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Listening to: From the Choirgirl Hotel. Not for long, though... it's not really matching my mood quite like I was expecting it too.

Currently Reading: Just barely started Jonathan Lethem's Gun, With Occasional Music. Kind of saving it for the train, as well as a stack of others (both fiction and non). Also, I recently read Laurie Notaro's I Love Everybody (and Other Atrocious Lies): True Tales of a Loudmouth Girl (again) in like two days, and peed myself laughing. Highly recommended. I also devoured The Broke Diaries by Angela Nissel in, like, a mere few days. Laughed until I peed. Also highly recommended.

Wishing: income. Lots of it. Other than that, life's pretty good.

I couldn't be more The current mood of ronkc@diaryland.com at www.imood.com right now.

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26 July 2002 | 2:37 PM

A Religious Experience

Okay.

I walk into this huge building last night. I am one of the first to arrive as I have never been to this particular place before, and I am afraid to appear foolish or inexperienced in front of the others who come here faithfully. After sitting down, I carefully review the pamphlets and booklets I have picked up when I entered the building. I sit near the back so I can observe the others and their customs, with which I may find myself somewhat unfamiliar: I don�t exactly know what to expect, now, do I? I look at the podium, knowing that in a while, a man will stand there, speaking to us all.

People file in. They seem to have been here before. Many come in pairs, some in groups, some alone. They greet each other. A man who sits on my left greets a woman who sits on my right, �Good evening, Sylvia. Good to see you tonight!� Sylvia. I will have to remember her name in case I need to ask her about something I don�t understand. She obviously is very familiar with the ways of this place. People mill around, and at the hour, the man walks up to the podium.

The man begins to speak. He is not terribly entertaining, I must admit. I�ve been to functions like this before, and the most enjoyable ones are the ones where the men on the podium joke around, engage the group. Nonetheless, the people follow what he says, looking at their booklets, trying to establish patterns that are meaningful to them, trying to see things that others may not see, necessarily. I smile; I am excited to be a part of such a determined and focused group. A couple of times I have to whisper- ask Sylvia for help. She is very gracious and helps me gladly, and it is very encouraging.

Sylvia is an elderly lady (most of the people in the room are at least a few years my senior). She has a faint Swiss accent, which I find very old-world, comforting, grandmotherish. She smells faintly of perfume. It's not an expensive perfume, but it's not an ugly cheap designer-imposter perfume, either; it's very delicate, fresh. Her hair is a little more curly than should be expected, naturally, and her lipstick is a little too pink for her complexion, but in her wise, geriatric manner, she is really very beautiful.She knows exactly what she�s doing. I wish I had her experience, her know-how. Perhaps if I keep coming here on a weekly basis, I�ll know what I�m doing.

This goes on for quite some time. The man at the podium speaks, the group answers. Call, answer; call, answer. I am still excited to be a part of this group, hoping to return again quite soon.

At the end of the festivities, I look at my booklet, I listen to the podium-man, I listen to the murmurs from the group, I watch everyone else look at their booklets. Podium-man says something particularly meaningful to me, and me alone. I bless myself quietly, with the sign of the cross, as I learned at Sacred Heart Elemetary School, sitting in the back row, in this roomful of faithful of congregants. I stand up and in a loud clear voice, I call out to the podium-man, �BINGO!�

(For the record, I did not get bingo, but I thought it would make the story more fun if I made you thought it was a church of some sort, and it turned out to be a parlour. Isn't that funny? Yeah? Okay.)

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