The blink of an eye that was Easter break came and went all too quickly, but not without it's fair share of memorable moments. I played some good ball with Jay and Roo with young fans who longed for nothing more than to play some 21 with the friendly giants before them. We played some 3 on 3 with them and as one of them time and time again claimed to never miss a shot and time and time again did, indeed, miss a shot, the other lofted many a pass to the middle of nowhere, expecting a teammate to materialize and put the rock in the rim, to no avail. A memorable moment was this six year old shouting, "C'mon Tom!" after such a pass resulted in a turnover. I admire his desire to win at all costs. We run a tight ship at Brenton Woods.
In addition to an impromptu trim of the locks, catching up with good friends, working on a new poem for May 2nd's poetry night, a full stomach, and gathering up some epic large hats for this Sunday's Rhapsody show, another highlight was unquestionably the Easter Sunday service. While it seemed near impossible to top last year's Ozzy-Osbourne's-Crazy-Train- interrupting-the-sermon incident, I do believe that overall, the bar was once again raised. A moment of reflection on Easter Sunday: The closest you'll ever get to tailgating before church being acceptable. It would seem as though a few people didn't exactly find this all too inappropriate. There were a lot of random "woos" and cheering. It was pretty darn ruckus for a church service. I felt like a should have brought a Packer Cheesehead and painted a giant "J" on my chest. Maybe that's a little much, but at least some thunder sticks or a towel to wave or something. It's bizarre to me as we walk around to greet each other how many people take the time to say, "He is risen." It makes me feel like saying either, "I know, it's the basis of this entire religion," or "Who is?" However, at the risk of being accused of pregaming myself, I smile, nod, and try to stay as still as possible to not draw attention to myself.
It's always interesting to see the kids you grew up with and don't know from anywhere else but church. The ones who show up on the major holidays and mail it in every other week. A group that I might actually now be a part of. I shoot the breeze with most of them. One always makes sure to mention that he's hungover. I imagine he does this to prove that his social life is an active one. Either that or it's a desperate cry for help, but for the sake of being able to sleep at night, I'll assume it's the former.
The drains in the urinal at church are shaped like crosses. Either this is the most cruel of coincidences, or someone has a twisted sense of humor. It makes me feel like I'm going to hell whenever I take a piss, no matter how much time I spend in the sanctuary three doors down.
I'm not a fan of the guy who shouts, "One more time!" at the end of every hymn. You just get through seven gruelling verses of a song that recycles the same essential point in seven different ways and see the light at the end of the tunnel. (Perhaps that's not the best analogy in this particular instance.) However, every congregation has the one cat who feels moved by the Spirit enough to speak on behalf of the rest of group and sing it one more time. I say the next time someone asks that we make them sing it alone in front of us. I'm sure that person will be afforded no shortage of "woos" and thunder sticks. I feel pretty safe in saying that God tunes it out after a verse and a half and checks back in during the sermon. But hey, who am I to speak for a deity?
Song of the Day: "Carvel"-John Frusciante
Jazz Song of the Day: "Silence Is The Question"-The Bad Plus