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how lovely are your flippers
12/22/2006 = 06:24 AM

I want to talk about my religion for a minute, not to try to convert anyone, but to try to explain why it works for me.

I can't really convert anyone anyway, because Golfwidowism is a religion of one — me — and while I have plenty of room for everyone in my church (the universe), I don't have the patience to lead everyone.

Which is patently convenient, since Golfwidowism teaches that everyone must find his or her own path and just muddle along it the best he or she can.

Also, I hate organized religion. Golfwidowism is a very disorganized religion, which is the main reason it works so well for me. I know what I believe, I just can't remember exactly where I put it all the time.

And the G0d I believe in forgives me for being so cluttered in my thoughts, words, and deeds.

Yeah. I believe in one G0d.

However, I do not believe in rote. I learn about, respect, and follow certain teachings of most of the other major religions I know anything about, discard what I do not understand or agree with, and consider the iconic personæ of those religions as valid representatives of the single G0d in whom I believe (and who, more importantly, believes in me).

And now, having said that, I will tell you that I polished off most of a 750 milliliter bottle of 11.7 percent (nearly 12 Percent, in other words) Newport Storm '05 beer right before bed last night (Golfwidowism looks upon beer as sacramental), and it was delicious and I was a tiny bit buzzed, which was probably why I dreamed I spoke to Jesus.

We were walking through a town with a lot of Christmas decorations, including massive store displays.

It wasn't my town, but we did pass my neighbor's house.

My neighbor has, upon his lawn, a six-foot inflatable, lighted Frosty-the-Snowman who appears to be making love with an eight-foot inflatable, lighted Christmas tree, all the more so because these two items keep tipping over atop one another in the wind, no matter how much duct tape my neighbor puts on them. I think you now know all you need to know about my neighbor.

But anyway. In my dream, I said to Jesus, What do you think of all this?

And He said, I love it.

I said, No way.

He said, Really. Everyone claims that the religious aspect gets lost in the commercialism, but I think that, if it weren't for the commercialism, Christmas would be stiff and boring, and a chore, and it would only be open to Christians, who wouldn't love it very much anyway. With all the commercialism, at least a little bit of goodwill filters out to everyone, regardless of their beliefs. Everyone, everyone, thinks about what I was trying to teach, whether or not they agree with it, for at least a few moments every year. How can I not love that?

At that point, I woke up, and decided that I was done with Christmas as it stands, and at this time every year Golfwidowism's holiday will be called Heartwarming Day, and it will fall on the 25th of December for no reason other than its convenience to the other winter celebrations.

I'm still doing presents, and I'm still thinking about faith, and peace on earth, and cards, and charity, and candy canes, and Attaboy, Clarence and You'll shoot your eye out, kid.

But I felt that I had to make it more my own, rather than bowing to every idea everyone else thinks I ought to have about this time of year.

With that in mind, I got up, even though it was 3:30 am, because I had to have a pee couldn't sleep anymore anyway, took down the Christmas tree and the menorah, and trimmed a penguin.*

Why, yes, he is wearing a beer cozy. I thought it appropriate. Thanks for asking.

You may be wondering how I got him to stand still and be trimmed. He's actually waiting for his shrimp platter from Chick's. (He also, I believe, thinks that Chick is another penguin, possibly female, and not just Mr. Celentano's nickname.)

The presents are on the shelf under him. I can't tell you how much more convenient that is than putting everything on the floor under the tree, to be accidentally kicked or tripped over, not to mention not having to face the indignity of crawling on the floor first thing in the morning when the coffee's not yet done brewing, because I know That Man of Mine got me at least one new bra this year and if I open it now, I can go out right away and hold off doing another load of laundry.

And that concludes today's sermon. Love thy neighbor, even if he puts silly inflatable holiday decorations on his lawn.

And now, the benediction, from the unholy and unofficial prophet of Golfwidowism:

"Toodle-oo, go with G0d, and don't take any wooden nickels. (Well, some people need practical advice.)"
— George Carlin

* No actual penguins were harmed in the celebration of this holiday.

Tags: Christmas (bitch, please — I know where my technorati bread is buttered)

drinking: coffee
listening to: The Decembrists, When the War Came
points to ponder: what should be the traditional heartwarming day carols? and, discuss