Angels We Have Heard
Are High

angelic kitsch...from Hell

Cavalcade of Bad Nativities
it came upon a midnight weird

The Passion of the Tchotchke
holy week kitsch-o-rama

Stations of the Kitsch


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Friday, September 17, 2004

My understanding is that Noah is supposed to be a large, talking cucumber.

Ok, my papers are written and in their little folders in the nifty binder. I am ready for skool. You know, pretty much. Sort of. In a scared but trying not to show it kind of way.

I freaking love McSweeny's. This Bible You Sold Me Is Clearly Defective and I'd Like to Return It, Please
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Thursday, September 16, 2004


Something deeply goofy from my church clipart collection:

On first glance, it's a mushroom cloud. Or maybe that's a hand and God is playing some kind of ping-pong game. I don't know. What do you think?
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Tuesday, September 14, 2004

There's always room for one more dumbass at St. Ned's

I designed a really cool new business card for St. Ned's last week. They just came. The main service time is wrong. We're still going to send them out for Invitation Sunday, with the new time written in, since there isn't time to get them reprinted. We're hoping for 'charmingly imperfect' on this one.

See previous note re: fucking up left and right, although there was a lot of back-and-forth on the design for this and no one else caught the time change, either.
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find the mistakes!

Back again. The writer's block is bad. Also, I've lost my ability to think clearly or perform basic human functions, like make my hair not look like ass. I'm having a bad hair week. And every single thing I've done lately has a small but annoying fuckup, like printing the wrong date or something. I am too fragmented for details, I guess. I filled up the car the other night and drove home with the gas cap off.

It's not that I was such a together person before, really, but still this complete lack of intelligent action is starting to worry me.

The street fair was very fun on Saturday. The pork sammiches were tasty, especially since I finally escaped the smell of the pork after Thursday's pork-shredding-fest. It was still in my car Friday morning, which felt a bit too MacBeth for my tastes. Out, damned pork! It was fine once I wiped down my steering wheel, which had absorbed the scent from my hands.

We went to the quilting store downtown whilst at the festival, and Ryan got the best fabric ever to make curtains for her study: Futurella. It was particularly entertaining because the fabric store clerk clearly did not approve of sassy scantily-clad futuristic women with big hair. The ones on the fabric, I mean. We had clothes on and our hair was well-contained. I will forever be jealous of Ryan's ability to just put her hair up and have it look great without even looking in a mirror.

I'm having a serious crisis of confidence about skool; it's kind of paralyzing, to tell you the truth. I'm trying to treat it as a normal thing that must be passed through and not give it any real weight, but the fact is I'm ready to bolt. I probably won't, I will probably be in the chapel at 7:45 a.m. on Saturday (ok, 7:52 is slightly more likely), but my baseline setting right now is Extreme Fear.
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