Hello people.
I know the pun above is bad, and pretty irrelevant, but it’s been on my mind for a while. There is nothing in what you will read next that has anything to do with the pope or the Vatican or anything like that. There also isn’t anything about towels either. I just thought Papal Towels was funny. It wasn’t? Oh. Sorry. I wish I was perfect like you! I’ll never be as good as you though! That’s why dad loves you more! That’s why I’ll stop right now and let my inner demons work all that out in their own time.
So Lindsay Lohan was in another paparazzi related car crash. How do we not have enough pictures of any of these celebrities? Stop it. I don’t need to see Lindsay Lohan shopping. Besides, it’s not like she’s talented enough to warrant this attention. She’s not good looking. She can’t sing. The only thing perpetuating her career is the attention from the paparazzi. What a vicious beast you are celebrity! Damn you!
Let’s not vilify the paparazzi for chasing down someone like Lindsay Lohan. Let’s vilify them for chasing down someone like Princess Di. The world will never have another princess Diana but I can swing a dead cat at Citywalk and get you ten more Lindsay Lohans. Oddly enough my hobby is dead cat swinging at nightclubs. I think that was also the name of a Benny Goodman album.
I know I had mentioned that I thought Lifechurch was little more than a cult. That was probably not the direction I wanted to go with that as I honestly don’t know enough about it to say that. That was unfair. I will say that Lifechurch is just further proof that Christianity seems to be the only religion that isn’t comfortable with it’s age. “What do you mean blog fella?” Well I’ll tell you.
Every time I turn around it’s as though Christianity is getting a Queer Eye make over. If you need proof, just turn to any one of the numerous Christian TV networks we have to choose from. The pastors are now so hip they don’t even wear ties. They wear rhinestone snap western style shirts, leather wristband watches and skintight, flared jeans. If you want to appeal to the niche market of homosexual Christians, I guess that’s one way to do it. Besides, I don’t really know if I can take someone seriously who preaches about immortality that looks like they should be managing a GAP.
“You just don’t get it man! This is Christianity for today’s world!” Ok. I get it. I’m not saying it’s bad, but it is funny. “You shouldn’t care what people think! God loves you no matter what! That’s why you can call me Pastor Steve. I’m your buddy! I dress like you and talk like you! I’m your pal but I can help you with your walk with the Lord. Here! Buy one of my shirts or sermons on CD or a book that someone I know wrote!” People seem to forget that spiritual betterment is free but religion costs. The only thing I’ve gotten for free at church is the judgment of others and a complex that I might not be loving God enough because I don’t have enough money. It’s almost like dating but with way less making out.
As far as Lifechurch goes, that is a whole other beast. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Christianity presented in a more slick fashion. The founder has a bachelor’s in marketing! We’re talking about a church that has different campuses all over the city. I guess campus is a hip way of making it not seem like it’s a church, which it is. These are churches with coffee shops in the lobby. Nothing says ‘God’s love’ like paying six bucks for coffee.
In case you didn’t know, each Lifechurch is set up with a massive video and sound system which allows sermons to be broadcast simultaneously to all the campuses from one central location. What a great idea! All that money being pulled in by people doing little more than watching TV. Now that’s marketing.
Those last parts ought to garner some response from all the Lifechurch people out there. I can hardly not wait.
I wish someone would go to Pepperoni Grill at Penn Square and get me some Eggplant Parmesan. That is one of my favorite things. Go get it woman! That’s your job! You hear me?! Do it! Every now and again I have to write something that makes me sound like less of a wuss than I really am. I have no one to boss around and my cat doesn’t understand English. My cat doesn’t even exist.
I wrote that bossy part just then because I am sitting at home listening to John Mayer while thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve woken up next to someone I loved with the desire to do little more than spend the day talking. See. I told you I was a wuss.
Let’s talk about something a little less depressing. Yankees won and Boston lost! HA! I have two good friends, both named Jason, who are on opposite ends of the baseball spectrum. One has an autographed Derek Jeter jersey in his house. The other wears something Red Sox related EVERY day. They never met each other but I had told one about the other so I had to trade baseball related jabs between them. The worst/best, I hate to say was Boston Jason’s zing. He told me to tell Yankees Jason that he was “Jason Giambi’s non steroid related tumor.” Nice. I’m sure Boston Jason will have plenty of time to come up with more zingers with all that free time he’ll have NOT watching Boston play in the world series. SNAP!
I can’t believe I forgot to tell you all about this. There is a great game I encourage everyone in the OKC area to play. I work downtown and live in Norman. I would normally take I-35 home but with all the construction at Moore it’s faster, and I’ve found more fun, to take the side streets. The name of the game is called ‘Count the Prostitutes’. I stumbled upon the game as I was driving down Robinson after work one day. I was driving along, minding my own business, when I noticed a woman wave at me. I thought it odd but drove on. About a block later another woman waved and that’s when I realized I was on Robinson and those women were prostitutes. Real live prostitutes! Like from the TV! Neat-o!
The high score is five so far. Two of those ladies were changing their clothes in a field. It’s unbelievable. Driving down Robinson is like taking a safari into a wilderness of crack heads and prostitutes.
Here’s a note to the ‘working gals’ out there. If you’re reading this than you’re about to get kicked out of Kinko’s or the guy you’re with has a laptop in his car and you probably jacked it from him. Ok. I just have a few tips for you ladies.
Learn to spot money. I drive a car that’s as old as some of you. There’s your first sign I’m not looking for a ‘good time’. I ain’t got no cash. Move on.
The NBA is about to come to town. Step up your game ladies. We’ve got a pro team now and pro teams bring in money for everyone, including you. It’s called a trickle down effect. Ok. Maybe in your line of work that means something totally different but I digress.
There are things sexier than a denim overall jumper and a six year old scrunchy. Go shoplift from Ross. They won’t care and neither should you. You’re a prostitute. You should have stopped caring long ago. If you haven’t stopped caring, you should. Seriously.
Well I’m going to wrap this up as I had surgery today and am feeling weak. By ‘weak’ I mean ‘doped up on pain pills’.
RIGHT NOW
SONG -Why Georgia by John Mayer. I know he’s like Dave Matthews lite but I like him anyway. Don’t judge me and my mediocre taste in music.
MOVIE - Again, Baseketball. I picked it up for five bucks at Wal-Mart and plan on watching it in a pain pill haze. It’ll be nice to see the world through Courtney Love’s eyes for a few hours. Take that Courtney!
THING TO DO THAT WILL MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER ABOUT YOURSELF - The next time you go to a gas station or grocery store or restaurant, and the person is actually helpful and does their job, thank them. Be sincere about it though. It will make them feel better about having to work wherever it is you shop. Sincerity is the key though. If they think you’re making fun of them the wrath of a minimum wage employee is fast and furious and usually involves saliva in some way.
Holla.
- Joel