Boxing Day

I had to cut through the mall on my way home today. MADHOUSE. I cannot imagine staying to shop there. ...so instead I went to fourth ave, because Miz Mooz was having a sale.

shoostore.com

traxxfootwear.net

What? I needed good quality black heels. And because it was BOGO-half-off, the black heels wound up costing like $45. The original price is $140. The grey booties I almost didn't get - there was a pair of black ones that were also very cute - but considering that my wardrobe is mostly black already, I thought they might add a bit of variety.

And both are omg comfy. I love Miz Mooz shoes - the two sets of heels I bought from them in the past have lasted years, and their boots always seem to carry me through a few seasons of salt and slush and grossness even though I live in them and don't treat them nicely. So I think it was worth it.

Merry Whatever.

Here, have some Gordon. Specifically, this:

"Given our collective responsibility to push on the probabilistic weak-points of the dominant materialistic narrative that seeks to imprison us, your gift to me can be to take a few moments, preferably while intoxicated, out under the stars, to pull down whatever celestial force currently answers to the name of Jesus, that 2014 is more free and less restrictive."

Wake me up. Before you go-go.

Having survived the longest night, we find ourselves blinking in the newest dawn.

I, personally, have spent three days in bed. This is entirely my own fault, as I was determined to use the free drink tickets provided at my staff Christmas party despite the telltale signs of a cold sinking into my body. Turns out liquor does not actually fight disease, it merely shitkicks your already exhausted immune system. Was it really worth it for a few bucks worth of gin? Survey says no, but we cannot take back the past.

Consequently my Solstice plans got a little jacked - I could barely stay awake for longer than three hours at a time, let alone stay up all night. Leaving a flame lit against the darkness while drooling all over my pillow also seemed ill advised; I settled for my electric fireplace. (Which is exactly one step up from this.)

I was initially was feeling a bit like I'd missed the party, but sometime after my afternoon nap I decided that rather than mourn the misspent spooky evening, I could instead focus on the whole new day thing.

Which is an interesting thing to try and do when you wake up at 4:30 PM and it's dark out. Well. Whatever.

The holidays are a pain in the ass more often than not, because even if you're having fun they tend to play merry hell with your routine. I've already lost almost a week of my new exercise regime due to the cold from hell, as well as valuable choreography time, and this week I'll be thrown off by Christmas. I was getting ready to be all whiny about it, but then I figured I should just say "oh well" and start again, pushing forward as best I can without beating myself up about it.

We lose a lot of time self-flagellating. "I was doing so good but then X happened and blah blah blaaaaaaaaaaah." I'm not sure why, exactly, unless it's to shift responsibility so that we feel less guilt. Whatever the reason, I find it offers an excuse to procrastinate just a little bit more, because it's an excuse everyone relates to.

Today is the afterparty to the Winter Solstice. Tired, hungover, we look to the East and remind ourselves that oh fuck we have to start over tomorrow.

Stripped, Scared and Sacred Update

I have no idea who to credit for this image.

New podcast up! Episode 12: Winter Stories.


In this episode we discuss the season of death, and Mr. Harron sings Enya. This really is a selling point.

W is for Witch

This post is part of the Pagan Blog Project.

"Oh, Mandy's a witch."

Even though this is factual, it gets A Look.

"That's cool. I have friends who are Wiccan or whatever."

"I'm not actually Wiccan..."

"What's the difference?"

"They have like... morals."

This is, as near as I can recall (I had had a LOT of gin. Or was it whisky? Whatever, I could barely sit up.) an actual conversation I had some time ago. Perhaps not the most elegant explanation; when sober I'm more likely to go into "Wicca is a religion, and I don't practice it" spiel, but again: booze. Besides, nobody really cares about a witch's religion anyway.

Religion is a boring, personal, serious subject. The only people who want to talk about it in regular conversation are fundamentalists. Normal people hear 'witch' and want to know about magic, and I don't blame them. Magic is empowering, while most people's idea of religion is not. It's mysterious. To quote, "It's fun! It's scary! I mean... who gives a shit?!"

In popular culture, the witch is female* and generally either an evil hag or a beautiful seductress. Yes, there's an acknowledgement that a witch might be a crunchy granola type, but if you ask a kid what a witch looks likes she's going to show you the Wicked Witch of the West, Maleficent, or the evil queen in Snow White. Kids grasp the basics: witches are powerful, and witches are scary.

I'm not a huge fan of the 'white magic' bullshit. Not because I want people to shit their pants at the sight of me (that would be awkward) but because I don't believe magic is ever truly 'white' and that the term is used solely to present a group of people as nonthreatening. "We're not dangerous!" it says. Motherfucker, if you're not ever doing anything dangerous then what are you doing that's worth your time, study, and practice?

(This is not to say I endorse blatant stupidity, but come on. No risk, no reward.)

Witches are transgressors. They live and work between worlds. They are ridiculed, reviled, and revered in equal measure. That's just what you sign up for if you use the word, sorry. Ridiculed because what you do is insanity - really, you think you can predict the future? Talk to spirits? Yeah, babe, hold onto your crystals. OOooOOOoooh! Reviled because even now, almost in the year 2014, people believe you're the devil's concubine. Bride of Satan. Tempting people into sin, because you clearly have no other hobbies. Even older witches were traditionally often considered inappropriately sexual, always after a piece of that sweet, sweet Devil Dong. And if they weren't nailing Satan, they were dried up vessels of pure evil.

This post has skewed toward people who identify as female, and that's not gonna change with this paragraph I'm afraid; for a woman, being a rebel is powerful. You'll still be labelled a whore for doing anything that crosses the increasingly weird line of mainstream-approved sexuality, but at least you might terrify some people with your evil spiderwoman vagina in the process. You don't have to play by the rules.

As for being revered, when shit happens, and when nobody else seems to offer help, you're there. People will come to you for help. Whether or not you can help them depends on their expectations and your skill level, but rest assured that if people know you are a witch eventually you'll get a call for assistance. The people who come to you may never admit in daylight that they did, of course, but you knew that already, didn't you?

So. The witch is a sexual, possibly evil rebel with dangerous powers.

I'll take it.


* - This is not to say that male occultists are not scary badass weirdos. They certainly are. But men tend to be thought of as magicians, which while eccentric have always been a touch more legitimized depending on who was in charge. John Dee had a pretty good run, but you never heard of "the court witch."

...

(Actual content coming soon.)

Both me, folks.

These photos were both taken last night with the same crappy filter on my cameraphone. The first is almost directly after I got home from preforming at the Taboo Revue, and the second is probably twenty minutes later after I'd taken off the false lashes, washed my face, taken out my contacts and thrown on my PJs.

"Glamour: an illusion so real as to fool an onlooker…"


In other news, recorded a new podcast with Messrs. Quast and Harron tonight on the spookiness of winter.