So I actually bothered to check my MySpace page today after weeks of neglect and lack of interest.
The dashboard page told me I had new comments on there from someone named Dianne.
What was the comment?
Sigh.
I hate it when people mess up my mindless, immature use of technology with their unsolicited electronic prosletyzing.
(Say it with me: You got your Bible-thumping chocolate in my vacuous online peanut butter... You got your vacuous online peanut butter in my Bible-thumping chocolate! )
It's Holy Week. I can understand her passion. (No pun intended.) I'll be attending sunrise service this Sunday and cooking Easter breakfast at church. I like to think of myself as Mickey Dolenz spiritually: I'm a believer.
But whatever my beliefs are, well, they're mine. And I wouldn't dare push them on someone, especially by invading their cyberspace.
If I felt like making Dianne my ball of twine, I'd drop a Richard Dawkins anvil on her just for sport. Or maybe post photos of Pastafarian gods for her friends to consider.
But I won't.
I decide to give Dianne the benefit of the undoubt.
But not without checking out her MySpace page.
Mmmmmmm. I love me some zealot cornflower blue.
So, who is this "Dianne?"
Okay, great. We have nothing in common other than a belief in the almighty and a 20-year-age difference.
Hmm. A mixed bag at best. I can understand, given your spiritual proclivities, your attraction to "The Passion of The Christ." Makes perfect sense.
But "Prince of Tides?"
I say these words as a prayer, as regret, as praise. I say: "Philistine. Philistine."
That doesn't really narrow things down, Di.
Since it's Easter Week, I'll avoid the temptation of an easy joke.
Alas, a viewpoint we both share. I don't want you to have kids either.
They'd probably grow up to wear this sweatshirt: