I was talking to my shaman friend in Texas last night, because really, doesn’t everyone have a shaman friend in Texas?

She has a wealth of information, and sees the global picture in a very clear way. She knows things.

She is also in poor health, her eyesight doesn’t allow her much time on the internet, and she is quite isolated. Other than her family and her phone calls to me, she doesn’t get much social interaction.

After the usual pissing and moaning about fighting the school system to educate an autistic student, we generally move on to the part where I say “You’re preaching to the choir”, but I let her rant because, really, she needs to vent her frustrations about the culture of consumerism, and how Nobody. Can. See. What. Is. Happening. Boy, talk about your run on sentence structure. I’m old. Back off, okay?

All that was pretty innocuous, until she mentioned how pretty Bin Laden is getting in his videos, meaning he didn’t look to be hiding in a cave. Right then, at that very moment, there was a click, and a dialing tone.

We both cracked up, and started talking to whoever was monitoring the call. You know, cracks about what a dangerous woman this is, with an audience of one.

Then we continued to speculate that it seems when there is an election coming up, Bin Laden releases another video. So, we continued talking about how people lost their minds after September 11, 2001. She said they were rushing to Walmart to buy guns and ammo, and I said that was so foreign to the Canadian sensibilities and yadda yadda yadda.

On to discussing Michael Moore, and how funny he is, although I have reservations about his editorial presentation of material.

As soon as the name passed our lips, there was another click, and ringing dial tone.

Again, the cracking up.

We concluded the conversation by expressing love for one another (in a strictly platonic way) and a message to the monitoring team: “It’s getting pretty late now. Y’all don’t drink any more of that coffee. Have a nice sleep. The dangerous rabble-rouser is going to bed to rest her crippled self.”

1984? It has gone so far beyond that.

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