Hallejoobydoobydooya.
If this post is not as hilarious as you might expect, it is because I am distracted. As I write this, the family dog is nosing the one remaining kernel of dog food around and around his food dish, apparently in an effort to tire it out before devouring it. I have lately come to appreciate the strategic dimensions of the household pets with a frightening acuity, as I have been alone with them for the better part of the week. The cat, for example, has taken to watching my bathroom door from the moment I go in to the moment I go out. I'm pretty sure he's chronicling the frequency of my bowel movements for some purpose not entirely medical, not entirely unmedical. Of course, I can't be sure of this, as cat's can't talk.
Evangelical christians, in one of many points of departure between their mental ouvre and that of the common housecat, can not only talk but sing. And sing they do, apparently. Austin's classic rock station, which is lodged in what I can only term FM dial prime time, has switched formats to "positive music." It's also changed names - it now goes by 102.3 "The River." I think this transparently allegorical title is something that should have clued me in to the more precise meaning of "positive music," as, of course, the love of Jesus Christ resembles nothing so much as a great, life-giving river, which sometimes gives us the strength to make it through tough times and, at other times, makes us wish we had sprung for flood insurance, or at least a rowboat with which to drag our sopping family to safety.
At this point, some of you are probably all "what are you typing about, you crazy Jew bastard!???!" First of all, guys, I'm not jewish. I'm a lapsed presbterian. And it's not even like I split from the church in some climactic, acrimonious ruffling of theological feathers, either. I simply chose, at age nine, to start looking for a church where my fellow parishioners, namely Transcendant Dickface Russell McFarlane (hereby TDRM), wouldn't push my face into the gravel during Sunday school playtime. The search continues to this day. Secondly, my parents got married as soon as they could afford to, so get off your high horse.
So, anyway, it quickly becomes clear - somewhere around the third time I caught Amy Grant's little sister singing Our God Is An Awesome God, that what I have on my hands, our hands which are neither full of lightning nor near big enough to hold the whoooooooole world, here is a Christian rock station.
My favorite of the 20 or so songs I've heard so far on The River has the following chorus "I was thinking the other day/what if the cartoons got saved/ they'd be (unintelligible) singing praise/ in a whole new way." The rest of the song consisted the singer imagining how, for examble, Scooby Doo or Elmer Fudd or other cartoon characters with speech impediments - not bad speech impediments like the ones that will hopefully befall TDRM's ugly clubfooted children, but delightful speech impediments - would say the word "hallelujah."
The question that drives, that will come to drive, that has always driven the conclusion of this post is obvious: was I floored?. That question is so quickly answered you probably feel like a complete idiot for asking/preparing to ask/having asked it. I WAS FLOORED. Someone had managed to take the brilliant songwriting approach of BareNaked Ladies - snorting a bunch of pixie sticks and paying a gerbil to produce whatever you happened to produce in the resulting sleepless night - and apply it to your savior and mine, the big J. Rock on. So anyway, I'm not getting much sleep these days, and just yesterday I cried blood for over an hour, all over my new silk sheets. That's where I'm at.
Evangelical christians, in one of many points of departure between their mental ouvre and that of the common housecat, can not only talk but sing. And sing they do, apparently. Austin's classic rock station, which is lodged in what I can only term FM dial prime time, has switched formats to "positive music." It's also changed names - it now goes by 102.3 "The River." I think this transparently allegorical title is something that should have clued me in to the more precise meaning of "positive music," as, of course, the love of Jesus Christ resembles nothing so much as a great, life-giving river, which sometimes gives us the strength to make it through tough times and, at other times, makes us wish we had sprung for flood insurance, or at least a rowboat with which to drag our sopping family to safety.
At this point, some of you are probably all "what are you typing about, you crazy Jew bastard!???!" First of all, guys, I'm not jewish. I'm a lapsed presbterian. And it's not even like I split from the church in some climactic, acrimonious ruffling of theological feathers, either. I simply chose, at age nine, to start looking for a church where my fellow parishioners, namely Transcendant Dickface Russell McFarlane (hereby TDRM), wouldn't push my face into the gravel during Sunday school playtime. The search continues to this day. Secondly, my parents got married as soon as they could afford to, so get off your high horse.
So, anyway, it quickly becomes clear - somewhere around the third time I caught Amy Grant's little sister singing Our God Is An Awesome God, that what I have on my hands, our hands which are neither full of lightning nor near big enough to hold the whoooooooole world, here is a Christian rock station.
My favorite of the 20 or so songs I've heard so far on The River has the following chorus "I was thinking the other day/what if the cartoons got saved/ they'd be (unintelligible) singing praise/ in a whole new way." The rest of the song consisted the singer imagining how, for examble, Scooby Doo or Elmer Fudd or other cartoon characters with speech impediments - not bad speech impediments like the ones that will hopefully befall TDRM's ugly clubfooted children, but delightful speech impediments - would say the word "hallelujah."
The question that drives, that will come to drive, that has always driven the conclusion of this post is obvious: was I floored?. That question is so quickly answered you probably feel like a complete idiot for asking/preparing to ask/having asked it. I WAS FLOORED. Someone had managed to take the brilliant songwriting approach of BareNaked Ladies - snorting a bunch of pixie sticks and paying a gerbil to produce whatever you happened to produce in the resulting sleepless night - and apply it to your savior and mine, the big J. Rock on. So anyway, I'm not getting much sleep these days, and just yesterday I cried blood for over an hour, all over my new silk sheets. That's where I'm at.
posted by Jeremy at 1:17 PM
2 Comments:
i can't even summon the energy to use the word "awesome" about christian rock. ironically or triple-ironically. i just can't do it.
christian rock sucks really hard. [double-ironic]
This is an insanely brilliant blog. I'm loving it. You're just as funny as you were in high school.
Christopher
PS I haven't thought of the Dickface since the 6th grade when we hung out after school. He was St. Stephen's, I believe. I'm with you; he was a loser.
Post a Comment
<< Home