Sunday, July 29, 2007Qu'est-ce Que C'est?
Okay, I'm home. I spent the whole weekend riding in the back of cars, walking around junk stores with my mother and her husband, listening to my grandfather's wife bitch about whatever was flitting through her brain at any given moment, and playing with their new cat.
I'm not going to go into it much here, but there was something wrong with that cat. And believe me, I know from cats -- this was no garden variety crazy kitty, and these were no ordinary feline quirks. That cat's bloodline still runs deep with an unfiltered strain of cougar. They commented on its subtle but peculiar markings -- they looked for all the world like bobcat spots to me. Fucking psycho kitty. But you kind of had to be there.
The book went down well -- that should keep him busy until Christmas, anyway. The condo we rented for the night was apparently owned by fundies. There were lots of "Left Behind" books and Kirk Cameron DVDs scattered around. I couldn't resist sneaking in a few pages -- what zany hijinks is ol' Nicolae Carpathia up to now?
I've never quite understood how it is that Christian art always manages to be so fucking bad. Kitschy, cheesy, poorly-crafted, trite, boring -- even if we assume that science and reason can't approach the ineffability of God (which I'd strongly advise against, but even if we did) you'd think the apparently intense, raw emotion fostered by salvation and direct contact with the divine would be able to produce some evidence. But walk into your local Lifeways and tell me if you sense a divine presence. I'm betting you'll leave disappointed, unless you think gilt angels are hawt.
Bah, I'm exhausted. Eight more weeks to go -- I'm starting to get little knots in my stomach whenever I think about it. |