As it turns out, you are only allowed one garage sale per year in the city of Redondo Beach. Before having one, you have to register your garage sale with the city. I had obtained the necessary paperwork to do this, and then, the next day, found a flyer in the mailbox from a local realtor who was organizing a community wide garage sale for this Saturday. According to the flyer, she was going to file all the papers, post signs, place ads in the Penny Saver, and place balloons on all the participating houses. Well, how can you pass up a deal like that? So, we’ve been getting ready.

We cleaned out some closets. We took boxes upon boxes of sh…er…gifts given to us by our young loving tasteless students (you have no idea how many coffee cups a teacher accumulates). We cleaned out the trunk of the car. We cleaned out kitchen cupboards.

One of the first things that occurs to you is, “How did I get all this crap, and why did I ever think I needed it?” Then you start to wonder why it is that useful things like socks disappear into some other dimensional universe, and this useless crap stays in the back of the closet doing absolutely nothing of interest.

On Thursday, we went to the bank and got $75 in ones and $125 in fives. We already had a lot of coins. Then we went to Rite-aid to get little white labels for price stickers. Do you know, they actually have sticker sets precisely for garage sales. They contain nice, bright orange stickers pre-marked for 25 cents, 50 cents, 75 cents, $1, $2, and $3. There’s even a “make offer” sticker. We bought some of those, and some plain white ones. On Friday, we set about the pricing.

Now there’s a chore. How do you decide what to charge for things? For old mugs and dishes, it’s easy. You put a sticker for 25 cents and you’re good. But some stuff is worth more than that. We had some F.B. Rogers silver plate trays and Mikasa crystal. That stuff isn’t cheap. You don’t let that stuff go for a quarter. So I got the bright idea of looking the stuff up on ebay. I guess we could have sold the stuff on ebay, for that matter. But then we’d have to pack it up and shit it and that would be a pain. We aren’t greedy.

On Saturday morning, we got up at 5 in the morning and started to put crap out. Within minutes, I discover that I am too old to be doing this kind of shit. Did you know that exercise machines acquire weight over time? I am sure they weren’t this heavy when we bought them. I considered hanging clothing on them so people could see how well they would work for their ultimate purpose. But then I decided not to.

We were still putting things out at 6 AM when the first people started to show up (for the 8 AM sale). Of course none of these people want to pay the price marked. Clearly the people who come very early are insane, or think we are (and we might well be). That is the only way I can explain a person offering $5 for something marked $30. I could understand if they really wanted to haggle, but invariably, these people would leave as soon as their first offer was refused. I was pleased to see one exercise bike go early in the day.

There were several items which I debated putting out for sale or throwing away. Quite frankly, I thought they were useless items. For example, one item was a battery powered television set in black and white with a 5 inch screen. I put a $5 sticker on that one just for the hell of it. After all, now that the signal is digital throughout Los Angeles, you can’t use those TVs anymore. There are no analog signals in the air to pull in. But, strangely enough, that was one of the first things to go. Another item I never thought would sell was a keyboard for a Sony Clié Palm Pilot. Hardly anyone uses the Clié except me. But it sold. Stranger still, was the guy who bought it. If that guy had a palm pilot of any variety, I’ll eat my hat (with salsa, of course).

People seemed to come in waves. Cars would pull up and people would pour out, much like those clown cars in the circus. They would descend upon the stacks of vases, glasses, mugs, dishes, clothes, shoes, baskets, plates, books, silver, fine plastics, lidless Tupperware, and other unsundry schlock like locusts. We would hurriedly make change, bag purchases, and move on to the next person. Then, as quickly as they came, they left, and we would have time to breathe again until the next wave.

We discovered that nobody wanted the good stuff. People who shop garage sales are obviously looking for crap. The rest of the crystal and silver goes on Ebay I guess, along with the Danbury Mint Elke Hutchinson Doll. At the end of the day, we sold one 14” TV/VCR, two radios, a CD/R recorder, a lot of coffee table books, several coffee carafes, a number of vases, a lot of kitchenware, some mugs, some clothes, a boogie board, and about 20 DVDs. Left behind, were a great deal of the above, plus a Montgomery Ward record player/cassette recorder/8 track player, two rug cleaners, and two exercise machines. The fitness boom is obviously over. I can remember when a Nordic Trak at a cheap price went before you could blink an eye.

All in all, it was a successful day. We ended up with $299.50. If only we could have sold one or two more pieces of crap for that $300. I wonder if this sale, since it was a community sale, will count for our annual sale, or is we can have another one. I will say this. We are exhausted. I wouldn’t want to do this on a regular basis. The new rule will be no more buying anything ever again ever, except tor replace things being thrown away. And so, the cycle of crap continues. We moved our crap to other people. Someday they will move it on to somebody else. And so the crap will move from one house to another. Perhaps, one day, you will buy our crap at a garage sale near you. It is all part of the mystery of “The Circle of Crap.”

Now my family wasn’t anything great mind you. They were merchants.  They weren’t even pilgrims. They were not separatists like the others. But so many people died on the voyage and during that first year that they were promoted to full free colonist status. Anyway, since my family WAS there and all, we have handed down from one generation to the next the personal diary of Thomas Rogers, signatory to the Mayflower Compact and I thought you might enjoy reading a few of the entries prior to Thanksgiving.

November 12, 1620

Finally! We have escaped the hands of the heretic King James of England. No longer can he force us to worship the almighty God in his corrupt fashion. No longer can he deny us the liberty to worship God in our own way. Now we are free to enlighten others to worship God in our way by whatever means necessary.

Let me just jump ahead a year in the diary:

November 13, 1621

Brother Macy is beginning to pisseth me off. Ever since All Hallowed Eve, he has spoken of nothing but Christmas time. It is too early in the year we tell him, but he has decorated his home in traditional Christmas manner. But that is not all. Constant he is at speaking against the noble pastime of farming. He sayeth that soon he will divest himself of said farmlands and purchase forthwith a mercantile store wherein he shall sell cloth and perfumes and all manner of item to indulge a pilgrim’s fancy. He is beseeching the other pilgrims to follow him about whilst he carries aloft a giant inflated effigy of a turkey. I believe he is bewitched.

November 18, 1621

Brother Guthrie hath dropped a large amount of garbage at the bottom of a cliff. Claimeth he that he was only helping to clean Sister Alice’s abode. Constable Obie had sketched twenty-seven 8 by 10 color drawings of the refuse to be used as evidence against him. We have placed him in the pillory for littering and have declared him unfit for the militia. We believe him to be bewitched.

November 20, 1621

Brother Rogers hath spent the better part of his tyme in the Indian camp instead of attending community prayer meetings. Rumour hath that the Indians are fond of playing the game of lots and othere gambling pastimes. We must ensure that the noble savage must never allow gambling to take place upon their lands for it is an annoyance to the Lord. Sister Agatha says he is bewitched.

November 22, 1621

Many of the men, along with Captain Rockne have taken up playing a curious game. It involves carrying a small oblong ball made of pigskin across the meadow whilst the Indians try to knock them down. Many of the women folk stand by the sides chanting prayers that the Lord might aid the men in touching the pigskin down behind a line. For some reason, all the other men of the colony hath resigned themselves to watching this sporte for all the day forsaking all worke. The town elders believe they are bewitched.

November 24, 1621

Brother Darren and Sister Samantha have strange happenings at their home. The children say they have seen the broom moving on its own. Sister Samantha seems to have developed a strange twitch in her nose. The Reverend Robertson believes she is….bewitched.

November 25, 1621

Today have we the feast of which we shall partake along with our brothers and sisters even of the Indian camp nearby. So much have they instructed us in the ways of hunting, fishing, and planting crops. Were it not for these noble savages we surely would have perished long ago. We must find some fitting way in which to repay the Indians for their generosity and kindness. We will leave this to our descendants to forever repay them for this goodness.

November 27, 1621

All have feasted until they can eat no more. For some reason, our newspaper, The Mayflower Dispatch, is ten times larger than usual. Many are blaming Brother Macy. He is surely bewitched.

These are just a few of Thomas’s entries. It’s a long diary. I hope this brings the history of this important date into your own homes this holiday and I hope you all have the best Thanksgiving ever. God bless us, everyone!

Take for example, the charming little word “redundant”. We all know what it means. It means to repeat yourself. This is from your Department of Redundancy Department, so you can believe it. The dictionary says, “what is necessary or natural .” So it might not surprise you at all that it comes from the Latin word, “redundans”, which means to overflow. People who are redundant certainly do overflow, don’t they? It makes perfect sense.

Or, if you want to reach a little, there’s that lovely word, “concubine”. This is something I’ve always considered to be pretty much an aristocratic whooooore. This word finds its birth in the French word—and mind you, most of English comes from French (because they conquered England back in 1066 and ruled the damn place for a few hundred years. You’d think they’d have better food.) word “cumbare” which means “to lie down.” Now I can see the connection there, can’t you?

Other words take on a cultural meaning. A word we all know and love, “idiot”, a word we all use daily I’m sure, comes from the French word “idiote” which comes from the Latin word “idiota” which comes from the Greek word “idiotes” which means a layman, or private person. In other words, it means not a rich fuck, but a lower class slob like most of us. It is to be assumed, you see, that if you were not an aristocrat, you were automatically stupid. So the word for poor person came to mean stupid. It’s a class thing. You just wait until the revolution and then see who the idiots are then, by golly!

But then, from time to time, you come across some really curious origins. Thus, we have the word, “salacious”. This is not a word that comes up everyday, I know, so don’t feel bad if you don’t know it. It means “strong sexual desire” or “lusty”. In other words, it means to be horny. This word is of Latin origin. It comes from the Latin word “salax” which means “fond of leaping”. Now how fond of leaping came to mean being horny is beyond me, unless the ancient Romans had a markedly different reaction to being horny than we do today.

Moreover, as a linguist, I can tell you that you only have words for things the ideas for which exist. That is, we have a word for shoes because we have shoes. True, some things that don’t exist have words, like the Easter Bunny. But the IDEA of the Easter Bunny exists. That’s why we have a word for it. So, if the ancient Romans had a word for “a fondness for leaping”, it is because there were Romans who really liked to leap a lot.

How do you develop a fondness for leaping? I have a hard time imagining the conversations that may have come up
.

“So, Servinius, what say you and me go out leaping tonight after the games, huh? What d’ya say?”

“I dunno, Titus. I went out leaping last night. I’m tired. You sure have a fondness for leaping.”

“Yeah, I guess I do. I don’t know why. I just love leaping. Leaping over bushes. Leaping over slaves. Once I was following this guy carrying a cross and he fell down? I leaped right over him. I can’t help myself.”

“You’re just…I dunno…what’s the word for it?”

“Salax?”

“Yeah! That’s it. You’re salax, that’s what you are.”

See, that’s what happens when you think about things. That’s why I’m never bored. It’s an interesting world. Just read the dictionary. You’ll see what I mean. Now I think I’ll go out and do some leaping. Maybe there’s something there I’m missing.

A couple of years ago I managed to score a couple of tickets to see the Irish comedian Graham Norton at the Coronet Theater in Hollywood. If you’ve never seen Graham Norton, you owe it to yourself to try and watch one of his shows. He had a chat show on BBC 4. BBC 4 is the commercial channel in the United Kingdom. That’s the channel that shows all the reality TV shows and the imports from America. It used to be aired here on BBC America, but now you can catch it on the LOGO channel. The LOGO channel is the channel that is aimed primarily for those with alternative lifestyles. Graham’s lifestyle is about as alternative as it gets. He makes the guys in the Village People seem butch.

This wasn’t the first time I’d been to the Coronet Theater. One year I took my first wife to see the play “Bullshot Crummond” at the Coronet. We got there early because we’d never been there and had no idea how long it would take to get there and park, so we decided to go across the street to get dinner and drinks at a restaurant that looked quite inviting, and ritzy. We came in and the host gave us a funny look and then seated us in sort of an out of the way corner. I wasn’t too surprised at this because we didn’t have reservations or anything, so that’s what you expect at a nice restaurant when you just walk in. They waiter, however, also gave us kind of a funny look when he took our order. While we waited for our dinners, we both had sort of a funny feeling of not really belonging there. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why, but I felt ill at ease. So did my wife (Patrick’s mom). Then finally it hit me. “Have you noticed,” I mentioned to Patricia (my first wife), “that we are the only male-female couple in the restaurant?”

It was true. All the tables accommodated loving couples, all of them of the same gender. We had stumbled into a gay restaurant/bar. That wouldn’t be a big deal nowadays, but back then, in the late seventies, it was a little odd. The service was great, however, and the food was fantastic. It was a shame we would never have felt comfortable enough to go back in those days. When we left, we noticed a lot of gay newspapers and magazines in the racks by the door. I shall always remember the Coronet for that experience, even though it was really at the restaurant across the street. After dinner we went to see the play and it was very funny. All in all, it was one of the good memories from that time in my life. But it has nothing to do with this blog.

Thirty some odd years later, I would come back to the Coronet to see this Graham Norton fellow. Graham is sort of an Irish ex-patriot. He lives in England now and loves to chide the Irish about things. It is not easy being gay in Ireland, or at least it wasn’t. I think things are getting easier now. Graham seldom comes to America, so I was surprised that he was playing in Los Angeles. I made a point of wearing my Manchester United jersey the night we went to see the show. I thought Graham would notice it, and it worked. He did talk to us during the show. He teased us for living by the beach.

I am one of the few Americans who enjoy soccer–football, as the rest of the world calls it, and Man United is my team. As happened so many years before, we arrived (this time my wife, Becky and I) well early, so once again I suggested we go to the restaurant across the street for drinks. It was no longer the same restaurant. And as we were leaving the bar, some guys started to give me a hard time about my Man United Jersey. They were Liverpool fans. This was my first experience of football hooliganism. My next experience would be when we went to a Man United vs. Club America game at the Los Angeles Coliseum. There were whole busloads of people shouting insults at each other. I saw two large groups of people hurling football songs at each other. People get intense when it comes to football. Americans don’t get so emotional about soccer. It takes other things to get Americans angry enough to fight. It takes something like Shakespeare.

This may surprise you but Shakespeare does not belong solely to scholars. In the 19th century, his words were on the lips of ordinary Americans, who, in an era passionate about political oratory and religious sermons, regarded Shakespeare as a source of moral instruction and immortal speeches. On one fateful night in 1849, popular adulation turned violent in a deadly episode recreated by Nigel Cliff in “The Shakespeare Riots,” a new book recently published about the bard of Avon (not the cosmetics line).

During the 1800s America was a new country and was desperately trying to improve her image around the world. People here wanted to appear educated and cultured. We wanted the world to know we were more than a country of crusty frontiersmen and wild Indians. Ragged theatrical companies, performing on riverboats or in local taverns, took their audiences to Venice and Verona, accepting payment in potatoes or bacon if money was scarce. Shakespeare counted for a quarter of all plays performed in the United States in the 19th century, and on the frontier his popularity was second to none.

Edwin Forrest was the premier American Shakespearean actor. According to Mr. Cliff, “His fans wanted a larger-than-life hero who gave them electrifying emotions and stirring sentiment, and Forrest was the genuine article, the fearless, self-reliant republican, the Jacksonian giant from the woods.” In a nation throbbing with a sense of cultural inferiority and overrun by English actors, he represented a new beginning. “Let us support this tender sapling and prove to the pedants of Europe that that our soil is fertile in genius and that her children know how to cherish and reward it,” a New Orleans newspaper wrote after a Forrest appearance.

William Charles Macready was the chief rival of Mr. Forrest. Macready was an English actor who played his parts with a bit more restraint in stark contrast to Forrest’s emotive, physical approach. The world was not big enough for both of them, and when the two, formerly friends, fell out, their quarrel took on international dimensions.

Who owned Shakespeare? Which country deserved to rule the future? Class tensions complicated the picture. Forrest was the darling of the working classes. Sophisticates in Boston and New York preferred Macready. When the two actors turned up in New York at the same time, Macready at the snooty Astor Place Theater, Forrest at the Broadway Theater, the stage was set for violence, and New York’s groundlings delivered it, in rioting that claimed as many as 30 lives.

Who would have thought that Americans would be passionate about Shakespeare? “That fellow Shakespeare could sure spill the real stuff,” one ranch hand said after hearing Julius Caesar’s “dogs of war” speech. “He’s the only poet I ever seen what was fed on raw meat.”

A lot of people shy away from Shakespeare, but I find that usually happens only when people read the plays without giving them a good viewing. Try Mel Gibson’s Hamlet, or Kenneth Branagh’s, although Lawrence Olivier’s Hamlet is good too. Hamlet, by the way, was a total rewrite of an earlier Shakespeare play, Titus Andronicus, which is just terrible. It is recognized by most scholars as being just simply awful. For some reason Anthony Hopkins recently did a film version of this play called “Titus”. It got bad reviews also.

Many people do not realize that the great love story “Romeo and Juliet” was meant to be a play showing (a) the evils of the Roman Catholic Church, and (b) the absolute folly of romantic love which was considered a bad idea that could only lead to unhappiness. The purpose of the play was to convince young people NOT to fall in love. Our attitudes have changed a little since those days, although it would seem that many love affairs end nearly as tragically.

So in honor of the bard, go rent Hamlet, or Hamlet, or Hamlet, or Much Ado About Nothing, or a Midsummer’s Night Dream, or even West Side Story and tip one back for Willy. You can’t go a day without saying one of the words he invented, so give him his due. As the ranch hand said, he could “spill the real stuff.” Let’s show the world that Americans still love Shakespeare. Damn straight. And we’ll beat the crap out of anybody who says we don’t.

You can always trust FATE for articles on ghosts, UFOs, Demons, Trolls, Faeries, lost continents, Big Foot, the Loch Ness Monster, The Jersey Devil, and other cryptozooilogical specimens (I’ve always wanted to opportunity to use that word). I have always been drawn to the regular monthly columns, “My Proof of Survival”, dedicated to stories which “prove” that the soul survives death, and “True Mystic Experiences”, dedicated to, well, true mystic experiences. Whether or not you believe in any of that crap, FATE is entertaining.

Recently, they have added a monthly column on animal communication. It’s sort of a “Dear Abby” for people who want to know what their pets are really thinking. I’m pretty sure that most pets would think that their people are nuts for writing in to a column on animal communications, but I could be wrong. Anyway, people write in explaining that their dog or cat is acting a certain way and could the psychic please explain what the dog or cat is thinking and why they are behaving so. I’m sorry, Paula, but your Bichon Frisé has developed a relationship with the rhodadendron in the corner and no longer feels the need for you company. And please change her kibble.

Somehow it’s a little odd to imagine some person sitting down and taking pen to paper to write to someone in hopes of finding out why the cat seems a little aloof lately. Mind you, I’ve actually called in the services of an animal psychic, too. So it’s not exactly like I’m a total skeptic about the whole thing. I’m guessing here that I just have no reason to put my faith in somebody who works for a pulp magazine and that person’s ability to “read” what is going on in my pets’ minds.

Normally, I would only share my interest in this magazine who truly appreciate how weird a person Big Daddy can be, and that would be all of you. Still, I let most issues of the magazine go by without comment. I wrote the one blog about FATE so that you could all enjoy the phenomenon that is FATE magazine on your own, or not, as is your choice. Yet this issue has an article which I feel compelled to share with you. It is an article of earthshaking importance. This issue has an interview of historical significance, as it is the first time, to my knowledge, that anyone has ever interviewed a snake.

Animal psychic Cathy Malkin-Currea interviews a snake recently adopted by one Phyllis Golds. The snake, a five-foot red-tailed boa constrictor, had been abandoned in an apartment for a month with no food or water. Cathy first tells us that the snake is a female and has expressed a desire to have a name that denotes value and healing. I would wonder why the snake would want any name given it by a human, myself. I won’t bore you with the entire interview here. Besides, then you would have no reason to read FATE. And the more readers FATE has, the more likely it is to remain in publication, allowing me the selfish pleasure of reading it. However, I will give you the highlights.

Cathy asks if snakes think. “Yes, we think. We just don’t think in the same way as humans do. We are wired to be more aware of our senses and learn to think through our senses and trust them. (interesting that a snake would know enough about electrical engineering to provide that metaphor—in fact, interesting that a snake would even USE a metaphor). Therefore we are much more sensitive to our environment than people are. Just by the nature of how we move, we are more in touch with what is around us. Our intelligence is not based on ego, but survival. Humans used to understand this principle as they once lived more like we do. Now humans tend to be led by their ego instead of their heart.” Wow. The snake is apparently a student of human history. The snake seems to understand what we think and what we USED to think, also. Cathy then askes the snake what it thinks.

“As I mentioned, we don’t think in the same way humans do, so it might be hard for you to ‘wrap your brain around’our thought patterns. (Hmmmm…the snake knows about brains. Obviously it also had time to study physiology, too.) …Our thoughts tend to be more or what is needed for basic survival, yet we have plenty of time for meditation and dreams.” Well, it’s hard to think about more than basic survival when you don’t have arms, legs, and thumbs. It’s nice that they meditate, though.

“…It’s my belief (the snake’s) that if humans did acccept that snakes along with all animals had thoughts, feelings, and viewpoints (I wonder who the snake likes in the next election), then people would never treat us so inhumanely.” Wouldn’t it be impossible, by definition, for humans to treat snakes “inhumanely”. However we humans treat snakes, we would, by definition, be treating them humanely. “Having no legs has nothing to do with why humans fear us…we felt we had to let them know that we were a force to be reckoned with. This is why so many stories and myths have been created in our honor.” Just when I thought that the snake was pretty damn eloquent, the snake goes and ends a sentence with a preposition. I guess the snake isn’t as smart as I thought. However, it does seem to have a grasp on our collective folklore. It’s a shame it never got the chance to talk to psychologist Carl Jung.

This is only a small portion of the total interview. It goes on for two more pages. I am sure you are as surprised as I was at how articulate a reptile could be. What would we do without animal communicators, eh? Otherwise, we might never have found out, as this interview indicates, that snakes would prefer to live free in the wild, as opposed to spending their lives in a cage eating feeder mice. Moreover, we might never have known that snakes were such students of the arts and sciences. But then, the snake does say that our belief that we are more intelligent than they is simply, “the construct of the human ego (who would have thought the snake would be Freudian?) and projection.”

So you see, without FATE magazine, we would never know these things. This March 2008 issue also has articles on the beast of Bolivia, laughing ghosts (sure, THEY can laugh, they’re dead), and UFOs over Texas. I can think of at least ONE illegal alien they must have dropped off. He’s in the White House now. Be sure to pick up a copy next time you’re in a Barnes and Noble or a Borders. Trust me, you won’t find FATE in the supermarket. It’s good to know someone is on the cutting edge of the paranormal. But then, I’m pretty paranormal myself.

We’ve even done a little ghost hunting. We’ve gone to the Whaley House in Old Town San Diego with our EMF detectors and thermometer. As you have no doubt noticed, there are a few pictures in my photo bin of that experience. Are there ghosts in the pictures? Who knows? I would guess probably not, but I’d like there to be. It would be kind of cool to catch a ghost in an image, don’t you think? But I’m not convinced that there is anything in the picture that is ghostly.

I don’t find ghosts too scary, although Becky does. So I find it interesting that she is so fascinated by them. She has read a number of books on the subject. But she wouldn’t want to meet one face to orb, as it were. She didn’t mind going into the Whaley House, or the Drumm Barracks, which is also supposed to be haunted, near our school. But she wouldn’t want to spend the night there. And she has said that she definitely wouldn’t want to go along with the TAPS team to investigate a haunted location, even if she had the chance. I don’t think she’s looking for some kind of affirmation of life after death because her faith in God and heaven and everything seems stronger to me than most people’s.

For me, the jury is out on ghosts. I don’t know what they are. I am convinced that something is going on. I have seen some pretty weird evidence (assuming that the evidence isn’t a complete sham and the people producing it aren’t having us all off). For example, one episode of TAPS showed a video clip of a chair moving across the floor by itself. Now, lets for the moment assume that the Jason and Grant are sincere and that they didn’t fake that shot. Somehow, that chair moved. Now did a ghost do it? I don’t know. Is it possible that one of the team could have telekinetically moved the chair without realizing it? Perhaps. I don’t know. Telekinesis is about as paranormal to most scientific minded people as are ghosts, so that isn’t a much better explanation. One might say that the wind moved the chair, but then one might also be an idiot, too. That doesn’t seem like a reasonable explanation to me. But, clearly, something did happen there. And a true scientist doesn’t dismiss the facts because they don’t conform to current theories. That moving chair has to be explained, as to other ghostly experiences.

There are several different types of hauntings according to most paranormal experts. There are phantoms, apparitions, classic hauntings, graveyard spectres, and etherial revenents. Ghosts are not to be confused with spirits. Although many people see ghosts after consuming spirits. Ghosts are trapped here. Spirits can move back and forth between the earthly realm and the spiritual realm, presumably on some sort of Spiritual Metro or something. Hopefully, they have monthly passes.

Phantoms are ghosts which so closely resemble the living that the living often mistake them for living beings. These are those ghosts that people pick up as hitchhikers and then discover after a few miles that the hitchhiker has mysteriously disappeared from the car. So for all you know, you may be seeing ghosts all the time and simply not know it. That could be disconcerting.

There is no doubt that apparitions are ghosts (as opposed to living things). You would never confuse them with the living. They have a nasty habit of being translucent, for example, that most of us forego. And many times, they cannot be seen at all. There are some fifteen types of apparitions. I won’t go into them all here. They all seem to fall into two basic types. There is one kind of apparition that can interact with the living. And then there are the ones that seem to ignore us all together, which is just plain rude. Those are the ones that seem to repeat the same behavior over and over, such as walking on a staircase or eating the last slice of pizza. Some of these apparitions appear human like. Others appear only as orbs, glowing balls of light that generally only appear in photographs (often taken with cameras with dirty lenses), or as a mist of some kind.

A classic haunting, AKA entity haunting, would be any phantom or apparition that is interactive and tied to a specific location. Graveyard spectres are seen only in graveyards…duh! They generally appear only for a short time after a burial. Etheric revenents are dangerous undead creatures that feed off the energy of living beings. They are the origin of the vampire myth. I’m glad we finally found a rational explanation for that one! We wouldn’t want people seriously considering the existence of vampires.

I don’t really have a problem with believing that the spirit of a person survives death. Hell, my whole religion depends on that idea. But there are certain aspects of ghostlitude that cause me problems. For one thing, why is it that you never hear of exceptionally ancient ghosts. Most ghost stories involve the spirits of people who’ve been dead a relatively short while, a few hundred years at most. There are stories of some ghostly Roman soldiers from Britain, but by and large, most ghosts are not much older than a few hundred years at most. Why aren’t there any ghosts of Neanderthals? Did their energy dissippate in time? Did they not have very advanced souls? There are ghost dogs and horses. Why aren’t there any ghost mammoths or dinosaurs? I mean, maybe there are, but I haven’t read any stories about them.

And why are ghosts always dressed, and why do they have props? The Drumm Barracks is supposed to have the ghost of a little boy that can be heard bouncing a ball against the walls in the hallway. I have no particular problem believing in a ghost boy, but a ghost ball? What did the ball ever do to anybody? Why didn’t it get to pass on into the great ball beyond? And those famous ghosts that ride horses…why do the horses have to hang around? Moreover, I can understand the ghost of a person, a spirit, but what about the clothes? Why do ghosts always seem to wear clothes from the appropriate historical period? The spirit may hang around, but the clothes wouldn’t, it seems to me.

Most ghostly happenings have rational explanations. That is why we love Ghosthunters. Grant and Jason go in trying to disprove the haunting. They do their best to debunk all the ghostly evidence. After one of their investigations, all that remains is what cannot be explained by any natural phenomenon. Orbs, for example, which are often touted as proof of a ghostly apparition, are really most often reflection of light on the lens of the camera or insects reflecting back light. People only ever see the orbs in photos. I have yet to hear any ghost investigator say, “Whoa! Look at that orb!”

Many people claim to have seen the ghost of some old hag while in bed. The usual claim is that the subject was lying in bed when s/he suddenly felt a heaviness and was unable to move. The subject then claims to see some old hag at the foot of the bed. The experience passes. Meanwhile, the subject is peeing his or her pants. This, actually, strange as it sounds, is quite explainable. It is a medical condition known as…”the hag experience.” It is caused by the brain waking up before the body does. Hence, you are unable to move. The old hag is a hallucination. This has been clinically verified. So that old hag isn’t a ghost at all.

Faces and other shapes that are seen in photos are often the result of something the shrinks call “matrixing”. That is the condition that causes one to be unable to escape the image of Keanu Reeves. Seriously, people like to know what shit is, so when we see a shape of some kind, our brain likes to assign the image to something we already know, like a face. We like to see faces. We recognize faces. It’s kind of like looking at clouds and seeing bunnies and horsies and 1961 Les Paul Gold Tops in them.

Many other ghostly experiences can be explained by large electromagnetic fields. Of course, paranormal investigators like to tie ghostly apparitions to big electromagnetic fields. But it has been shown that strong electromagnetic fields can cause emotional distress in people. They can cause the feeling of not being alone, of being watched. A large EMF can cause hallucinations. This is why photographic and video evidence is so important. Again, assuming that there is no evidence tampering, such evidence is not subject to hallucinations. The same can be said for digital voice recordings of ghostly voices that can not been heard at normal auditory frequencies. I have heard my share of them and they do sound spooky. Although, to be totally honest and rational, most of those sounds are unintelligible to me. Once somebody says, “Listen closely…the ghost is saying Glen Beck is an idiot…”, you can make it out. But by then, just like those famous optical illusions of the beautiful woman and the old hag, once you see one, it’s hard to see the other. Once somebody tells you what the ghost is saying, that’s what you tend to hear. Still, it cannot be denied that SOMETHING is on the recording, whatever it is saying.

So what causes ghostly apparitions and sounds? I have no clue. Perhaps there is a perfectly rational explanation we just don’t yet understand. Perhaps there’s some kind of quantum physical time loop happening going on. Maybe there is some way in which events are imprinted on energy fields and replay like a bad video recording. Perhaps ghosts are interdimensional visitors of some kind. Perhaps ghosts are really space aliens. I do find the subject interesting. I do want to know what is going on in these haunted houses. And it is fun to visit “haunted” sites with the expectation of seeing or hearing something strange. Just beware of hitchhiking ghosts! (bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!)*

When we look at the television industry, we might be tempted to consider ourselves, the viewers, to be the consumers. But this is not so! We are not the consumers. We are the workers. How do you figure that, Big Daddy, you ask, as well you might? Well, the television isn’t getting any money from us, for one thing. Their money doesn’t come from the people watching. Their money comes from the advertisers. You see, television isn’t selling programs (and that’s good, because I wouldn’t buy any of them). Television is selling viewership. Television guarantees to the advertisers that a certain number of people will be watching a given program. The advertisers then purchase the program.

So the advertisers are the consumers. What television is selling is our viewership; therefore we are the workers. The other way to tell that we are the workers is that watching television is no fun. At least watching the ads isn’t fun. That’s why we try to get out of watching the ads by doing other stuff while the ads are on, such as using the bathroom or making a snack. And this is why television is so bad.

You see, they don’t really care if we like the programs or not. They are not trying to interest us in the programs. They are trying to interest the advertisers. For us, all they care about is that they get our attention, which they do every time they put something lurid are bizarre on the screen. We watch television the same way we watch an automobile accident, with that same kind of fascination. Once they have our attention, then the advertisers can sell us shit.

The television’s job is to produce programs as cheaply as possible so that they can make a big profit, like any other factory. If they could outsource our viewing to another country, I’m sure they would, but they can’t. Advertisements, on the other hand, have big budgets. Nearly as much work goes into producing most ads as goes into a big budget Hollywood movie. That’s because they need to make the commercial entertaining so we will watch it, and watch it the ten or twenty times we need to watch it in order to be suitably brainwashed. A lot of money goes into those commercials, including research that allows them to make a commercial that will still sink in even if you see it in fast forward mode while you’re speeding on to the next bit of the program you Tivo’d.

Another way to know that we are the workers in the television industry is to note how much we work. The way that capitalism dealt with the labor unions’ insistence on an eight hour work day was to find ways that the same amount of work could be done in fewer hours. That’s how we got the assembly line. As most of us have noted, the number of commercials per hour in television has steadily increased. Late night, I’m sure you have noticed there are often seven minutes of commercials for every four minutes of program. It’s enough to drive you crazy.

Moreover, the duration of each commercial is getting shorter and shorter. At one time, the average commercial was one minute in length. Now it’s much shorter, often even less than 15 seconds. That way they can get more and more commercials in a shorter period of time. Commercials are what the networks are selling. So for each hour of television we are getting less and less program and more and more commercial. In other words, they are making us work harder, longer hours. And we don’t even get paid!

So if you wonder why the news media makes such a big deal about stupid little things that politicians say and why they spend so much time trying to scare us, it’s because they want us to watch their news so we see the ads. And we do. They just need us to do our job. The news industry took a big hit back in the Reagan years when the FCC ruled that reporting the news fell under the same category as any other programming, thus relieving the networks from the responsibility of having to keep the public informed. In other words, new programs now have to make the same profit as any other program. When I was a kid, the two big political conventions were all that was on television those nights. Now, the conventions are banished to cable networks, which still show ads during the coverage.

Even the film industry isn’t immune from this. Increasingly product placement has become a bigger and bigger part of film making, along with all merchandise associated with the film. Now I’m not trying to paint television as the great evil or anything. But this is why the programming is so bad. Still, it’s amazing how much you discover when you stop watching television. For example, there are these strange things called books with which we were familiar while children, but with which, as adults, we spend less and less time. And as a reminder to those of you  who spend more time reading than watching the tube, get back to work!

From a transcript of the popular PBS program, The Antiques Roadshow, being televised from Scottsdale, Arizona, March of 2010.

Stephen Massey, Antique expert from New York City, New York: We have an interesting piece here, as you know, Mr. Klein. Why don’t you tell us a little of the history behind this.

Mr. Klein: Well, there’s not too much to tell really. My dad, Ernie Klein, served in the army during the war, the big one, you know, WW2. Anyways, he’s in Berlin right after the war and this guy with a funny mustache tells him he’s trying to raise some quick cash. My dad didn’t have any money right then. Lost his whole damn paycheck in a crap game, you know how it is. So’s he offers this guy three cartons of cigarettes for it. Mom never liked the look of the damn thing so it was up in the attic ‘til my dad died twenty years ago. She said she was gonna give the thing to the Salvation Army, but I said, “Hell, I’ll take it.” So I went and picked the sucker up in a U-Haul and brought it back here to Scottsdale. But that’s about all I know about it. We never could figure out what it was for.

Stephen Massey: Did you ever have it appraised before?

Mr. Klein: Nope. We never did. Never wanted to sell it. I just kind of keep in the living room by the TV. I like to hang my jacket off them little bird things. I dry my underwear on those rods there.

Stephen Massey: Well, this wood here is Acacia wood. You don’t see it too often anymore. Not for a long time. It isn’t little. We measured it at almost four feet long and about two and half feet wide. Believe it or not, this gold looking metal you see is actually pure gold. So I’d say your dad did okay for three cartons of cigarettes. Those “bird things”, as you call them, I’m told are what some religions call cherubim.

Mr. Klein: Cherubim? What the hell…

Stephen Massey: It’s a kind of angel. And those rods, we’re pretty sure, were once used to carry this thing around.

Mr. Klein: You don’t say.

Stephen Massey: Now it appears that the top here is removable. We had some experts take a look at this a little while ago, but we found that when the top was removed it just seemed to melt the flesh off everybody around. Dead, all of them.

Mr. Klein: Jeez, good thing I never tried to take that damn lid off before. Thanks for letting me know about THAT.

Stephen Massey: Mr. Klein, why exactly did you bring this to the Antique Roadshow?

Mr. Klein: Well, I was kinda hoping you guys could tell me what it was, you know?

Stephen Massey: Well, we did bring in some experts. They were kind of hard to find in Scottsdale, but they all seem to pretty sure that what you’ve got here is the Lost Ark of the Covenant. Do you have any idea what it’s worth?

Mr. Klein: Well, I don’t know. I thought maybe five hundred or so. But hey, if that’s real gold, it must be worth a little more than that.

Stephen Massey: Well, it does have a few scratches here and there and that’s bound to affect the value. But it doesn’t look like you’ve tried to clean it or refinish it, and that’s good. Collectors like that original finish. Of course, it’s hard to attach a value to something that’s one of a kind. We don’t really have anything to go by, here. But I feel sure that if I were selling this in my shop, I would ask at least five thousand dollars for it. At auction, with the right crowd, who knows? It could bring in seven, maybe even ten thousand.

Mr. Klein: Wow. You really think so? Well, I wouldn’t sell it anyway. I kinda like it next to the TV. And those rods work great for drying my shorts. But it’s good to know anyway. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

ORIGINAL LOST ARK OF THE COVENANT: $5,000

According to the New York Times, psychologists suggest that our penchant for playing pranks is prompted by our desire to make folks more humble. We value and honor the ability to laugh at oneself. Whenever we are the victim of a well planned practical joke, we realize we are not so on top of things as we like to think we are. This brings us down a peg or two and reminds us to be humble, and hopefully we have a good laugh, along with everybody else (at our expense, of course). So what is the origin of April Fools’ Day? I’ll tell you.

Nobody knows. There is a story that has been going about for a number of years that the day found its beginnings back in the late 1500s when Pope Gregory changed the New Year from April 1 to January 1. Ancient cultures used to celebrate the New Year at the beginning of spring as you all know if you read my earlier articles on New Year’s Day. When Gregory changed the date to the first of January, many people either refused to accept the new date or didn’t know about it. These people were considered “fools” by the people in the know as it were. They were often sent of fools’ errands, or as we might call them, wild goose chases. This is supposed to be the origin of April Fools Day and it is what you generally see when you look it up on the net.

However, it doesn’t really hold water, because not every country accepted the Gregorian calendar at the same time and April Fool’s Day existed in countries that still observed the old Julian calendar. Another story circulating around refers to Constantine and his jester, Kuger. The story goes that Constantine made the jester emperor for the day and that the day was given over to absurdity. This, however, was an admitted hoax by the man who first suggested it, Professor Boskin of Boston University.

I think it safe to say that we can chalk it all up to Spring Fever. Many different cultures have had days of foolishness around the start of April, give or take a couple of weeks. The Romans had a festival named Hilaria on March 25, rejoicing in the resurrection of Attis. The Hindu calendar has Holi, and the Jewish calendar has Purim, although not so lighthearted a holiday as you might think, considering it celebrates the hanging of a guy who persecuted the Jews…but then, that’s Israel for you. Perhaps there’s something about the time of year, with its turn from winter to spring, that lends itself to silliness. I, however, tend to be silly all year long.

April Fool’s Day is celebrated is celebrated all around the Western world. The French call it Poisson d’avril, or April Fish. They like to tape a picture of a fish on someone’s back, because there is nothing quite so hilarious as a picture of a fish on someone’s back. But then, the French like Jerry Lewis, so what can you say? They should stick to food and wine…and art, they’re not bad at that, either.

–Hello, Mr. Robertson.  I would like to have a word with you.

–What?  Excuse me?  Pam!  PAM!

–Your secretary cannot hear you, Mr. Robertson.

–Pam!  What did you do to my secretary, you ni…

–Now watch your mouth, Mr. Robertson.  I would advise you to keep a civil tongue, if you know how to do that.

–Now look you.  I don’t know who you are, or what you’re selling, but you better get your ass out of here before I call security.  And put out that pipe!  There’s no smoking in this building!

–You can try to call security if you want to, but it won’t help you, Mr. Robertson.

–We’ll see about that!  Let me just pick up this phone and you’ll see just how quick…ouch!  I don’t get it.  Where the hell’s the dial tone?  Security!  Security!  Ouch!  Damn!  That hurts!  Look, get out of here!!   What the hell do you want?  I’m a busy man.  What’s with that doll?  Are you trying to sell me some kind of toy doll?  Well, I’m not buying!

–This doll is not for sale, Mr. Robertson.  Allow me to introduce myself.  I am Papa Legba.

–Papa Legba?  I never heard of you.

–No.  You don’t know me, Mr. Robertson.  But I know you.  Bondye sent me down here to talk to you.

–Bondye?

–You probably know him better as Jehovah.  You know, The All Mighty?

–Jesus, not another one!

–No, Mr. Robertson, Jesus couldn’t come today.  He asked me to come and have a word with you.

–Well I gotta tell you Papa Lego,

–LegBA

–Whatever.  I been reading the bible a long, long time, and I ain’t never heard of nobody like you.  Not in the bible, not in the Koran, not in any of the holy books!

–Mr. Robertson, may I respectfully suggest you wouldn’t know a holy book if it came up and bit you on your stupid white ass.

–How dare you talk to me that way, you OUCH!  What the hell are you doing with that doll?

–Oh, nothing much, Mr. Robertson.  May I suggest that it is possible that there are more holy ways than the paths you recognize as organized religions?

–I don’t get you.

–No, I don’t think you do.  I have come, Mr. Robertson, with a message from the heavenly creator.  You believe that God speaks to you, don’t you?  Well, the Lord is speaking to you right now, Mr. Robertson.  And the Lord is telling you to shut the fuck up!  Why is it you cannot control that stupid cracker mouth of yours, eh?

–Now wait just a damn minute there…

–I believe you said that the people of Haiti were suffering from an earthquake because they made a pact with the devil?

–Now that’s a true story.  I checked my facts.  It happened in that place…Bois Caiman.  That devil worshipper made a deal with the devil to kick out the French.  It’s in the history books.  Now don’t tell me the Lord doesn’t want me to speak the truth!

–Nobody made a deal with the Devil, Mr. Robertson.  The Devil doesn’t have time to make deals with slaves.  He’s too busy making deals on Wall Street.

–Yeah?  Well then YOU explain to me how a bunch of slaves were able to kick Napoleon out of their little shithole of an island, hah?

–Maybe in the same way that you Americans were able to seriously kick some British ass two hundred years ago?  Or maybe the fact that 10,000 French soldiers died of the yellow fever in the first six months of the war?  Maybe THAT had something to do with it? Or maybe it was because those “slaves”, as you call them, had better generals than the French expected.    Maybe it was because Napoleon was trying to fight wars all over the world.  You know, that imperialism will bite you on the ass everytime.

–Don’t give me that!  Everybody knows those people practice Voo-doo.  Everybody knows that’s a Satanic religion!

–It’s VouDOU, Mr. Robertson—not Voo-DOO.  And they don’t worship Satan, Mr. Robertson.  They pray to the same God you pray to.  Only they seem to be a lot closer to THEIR God than you are to yours.  That seems pretty certain.  I can assure you of this.  This tragic earthquake had nothing to do with any pacts with the Devil.  God does not punish people with natural disasters.  God doesn’t like these things any more than you do.  For one thing, the waiting room up there fills up pretty damn quickly whenever one of these things happens.  We don’t need the confusion.  It’s like the day after Thanksgiving up there.  These disasters are ever only a chance for you people, and I use the term loosely, to comfort and nurture one another.  An earthquake is certainly not an opportunity for you to start throwing blame around, you idiot.  Take a good look at this doll, Mr. Robertson.  Look familiar?

–I recognize that face…

–You should.  It’s the same stupid look I’m looking at right now.  You need to shut up, Mr. Robertson.  You need to quit speaking your mind because I would say you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.  In a battle of wits, you are decidedly unarmed, Mr. Robertson.  I suggest you stop shooting off your mouth, at least about my people, or I will be forced to  place this little pin… right… here.

–Ouch!  Damn, that hurts!

–Do you see what I mean?

–But I…OUCH! Okay!  Okay!  Whatever you say!

–I thought you would see things my way!  I appreciate your act of kindness.

–You aren’t like the other ones!

–The Lord works in mysterious ways, Mr. Robertson.  Good day.  And I suggest you give Pam the rest of the day off when she snaps out of her trance.  She’s going to need it when she sees that dead chicken on her desk.

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