What Would Jesus Eat

If this blog only serves to make you feel better about yourself, well, that's something.

Last Sunday in church, as I took my little square of what looked like maybe semi-whole-wheat sourdough bread which served as our communion loaf, I seriously considered pinching off a teeny-tiny piece to eat and pocketing the rest, as my New Year diet bans all bread for the first two weeks, no matter how whole wheat, fairly traded or organic.

This small bit of bread was not meant to be used as part of any diet, trademarked or otherwise. This bread is a symbol of a symbol (although in this particular church, it is not meant to have any magical powers - just a way of remembering why Jesus, you know, died and stuff), one that is reiterated every time it is offered, so that you won't forget between the time that the ritual starts and the time, mere moments later, that you look at it as South Beach Poison. Yet, I managed to lose the point within those moments.

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CONTAINS RELIGIOUS HERESY. YOU'RE PROBABLY BETTER OFF NOT READING FURTHER.

These days, Communion seems a little silly to me. I've begun to look at it as a typical human religious overreaction to Jesus' idea of a forget-me-not. To me the Last Supper story reads like this: one night when things were looking most bleak for our hero, Jesus had dinner with his friends and asked them that maybe, after he was gone, that when they had dinner they might look at the bread and wine on the table and remember him. That's all. No impressive-looking men in fancy robes lifting ornate goblets up to heaven. No special ritualistic words intoned in a godly voice. Just a thought: Have some bread. Remember Jesus. Drink some wine. Remember Jesus.

Does this mean that I live by my new heretical religious thoughts? No. I don't even say grace. I don't even know if I really believe what I'm left with to believe at this point in the life-long deconstruction and reconstruction that is my religious education.

So maybe it's best that I go ahead and try to think holy thoughts during this duded-up ritual that is Christian Communion. And that I try to take it seriously. If nothing else, it's a chance for silence. Quiet the flow from the brain. Shut off the pipe from the snark lobe. Well, maybe turn it down to a trickle.

See you in church.

My Aging Skull: The Diagnosis

So I guess all those headaches may have stemmed partly from having the equivalent of a hose nozzle on the pressure-wash setting in my brain veins.

It turns out that the high blood pressure that I tried to treat with a strict regimen of denial is now only higher and I get to take old-lady water pills and eat bananas therapeutically.

I asked the doctor if my blood pressure would go back down if I lost twenty pounds. She said no because I am old and have bad genes.

I am not ready to be old.

Highlights from My Night Out

I went to see Craig Ferguson last night. Well, actually, Drew drove me to see Craig Ferguson last night. Well, actually, I-5 was a parking lot and we had to reach the Aladdin Theater, which is on the other side of Portland, in an out-of-the-way area that is by no means charming, and then have some dinner so as to prevent me from dying, so I worried that we wouldn't make it in time, and the traffic would continue to suck, and that we wouldn't be able to find anything to eat, and that we would miss the show, while Drew continued to drive.

As you may know, there is a Secret Bridge you have to cross to get to Milwaukie Avenue ("where bars go to become saloons)", where the Aladdin Theater is, and it is tricky navigating your way through Portland (or should we say Rosaria, because it's more, you know, Tolkein-y) to get access the Secret Bridge. Luckily, Drew knows the most pathologically circuitous route possible, which must be good for points somewhere, but made me worry about missing the show. Oh, and the part where we tried to share physical space and time with another F-250 bent on our destruction. HEAR THIS F-250S: YOU WILL LOSE AND THE PRIUSES OF THE WORLD WILL WIN. EVENTUALLY.

Where was I? So we made it across the Secret Bridge and found parking. It was 5:30 and people were already in line for the 7:00 show! This made me extremely worried, (a) because it was cold and rainy, thus I could not see myself standing in that line like an idiot, and (b) I was losing consciousness from hunger (yes, you can still worry while unconscious).

So we found a German restaurant nearby, and if you know German restaurants, this could go very well or very, very, badly.

It went well, if you don't count my looking at my watch every two minutes, and the bill (holy, moly, it's expensive to have a decent but not spectacular meal in this saloon-infested land). I worried about whether I read the bill correctly.

By the time we reached the theater, the lined-up people had long since gone in, but Drew found me a seat in the balcony on the aisle with a clear view of the stage (whew), and THEN he went and got me something to drink. (Duuuude. He's really not bad.)

Craig Ferguson's opening act was a Randy Kagan, who was funny and freshy-fresh. He writes for the Late, Late Show.

Craig Ferguson was that delicious blend of too-clever and so-silly; but the couple in front of us may have been funnier. How deaf do you have to be to not hear a comic using a microphone in a small theater with refrigerator-sized amps for the rock acts that they usually host? However deaf that is, that's how deaf he was. Oddly, he seemed to be able to hear everything but the punchlines. For those, he would look at his wife with his "huh?" face, and she would repeat the punchlines.

So our experience went something like this:

punchline: "...there are Osmonds more Hispanic than this guy."

["huh?" look] "THE OSMONDS." [laugh]

punchline: "I guessed that the bowling helps them pass the time between dental visits."

["huh?" look] "DENTAL VISITS [laugh]

punchline: "well, maybe if it was a swanky Belgian octopus..."

["huh?" look] "SWANKY BELGIAN OCTOPUS." [confused chuckle]

punchline: "because I have a huuuge cock."

me: "oh, come on, say it, say it!"

["huh?" look] [nervous laughter]

me: "chicken."