One thing a strict quarterly church attendance discourages, other than a meteoric increase in brownie points, is disappearing halfway through the service. Ironically enough, there’s a compulsion to pay rapt attention to the program because the event itself is made rare, and exploring your REM cycle well after the congregation amens is not a viable calling any longer.
The ideal time to vanish, I used to think, was during pre-offering prayer, which is usually situated right before the midpoint. It may just be me, but there’s this feeling of commitment when the plate is passed. Once the sermon begins, leaving at any time other than the end of the message would insult the reverend, obviously, and at that point you may as well stay for the rest. Pro-tip: sit at the end of pews for easy exit. Don’t be surrounded. Remember, where two or three are gathered, there you aren’t.
This Sunday, though, I stayed, stayed through the entire thing, even when they began using trust falls to illustrate faith. Yes, trust falls, SynerJesus Almighty, and still I stayed unto the benediction. What about this coming weekend? My Q1 churchgoings may increase by 200%. Don’t worry, though, you won’t see an inspirational post in these parts for a good long while. That shit just isn’t canon yet.
Don’t tell Cameron Crowe, but I may be his biggest accidental fan in the greater Norshore area. This isn’t really a compliment, I know, and yet accidental fandom must be explained, because we’re like normal fans, with decoder rings and t-shirts and everything, only we’re not sure how we got the rings and t-shirts and whether they’re even for Mr. Crowe.
The dots have always been on the page–Almost Famous, Vanilla Sky, Elizabethtown–and one day they connected themselves. A few months ago, I saw Vanilla Sky again, and somewhere in the middle of the movie it just made sense. I got it. It’s not the plot, mind you, so much as his watermark. Wes Anderson has his unique brand of humor, for instance, and Ridley Scott’s films usually have some serious meat to them.
Crowe’s movies are expansive, the kind of media that encourages you to stretch your limbs. There aren’t many complicated set pieces, like the overwrought bug pit in King Kong, but there’s a certain mood that stays with you. Your insides simply feel wide. I also had another Cadbury Creme Egg today. Man, was it awesome.
Sgt. Grumbles, one of Perry Bible Fellowship’s many memorable characters, reminds me of myself vis-a-vis a Cadbury Creme Egg, a treat surpassed only by Sour Patch Kids and gummi fruit slices. The appeal of an Egg, much like the pull to use a word like “vis-a-vis,” lies in its unashamed excess and its shimmering packaging.
One look at the garish foil wrapper and you know: any substantive meaning of Easter is subsumed between those rich folds of something within that chocolate shell. To this day I don’t know what constitutes the white and the yolk, nor do I have any urge to read the list of ingredients. I merely imagine an antiseptic, brightly lit factory in which the dreams of children and adults alike roll off the assembly line, packs of two, the contented clucking of rabbits the only background noise.
This recent outing into a culinary dimension without processed sugars has been a spectacular failure. Ice cream, cookies, fries, madeleines, fruit tarts, chocolate tarts, pancakes, deep dish, candy corn–holy Aunt Jemima, I posit I’ve consumed more sugar with the regimen than without it. There’s compelling support for this theory, mainly in the fact that I feel dumber. All the mental acuity gleaned from a healthier diet, gone. I’d just as soon begin typing in grunts, were it not for the selfish, inextinguishable drive to get back on the horse and reclaim that clarity of mind.