who am i kidding?

most holidays make me want to stay at home and watch movies. this one is no exception. part of it is all the drunk drivers &asshole cops that are lurking on any given street. the other part is the expectations and the commotion. i don't want to do anything different tonight than i did last night. after you spend a christmas or two without any human contact, it's right in front of you, the fact that it's a day of the week...a day you've never spent alone as long as you've been alive. i enjoy giving people gifts that i know they will use and it's a great excuse to bring your family together, BUT who are these holidays really for? whether or not you believe in god isn't the issue. whether or not you love your family isn't the issue. notice how a good share of churches do not celebrate Halloween. what is the church's earning potential on Halloween as opposed to chrismas? i'm sure if a person looked hard enough they could come up with a vague, unprovable religious connection in the history of Halloween. think of all the people you know who go to church two times a yr...xmas and good ol easter sunday! EASTER SUNDAY!!! when a half nude 33 yr old man rises from his pitiful tomb after his honorable self-sacrifice! what better a reason to give money to the church? the church is the house of this unbelievable saviour! this poem by t.s. eliot always makes me grin because it ever so gently insinuates the same points.

THE BROAD-BACKED hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.
Flesh and blood is weak and frail,	5
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.
The hippo’s feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,	10
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.
The ’potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach	15
Refresh the Church from over sea.
At mating time the hippo’s voice
Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
But every week we hear rejoice
The Church, at being one with God.	20
The hippopotamus’s day
Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
God works in a mysterious way—
The Church can sleep and feed at once.
I saw the ’potamus take wing	25
Ascending from the damp savannas,
And quiring angels round him sing
The praise of God, in loud hosannas.
Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
And him shall heavenly arms enfold,	30
Among the saints he shall be seen
Performing on a harp of gold.
He shall be washed as white as snow,
By all the martyr’d virgins kist,
While the True Church remains below	35
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.