I'm going to hell, who's coming with me? I've been feeling pretty naughty lately. In some ways that's good and not so much in others. One example is my drinking habit. I seem to be getting pretty stinkin' drunk every other Friday night. This Friday was one of those nights. You decide which naughty that falls under.
Saturday was spent in an exhausted, yet functional, haze and then the other half suggested an evening road trip. As it turns out, it was a religious experience of sorts, a search for Jesus.
Every Christmas the local "Office of Evangelization" illuminates their shrine in celebration of the birth of Christ. I don't know how else to describe this site other than, Christ Vegas. Imagine, if you will, the most competitive of suburban cul de sacs at Christmas, multiply that by 100 and voila! Several acres of New England country side that would bring Clark W. Griswold himself to tears.
The experience lasted a grand total of 15 minutes. The nicotine enhanced trek to the Manger, courtesy of the otherwise polite man in front of us, led only to the discovery that Jesus is currently unavailable. However, according to the cleverly disguised donation box, I could help, "Keep the Christ in Christmas."
Experience? Yes. Did I find Jesus? Literally and figuratively, no. What I walked away with was the reminder of the immortal words of Norm MacDonald, "Happy Birthday Jesus. I hope you like crap."
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