Two things: one, I have resolved to include in this blog a Churchrat song of the day.  I like music, and I like music that I deem workplace appropriate by my own bizarre standards. And, two, today’s the day the district superintendent is coming to try to recruit me into the ministry.

Last night I drank beer and read a book about ultramarathoning until all television was infomercials.  I woke up with a terrible start this morning a full hour in advance of my alarm thinking about this impending conversation.  I am thinking of faking an emergency and canceling.  I will give five dollars to whatever expert suggests a viable lie about an emergency or who can accurately tell me if this bout with physical dread is just me being a chicken or is some sort of sign that I was meant to be a go-go dancer in a roller rink.

Does that job exist?  I’d love that job.

When this song came out I was in college.  I thought to myself, damn I’m too old for this shit.  My friend Sally–who isn’t substantially younger than me but is still too young to minutely obsess about what may or may not be permanent forehead creases–used to love it.   Love it.  Like she nearly married it instead of my college roommate’s husband’s childhood bestfriend love it.  Maybe she still does.  Anyway.  I like this song a sort of shameful amount.  I find it cheering.  And the video makes me think about the weird shift in underpants style that has occurred in my lifetime.  It’s a topic that interests me.

Fuck, I don’t know what to do.  Fuck.

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