Archive for the ‘Luc Reid’ Category
Ike Turnbull Answers ‘Rabbiless in Renton’
Thursday, April 22nd, 2010
Uncanny Pittsburgh welcomes new columnist Ike Turnbull, who will answer questions from uncanny people just like you on life, love, and self-actualization.
Dear Ike,
I’m a golem who’s been having trouble with my rabbi. When I was first created, he ranted to me and gave me orders all the time. It was like a dream. But I think he’s just tired of me now. He never sends me to defend anything or gives me new prayer scrolls any more. I hate myself for suspecting this, but I think he might be getting mixed up in ouija boarding. What can I do?
Rabbiless in Renton
Dear Rabbiless,
Don’t guess at what your Rabbi might be thinking: talk to him. Maybe he has concerns he doesn’t think he can tell you about. Create a safe environment for him to share his feelings. If you want to know if he’s using a ouija board, ask him. If he is, help him understand that he has a problem, but that there is help. Courting random spirits with an upside-down tumbler just isn’t what healthy people do. There are safe facilities where he can go that will help him understand why ghostly manipulation of the alphabet isn’t the answer, and that can help him transition back to a normal life through substitutes like touchpad finger painting and air hockey.
But if ouija boarding isn’t the problem, ask yourself frankly what your role has been in the relationship. Do you stand silently awaiting his orders for months or years as necessary? If not, why not? Have you killed anyone for him lately? Sometimes all a golem-Rabbi relationship needs to perk up is the destruction of someone truly evil. Try to think about both your needs and his needs. How can you work together so that everyone feels fulfilled?
And this doesn’t relate to your question, but golem friends of mine always tell me to recommend cocoa butter. Apparently it keeps your clay as fresh and malleable as the day you were wakened, even in hot sun. Just a handy tip.
Ike
Ike Turnbull is the author of Women are from Venus, Vampires are from Hell and How to Cope With Your Poltergeist. He welcomes questions from readers of Uncanny Pittsburgh and in comments on its sister publication, The Daily Cabal.
God Is Not Screwing Around
Monday, April 19th, 2010
“This came for you, Martin,” said Sue at reception as Martin was sneaking out of work early one Tuesday. He sheepishly took the envelope and retreated to the break room. The fluorescent lights hummed tirelessly, and Martin, who was 39, felt old and useless. He opened the envelope. It burst into flame.
illustration by Ethan Reid
Martin shrieked and threw the envelope down on the table, where it continued to flame brightly without burning up.
“MARTIN, THIS IS GOD,” said a voice from the burning envelope. “I’D LIKE TO GET TOGETHER WITH YOU UP HERE THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW AT THREE. SEE YOU THEN.”
The flames guttered, and Martin reached tentatively for the envelope. It flared again.
“AND MARTIN,” said God. “LET’S KEEP THIS BETWEEN US.”
The envelope suddenly burned away to fine ash that drifted off the table and settled invisibly over the dun-colored, industrial carpeting.
Martin didn’t sleep well that night. He began by worrying about what God could possibly want with him, but by 2:00 AM he had shifted his fretful attention to logistics. How was he supposed to get to the meeting? Would he just be lifted up bodily? If so, what if he was indoors? And so on.
The next day he would have called in sick, but God was probably watching. At work, he managed to utterly bork the financial projections he’d been working on for two weeks.
Martin was wigging out: he had to talk to someone, even though God had said not to. There seemed a real possibility he was going insane. He went down to see Sue at reception.
“You look awful,” she said. “Are you OK?”
“Actually,” Martin said in a rough voice. “I’ve been a little stressed out. I have this appointment with–”
#
The next thing Martin knew, he was waking up naked and badly hung over in an empty warehouse that smelled like beer and piss. Something sharp was jabbing his back. When he got up, he discovered he’d been sleeping on a Barbie bed.
“God is not screwing around,” Martin said.
Work that next day passed in disoriented tedium. At 2:52 he wandered into the hallway and out the back door. In a store window across the street the sun gleamed like gold. Martin squinted. Could that be–? He stepped off the curb toward the light, right into the path of a speeding Ford F-150.
Martin actually ended up being a couple of minutes early.