current ugly habit, one of my relatives liked to accuse people of doing evil stuff, and then punish them for the crime whether they were actually guilty or not. And after awhile, I came to the conclusion that if I was going to be accused of something, then by the gods, I was going to have the pleasure of actually doing the crime.

This moral position is such a fixture in my life that one of my Order mottos is based on that idea.

So for instance, if someone on Facebook decided to accuse me of trying to create a flamewar, there is a part of me that will be inclined to actually do such a deed. This is especially true if I was merely stating facts about how I got involved in a previous mess, and not actually trying to start trouble. If I am actually guilty, I tend to admit to my involvement. But if I am innocent and presumed guilty....I am likely to do exactly what you accused me just to balance out the scales---after all, if I am going to be punished for something, I just as well do the crime.

Yes, I know that it is an ugly habit, and that I should evolve out of it...but I absolutely refuse to accept guilt for things I haven't done. Yes, I am a small petty man---I admit to it---and you might want to remember that if you accuse me of doing something that I haven't actually done yet.

Grandma's Broom (31-HP Day 8)

Made during the depression
A crooked tree branch
And faded corn straw
Flecked with old wax
A mouse made its home
In its interior once

It whacked both
Grandpa and dad repeatedly
Swept out the kitchen
Used to shoo off
Bunnies and crows
Out of the victory garden

My brothers and me
Used it as a horse
My sisters swept
Out a fairy ring
With it in hand
As grandma crackled

Old ancient broom
Carried from house to house
Now it is mine
An eyesore my wife says
But it is grandma's
And it still flies.

Sometimes the cover alone tells me what my goddaughter is going to do

Destiny Rewritten--Kathryn Fitzmaurice--my goddaughter is so going to steal this book from me. 

There are some books that I just need to see the front cover and read a couple of pages to know that they are so going to be "liberated" the instant that I turn my back. Like this book, Destiny Rewritten (by Kathryn Fitzmaurice), which I recieved a proof copy of in today's mail. Given this cover, I can so picture my god-daughter walking out the front door with it held up high as spoils of war while saying, "It is mine now, old man."

Of course, this is why I am not terribly concerned by the pile of review books on my coffee table. After I get done reading them, they are not going to be there long. I am not sure how the HarperCollins PR people feel about my god-daughter promptly grabbing the book from me the instant that I am done reading it for the review, but I am sure that they have no say in the matter as far as my god-daughter is concerned.

And hats off to the HarperCollins people for putting an illustrated mailing label on this one. It is nice to know that this book needed to be opened immediately, so that my god-daughter could liberate it from me. Obviously, the HarperCollins PR department is used to dealing with reviewers who recieve lots of books in the mail.

Yes, I love the cover illustration. It reminds me of one of the used book stores that I used to spend a lot of money in (and probably will again as soon as my income starts to recover). And I am just waiting to hear what the mother of my god-daughter has to say about the cover...I have a private bet going on this one.

A funny thing happened at the photoshoot

Harry Potter meets a green monkey.

One of the projects that I am slowly working on is a pagan/wiccan friendly children books series called Turtle Monkey. At the moment, I am just doing the occasional thumbnail sketch and working out the background of the world that it is set in. Come December, I will be devoting a lot of time to it as I wait for my Nanowrimo project to cool off enourgh that I can realistically start rewriting and editing it.

Nevertheless, knowing that the project is coming (one of the first three projects to come out of Salt Mine Publications--the ebook "publishing house" that I had to set up...because it was the only way to get my investment back on certain projects), I have done a certain amount of work setting up the initial foundation of our advertising platform.

Which is partially why I ended up doing a photoshot with monkeys dressed up in Halloween costumes. The other reason is that my co-creator (they do the writing; I do the artwork) decided to riff on my 31 Days of Halloween Kitties, and do 31 Days of Halloween Monkeys for the Turtle Monkey Facebook fanpage.

One of the most amusing pictures to come out of the photoshoot was a picture of the green stuffed monkey that was the initial inspiration for appearance of the chacter being held aloft with my lotus wand by the eleven year-old girl who was the inspiration for how the character acts.

In the interests of privacy, I decided to cover up her face with a yellow smiley instead; her mom got to see the original picture...the face was priceless.

Of course, I am sure that there are people who are appalled by this for various reasons: MDE is involved in a children book series...as an artist (and he can't draw); someone was allowed to touch my lotus wand; MDE thinks that monkeys and little girls are funny--take your pick and get in line...because there is always someone upset with me.

[Update: September 25, 2013--In July 2013, I ceased to be involved in the Turtle Monkey project due to differences in creative vision and business philosophy.]

Humor needs no apologies (Would dad approve)



The truth behind mostly widely read blogs and websites.

There is something in the water today...or is it the air (no, what is in the air is burning forests...at least here in Colorado, that is). Several times today, I have been involved in conversations about comedians having to apologize for making a joke. It has even infected the internet (Nerdist: Comedy Means Never Having to Say You're Sorry...Right?).
A lot of people do not like my personal stance--I never apologize for making a joke, no matter how badly it fails or how offended you feel about it. The only possible exception is if you are a friend that I have known for years...and I must really care deeply about your feelings to even consider apologizing to you. I have been known not to apologize to people that I was having sex with, so the average internet reader doesn't have much of a chance to weasel an apology out of me.

Basically, there are three people in my universe who might be able to get an apology if I offend them with a joke...or at least, there are only three people that I ever remember apologizing to for comedic mistakes.

In fact, I am just the type of person who if I realize that the subject matter bugs you that I will keep pounding that particular drum all night long. Yes, I know it is rude--I don't care. This is something that recently some people did not consider when accusing me of making a particular joke that they did not like...if I was responsible, I would have continued to use the offensive character in question. (Hell, the character had great potential in my opinion.) It might be a family trait.

Occasionally, someone wants me to apologize for something that I found funny. Really? I need to apologize for having a sense of humor that doesn't perfectly match your finely attuned  and much superior sense of humor? Sorry, but that is not going to happen either.

My first role model for comedy was my father. And yes, that is probably the worst thing that could happen to me. Dad worked construction, was a delivery driver, etc., all those manly jobs that I consider to be too phsyically intensive for my tastes.

(On the other hand, I choose to do the mental labor intensive tasks of staring at a blank screen until my forehead bleeds--I am not sure that was a wiser decision.)

Anyways, most of the jokes that my father told involved the Polish. His friends focused on the other races.

This was before the era of political correctness. Today, you would not dream of telling these types of jokes. On one hand, this is a good thing--we now know that we just one big human family, an unhappy infighting one, but still family. On the other hand, it tends to led to the argument that you are not allowed to point out the weird things that anyone does because it might offend them--after all, you do not want a stupid person to realize that they are being stupid.

Would my father approve of my own humor? I am not sure. He would probably groan at the weird definitions that I created for The Zealot's Dictionary. He would probably also agree that some of my jokes work best in person (or video) because discussions of the specialness of OTO is best when accompanied by a hip bop and the Golden Dawn with an Elvis thrust. And he would definitely support my opinion that if one person is allowed to use bad humor about people they do not like, then so am I when I talk about them in return.

Yes, my dad might not have understood my sense of humor or many of the jokes I tell. But he would support my stance that no apologies would be forthcoming just because it just happened to offend you. After all, he never apologized for any of the jokes that he told, no matter how dubious they were.

Happy Mother's Day



Happy Mother's Day.

Happy Mother's Day to all the Golden Dawn members who are moms!

Trick or treating is not looting

Angela on the Llewellyn blog just posted a link to the CDC Safe Halloween list.

The very first item (drumroll please)---

Swords, knives, and similar costume accessories should be short, soft, and flexible.

Yes, that is right---the very first tip is that you are not supposed to be carrying lethal weapons around while treat or treating. Is it just me that wonders why this tip makes the top of the list?

Somehow I can just imagine some kid whacking some other kid with their dad's (or mom's) Highlander sword. Hey, it would happen in my family.

Please remember that trick or treating is not looting.

Viking kitty is here to pillage your village.

It is the End of the World

How my cats look when my god-daughter comes to visit.

Breaking News: If you are reading this, then the end of the world didn't happen.

Or maybe it will before the end of the day. I am not really sure when Harold Camping figured out the exact hour to be. Six o'clock, maybe. Is that Jerusalem time? Or California time?

Seriously, me and the cats have a sure-fire end of the world survival plan. It is the same plan we use when my god-daughter comes to visit. We hide. And if she finds us, then we read poetry out loud.

It has worked so far. Why? Simple, both my god-daughter and Jesus hate poetry.

Well, maybe not Jesus. But my god-daughter does---she calls it cruel and unusual punishment.

I call it payback. Rather Norse of me, isn't it?

Now, I have Elmer Fudd singing "Kill the Wabbit" stuck in my head.

Gee, I wish that the end of the world would hurry up; I don't want that song stuck in my head all night.

(Feel free to post your End of the World rituals in the comments section. I will approve them tomorrow...unless the world comes to an end before then; in which case, Jesus will have to moderate your comments---so keep the comments clean. Thank you.)

How the Secret Chiefs will survive the End of the World.

Nothing says Dad like beer

Nothing says "Dad" like beer. Well, not really...but I imagine most people associate their dad with beer. In my case, I associate my father with old neon beer signs; and the fact that despite the family myth saying that he was a drunk, he didn't actually touch a drop the last decade of his life. Of course, a friend of mine pointed out that everybody's dad seemed to collect old neon beer signs at one point. I would write more, but a storm is happening and that last lightning strike was really close. Happy Father's Day!

My Mother

*warning personal issues* So today is Mother's Day, one of the dozen days every year that I wonder if I was too harsh on my mother. Then I remind myself of her opinions of me, and I attempt to get back to doing whatever it is that I am supposed to be accomplishing.

Let me state for the record that it is all my fault that her and me do not get along. Quite simply, I chose to be a witch (Wiccan), and then decided to add the additional insults of joining a quasi-secret society (Golden Dawn) and deciding to be very public about my religion. My choice of profession did not help any either.

But let's be clear---it is my attitude problem and religion that are the cause of the problems. My Order membership and profession were just part of the bonus round.

And at a certain point in time, I decided to completely walk away. Somedays, I wonder if I did the right thing. Of course, it does not really matter if I did or not.

Now, none of this really matters...unless you deal with me on a regular basis.

I am one of those examples of a screwed-up human being (not talking to my mother is just the tip of the iceberg), who unfortunately finds himself in a position of public representative of his religion and Order (BIOGD/BIORC). My only comfort is that I can point at a couple of other public figures, who seem to be a few more cards short of a full deck than I am.

Don't get me wrong. I would not be where I am at today if it wasn't for my mother. I am reminded of this every time a witch war or a flame war threatens to flares up. Instead of handing the people, who are tossing around the gasoline, a nice glass of water, I tend to encourage them to light a match. The politics and conflicts between the various factions of Golden Dawn and Wicca/paganism look downright tame compared to the stuff I saw growing up.

For instance, one of the big threats always is that flamers will go after one's reputation. My response is to smile---can you really spread any worse rumors about me than my mother did? And given the fact that I had to conceal my life for ages and ages (I still not sure how the truth was worse than what she was claiming), today I tend to wear my flaws in bold letters on my shirt.

Anyways, just wanted to note that I did think of my mother today. I still love her, but it is probably best that we no longer talk to one another anymore. And so it goes.

The Migraine Won Today

I have been popping pills the last few days, trying to fend off a migraine. Well, it won today. My blog post about my father (which a couple of people actually want to see) is going to have to wait until the fog in my head clears up. Sorry for the delay.