Baby Jesus and the Cult Jam

You're probably wondering where cokane has been with her sassy girl-talk lately. One explanation is that the porn office where I spend my days, already in a state of slow decay, has now upgraded to slow-motion implosion. We moved floors and now everyone has an even smaller space than before, even people who used to have offices are now in cubbies the size of a desk and a chair, and the already-low morale is plumbing new depths. There's way more to me than the day job, but after work each day last week all I could do was lie on my bed. And after work is when I'm supposed to Make it Happen with my writing.

So I may have wasted the week, but I set two goals for last weekend: 1) Totally clean my room and 2) Become a successful writer. So Friday night found me in a vegetative state on my bed again, watching three straight hours of AFV. (You know, America's Funniest Videos? The word "Home" is gone from the title, as are the infuriating voiceovers! Now it's nothin' but dudes gettin' nailed in the nuts with various household items, animals, and babies. That's entertainment!)

Saturday I stopped at the Jesus book store to buy a gift for my baby niece/goddaughter, who was visiting the next day. I got Baby Bible Animals, a happy blend of my interests and her parents'.
The best part about Baby Bible Animals, other than depicting God and Jesus as toddlers with beards, is the title of the page about the plague of frogs: "Too Many Frogs!" It also shows some dragonflies, which maybe are more baby-friendly than locusts.

Here are my suggestions for kid-friendly titles of other Bible stories:

Too Many Foreigners! (The Tower of Babel)
Not Enough Drinkie-Poos! (The Wedding at Cana)
Too Many Parties! (The Prodigal Son)
Too Many No-Nos! (Sodom & Gomorrah)

Then I saw that Russian movie Night Watch, which I was lured to with promises of zombies. Not one zombie in that movie! Other than resentment about lack of zombies, my only lasting impressions of the film are:
Stupid sexy vampires are so boring.
and
Russians have really bad style.

Then somehow I ended up at this super-secret creepy clubhouse in the east village: (this was taken from the loft we climbed up to, and just so you know, there's another giant pot mural on the rear wall of the place).

My friends and I had no idea what kind of cult-recruitment we might have gotten into. All we knew were there were a bunch of 40 and 50-somethings there who were not exactly welcoming us. They were showing a tape about some controversial drug that's supposed to help you get off other drugs, but all the news clips on the tape were from the '80s or early '90s. At my urging, Jess and I scrammed out of there, having to unbolt the door as we left, which had a sign reading, "Don't open the door for anyone you don't know!"

It's so perfectly NYC that my day began with trying not to curse in the Jesus bookstore and later found me trying not to eat the acid-laced refreshments at the cult clubhouse. I ran around all day Sunday with my niece and ended up prostrate on the bed watching AFV again, followed by Sunday night cartoons. So I never did clean my room or became a successful writer last weekend. But hopefully I will by this weekend.