Act natural

( Sunday, Jan. 26, 2003 2:14 pm )

>I wish I knew how

Oh no, not another entry. But yes. They call me "Johnny Frequent" around these parts.

I was in Fake Church this morning (hooray for me, hooray for hauling my arse outta bed) and in the midst of a sermon about moments of enlightenment/oneness with all things, I suddenly remembered something that was a bit of an epiphany for me when I was a child, but unfortunately not a religious moment. I've been trying in my writerly, fictionalizing way to determine how it was relevant to me, but maybe it wasn't at all: just a good moment. It went like this: I was about nine years old, watching TV with my father. He used to only watch Nova specials and other public television-type shows in those days, and we were watching a documentary about this very strange man, some kind of eccentric canoer trying to get from one point to another without taking his canoe out of the water (proceeding along nontraditional canoeing routes, like in sewers and canals, I think). In the part we were watching, he was paddling through some sort of dark tunnel with one video camera trained on his face, and he was murmuring to himself as he paddled, "I see a light up ahead, like a keyhole." That's it. I'm not a very deep person, but my highest critera for judging something, anything--art or hand-lettered signs in the window, anything--is whether it resonates within me or not. I don't know what it means, or what it is, but some things strike you just right, some things resonate. The keyhole resonated. I should ask my father if he remembers that.

Ellie's young man did not sleep over, but she was telling me this morning that he's apparently a total slut, and to watch out. Disappointing for me, though perhaps not for her. The only thing I can determine is that guys my age are useless and slimy. So anyway, Super Bowl party coming up. I have some mild feelings of panic. I purchased two six packs, Corona and Dos Equis. Kind of a theme there, plus pale beer for some, dark for others. Ellie's slutty youngster is providing a great deal of beer as well, though of a far crappier caliber. What 24-year-old male is drinking Miller Lite, I ask you? I'll find out this evening.

My Sunday Prayer for today: please let me be able to Figure Something Out. I'm beginning to think it'll be a good albeit lonely thing for me to be left so much to myself these days, because I have been nothing but dense and distracted for a long time, and I should stop wishing for more distractions.

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