Well, Tear My Tunic!

Attended a Baptist church service today. And darnit if they aren't some boisterous people. I mean, I'd never heard people actually yell shit out during a sermon before. In Orange County when you agree, you just sit there. In Tennessee, you take off your shoe and, like, throw it at the guy.

The thing about church is that even if what's going on around you is boring, superstitious or maddeningly, ridiculously, want-to-get-up-on-your-chair-and-point-and-scream-at-everybody glib, any of this can be easily tuned out for one reason: you're stuck in this crazy room with one of the best books ever. And if, like me, you're a shameless nerd, you just have to know all the stuff in there anyway, because it comes up all the time, and if you're going to read Absalom, Absalom one day, godfuckingdammit, you want to know who Absalom is. (In case you're interested, he killed his brother for raping his sister and ended up hung in a tree by his hair.) So if you're like me, and every hour spent in church is merely a sixty-minute opportunity for an existential crisis prompted by the mysteries of the canonization process or the pastor's philosophically irresponsible use of the word "miracle," my advice to you is this: don't forget that they've provided reading material. No, not that. That's the hymnal. Don't look at that. It sucks.

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