Transmogrification and other idiosyncrasies

As writers try to put a new twist on things, some have turned to pitting one transmogrifier against another, or making them allies - most commonly the vampire and the werewolf. Although there are other transmogrifiers such as shapeshifters, they aren't as popular as the vampire and the werewolf. This might be because once they've 'transformed', they don't necessarily retain any human features and are indistinguishable from the 'real' thing. Or perhaps the creature into which they transmogrify is just unromantic.


An example of this is P'an Hu, the dog-man from Chinese folklore. In western culture, dogs don't evoke the same connotations as wolves. When dogs are spoken of, there just isn't that air of mystery and wildness that is associated with wolves. Perhaps it's because the term dog includes all domesticated canines and it's hardly surprising that the image of a chihuahua with head held high baying at the moon doesn't stir the same emotion as a similar image of the wolf.



What about the ursine counterparts - the werebear - of Native American culture? The bear is a mighty creature, bested only by a man with a gun (or equivalent weapon) or nature herself. Not as agile as the wolf, the bear doesn't really need to be; when was the last time a wolf was witnessed knocking down a large sapling? But then, for some odd reason, once transformed into a 'werewolf' the beast assumes strengths attributable to neither of its originating species.

Perhaps the reason the werebear doesn't make it big in western culture is because the name is a bit too close to Care-Bears. However, one must ask the obvious question there; what could be scarier than a CareWereBear - a creature with a supernaturally powerful caring nature. Certainly the thought of a bone-crushing hug would be enough to frighten off the most determined of enemies (or maybe that was CareWearBear - trousers that take care not to chafe the parts that make us growl).

If not a werebear, then I suppose there is less likelihood of a werepig being successful. Although reality would ensure it was an extremely frightening experience, the idea of being chased through woods by a seemingly unathletic, squealing, and grunting beast doesn't sound all that terrifying. Not only that, but unlike its ursine and canine counterparts, the werepig doesn't sound as if it would be all that natural at predatory techniques such as tree climbing - even with the aid of human genes.

It looks like were going to have to forego exotic imaginary creatures such as the werechidna, werebadger, or the weregiraffe and go with an animal that has a little more romantic value. So, be on the lookout for the wereleopard, wereagle, weretiger, or when looking for an ally instead of an enemy, look towards the werehorse.

Essence of Beagle

I saw this picture on Loldogs and thought it the very essence of a good natured beagle. Just look at that tail go.

And to think, it isn't likely to lose any of that enthusiasm as it gets older.



see more dog and puppy pictures

Michael the Miraculous

I don't care for Michael Jackson one way or another. Correction - I didn't used to care for Michael Jackson one way or the other. However, last night was like the final nail in the coffin so to speak.

Unable to sleep, I switched TV on and EVERY open channel was showing the Michael Jackson Memorial. The main difference between them, was that one would show snippets of bygone concerts, while another would show 'special' performances that were tributes to Michael Jackson while he was still alive.

One channel had a 'commentator' who made the event sound somewhat like a tennis match at Wimbledon. While I was in the kitchen and hence could only hear the TV, I actually thought I was on the Wimbledon channel. You can imagine my surprise when the Rev Al Sharpton began his fire and brimstone speech. I thought Wimbledon had taken a turn...for the worse (which I previously didn't consider possible).

I quickly grew very tired of all the miracles attributed to Mr Jackson during his life. One shining example (I can't remember which deluded soul came up with this one) was that 'Michael Jackson taught us how to love'. It kinda makes me wonder how homo-sapiens made it thus far without Michael's input. Even Martin Luther King Jr. only had a decade or so to learn how to love - and that was if Michael began teaching shortly after he was born.

The Memorial continued through into the early morning show Curtainman watches while he drinks his morning coffee. He rolled his sleepy eyes several times while watching the program and when yet another performer graced the stage, Curtainman said "Who's that?"
"Michael Jackson," I laughed, being awake enough to recognise the station had slipped in a clip of Michael performing. "Apparently he's performing at his own Memorial. He's kinda egotistical that way," I concluded.
"The Memorial isn't even over and I've forgotten him already," mumbled Curtainman.


Well, let's just hope someone remembers to put Michael back in the coffin before he's buried.

Scent Discrimination

For some reason the business of 'scenting' came to my attention. Why do we often use fruit as the scent for shampoos, conditioners, air fresheners, etc? I'm not saying for one moment that these scents resemble the real odours of the fruits, but I find it a little odd that we choose to use 'foods' to make our hair, air, washing etc a bit more attractive (ie apple, berry, etc).



My question is, where and why has an invisible line been drawn? Why don't we have herring scented shampoo, beef scented clothes detergent (besides inviting predatory animals to savage our clothes - obviously not a good choice if going to the zoo for the day - so perhaps there is good reason not to use venison scented shampoo). However, the gap between the intended scent and the actual scent has probably saved us daily attacks from parrots, bats, foxes, and a myriad of other fruit-eaters.

I can already see the marketing - New ocean-fresh sardine soap, a fragrance that will attract the cool cats. Okay, so maybe that would have worked back in the 50's-60's when the hip were known as 'cool cats' (no one said I was an advertising genius)...but you get my point.




Most of us seem to love the smell of fried onions, so where is the fried onion air freshener? Is the line drawn around the fruit category? Does that mean that the almond scented shampoo is the rogue in the bathroom? Okay, so maybe we can extend that to fruit and nuts.

So where do vegetables fit in? Where is the carrot scented candles, the celery soap, and the sweetcorn dishwashing liquid? Do they not smell as sweet, attractive or as complex? Are we to forego the pumpkin fabric softener for the lemon, the broccoli scented shampoo for the olive, and the pea diffusing oil for some unspecified berry?


If vegetables or sheep could talk I reckon they'd have a case for discrimination. Personally, I'd be sending them to the Equal Opportunities Commission.

Tail Proud

Recently I've been thinking a lot about a dream I once had. The beginning of the dream was a mish-mash of partying, fights, drugs, gate-crashers, bikies, knifings, and all those things that go along with that sort of thing. The setting was a farm house we used to live in (the nearest neighbours were a few kilometres away).

We were in the lounge room and I was trying to cool down a heated argument between a couple of drunks when someone yelled the police were coming. I had to get out before they arrived (although I'm not quite sure why) so I ran out the door and through a crowd that had gathered on the front lawn. Just as I made it out to the track that served as our driveway, I could see the headlights of the police car about a kilometre away.

I ran out into the paddock where it was dark and I was going to hide behind a fallen tree that I knew was there. I neared the log and as I began to leap onto it, I changed into a panther. I was hyper-aware of my newfound agility and as I walked the length of the fallen tree I looked out into the night. The paddocks and treeline were highly visible but tinged with red-light, as though I had infra-red vision. I could see clearly, everything that stretched out before me.

I began to overbalance but quickly used my tail to regain my equilibrium. It was then I became aware of the heaviness in the end of my tail, like the last fifteen centimetres was weighted in order to act as a counterbalance. I swished my tail around and revelled in the sensation.

Despite its dreadful beginnings, the second part of the dream was beautiful and created a lasting memory. It seemed that the main focus of the dream was the 'infra-red' vision. But man, I really loved that tail!

Death as an Advisor

As I have a tendency to do, today I got into another one of those strange conversations. Today’s conversation culminated in someone with a rather eclectic spiritualism, suggesting I use death as advisor in an attempt to discover what ‘possessed’ me - if the idea interested me enough. It did.

So despite Carlos Castaneda’s writings having always frustrated me, I decided a re-visitation was in order. So with the help of Curtainman, who pinpointed the specific chapter, I re-read and attempted to digest.

“Death is our eternal companion,” don Juan said with a most serious air. “It is always to our left, at an arm’s length. It was watching you…it whispered in your ear and you felt it’s chill…It has always been watching you.

Whenever you feel, as you always do, that everything is going wrong and you’re about to be annihilated, turn to your death and ask if that is so. Your death will tell you that you’re wrong; that nothing really matters outside its touch.Your death will tell you, ‘I haven’t touched you yet’.” ~ Carlos Castaneda Journey to Ixtlan

Initially, disappointment was the result as it had been many years since I'd considered death a foe, or something to be feared. On the contrary, for a while we had quite the relationship going and I not only considered it friend, but possible saviour.

However, after I'd pondered the problem for a while, it eventuated that I considered one other thing more important than death. Intensely private and personal, I now wonder if that is ‘the’ thing that possesses me. I think it highly likely, but even if it is, I now face the question - what do I do with this information?

Turn that Dish Around

There's nothing like a good curry and in reality there's not much like a bad curry either. However, when a curry tastes nice but is uncomfortably hot; that is too hot to enjoy it, it doesn't fit either category. In fact, there's not much of my cooking that does fit into a category- any category.

My cooking skills seem to have a genetic component and that combined with little practice, less experience and beginners luck often results in the unexpected. The dishes I make have ranged from superb to inedible and often with no discernible reason.

But, I'm not a person to let the failure of a dish put me off (well not on this occasion apparently).

The other day I cooked a rather large meal of....you guessed it, curry. And yes, it was so hot that we couldn't eat it. However, I was not about to waste the ingredients so I rinsed it. Once most of the sauce had vanished off down the drain (probably cleaning the inside of the pipes like an acid-wash), I made up some gravy and voila! A new dish that I have named Washed Curry Sausages. I found it to be extremely tasty and went very well with mashed potatoes.