The Church of Katy Perry

This is the not so exciting story of how I DIDN'T go to church on Sunday morning and instead ate quiche and fried potatoes and laid around and watched Katy Perry's "Part of Me" on Netflix.



This was never the way I planned. Not my intention.

All along the plan was to go to church.

But the week got away from me and suddenly Saturday night was here and I didn't have a church picked out.

I decided not to worry about it and headed out to see my friend's band play at The Firebird. The whole night is a blacked out blur, but I'm pretty sure it ruled.

Check out The Lonely Wild. They rock!

 

 

Then it was 1:00 am Sunday morning and I was eating chocolate chip cookies and watching Scandal. I googled "College Contemporary Worship Services" because I really wanted to sing praise songs with young energetic people. I didn't find anything.

Sunday morning at 8:00 I got up and shook the glitter off my clothes. My first thought was "Crap. I still don't have a church." My second thought was "Meh. Who cares?" I was on the fence about attending church. Maybe I can go to an evening service? Maybe I'll just go during the week?  I kept changing my mind like a girl changes clothes. I attempted to google some church ideas, but nothing looked appealing or started a convenient time.

My options were running low. I turned to my friends for help.

My Friends' Ideas for How I Could "Go to Church" Without Actually Going to Church:

1. Have sex so amazing that I see God.
2. Take a hallucinogen and go to a whole other world, a different dimension.
3. Hold my own church service.
4. Pray over breakfast.
5. Frolic in nature and call it church.

I'll admit they had some good ideas. But, I can't write about illegal things so #2 was out. My father reads this blog (and by that I mean my mother prints it out for him and he reads it off paper) so there goes #1 or at least writing about #1. Praying over breakfast wasn't churchy enough to "count". It was rather humid on Sunday so #5 didn't sound fun and I didn't have the strength or creative capacity for #3.

It was now 10:00 am. After my delicious breakfast of bacon and cheddar quiche, fried potatoes and strawberries I sat down and tried to find a loophole in this whole church journey.

**Sidebar. I made 3 meals this week. Real meals. Grown up meals. From scratch - mostly. And they were tasty. Brown sugar chicken wings with roasted red pepper and goat cheese dipping sauce, salmon cakes with shallots and dill and roasted brussel sprouts, and then the quiche I mentioned above. There is a part of me that is a total Suzy Homemaker. And it's a part of me that you're never gonna ever take away from me. Why would you want to? I make killer pie! **

My search for a loophole led me back to the Internet. I searched out various definitions of church hoping I would find some answers there. ****Spoiler****  I didn't.

Various Definitions of Church I Found on The Internet:

1. (noun) A building used for public Christian worship.
2. (noun) A place of worship
3. (verb) Take (a woman who has recently given birth) to church for a service of thanksgiving.
4. (noun) Institutionalized religion as a political or social force.
5. To strongly agree as if it were law.
        Example: Player 1: "Look at the junk in her trunk, I'd tap that ass"
                       Player 2: "Church!"
(Verbatim from Urban Dictionary - a real gem of an Internet resource.)


I gave up. When I started this journey I promised myself I wouldn't just skip out of laziness, but that was then and this is now. I didn't go to church. It just wasn't going to happen and not because the Internet failed me, but because I didn't really want to go.

What I really wanted was a lazy Sunday. You know, like that Andy Samberg video (google it)? I wanted a be-dirty-gross-stay-in-your-jammies-until-NOON-and-lie-on-the-couch-all-day-snuggling-and-eating-snacks-while-watching-documentaries-about-pop-stars kind of Sunday. So....that's what I did.

AND IT WAS GLORIOUS.

Netflix can be like a rabbit hole. You start with curious intentions. Just want to peek and see what this dark thing is all about. Then suddenly you are flying through the Abyss of 80's movies and food documentaries and episodes of That 70's Show confused and bewildered but (kind of) enjoying the ride. So...I was falling hard and I was in the dark  but I landed on my feet in a strange uncertain place called Katy Perry's Part of Me documentary.

My first few minutes in this strange land full of bright blue wigs and glitter rainbows were terrifying. How did I get here? Is this really happening? What have I become? Then I let go.  I gave myself completely over to Katy and her story of struggle and triumph. I found myself singing along to The One That Got Away - my favorite Katy Perry song.  I found myself crying right along with Katy when her marriage to Russell Brand crumbled on the same night as her biggest show. (I mean that literally. I literally cried. Truthfully, I cried 3 times during the whole documentary and I'm not ashamed.) I found myself giggling with glee when she invited this rather strange man in a leotard and blue wig to dance with her on stage. I enjoyed every bloody second of that documentary. Seriously. Loved it. I want to see her in concert. I also want to have tea in a room with cats...watch and you'll understand. (Anyone know how we can open a Tea with Cats room here in the states? Anyone?)

That's it. That was my Sunday. I watched movies and ate stuff and laid around. It was like a teenage dream. I'm not going to try and create any morals or life lessons of pearls of wisdom from this Sunday experience. Am I sad I missed out on church this week? Nope. No regrets, just love. It's been awhile since I took a day to do nothing of any value. So, it was much needed and greatly enjoyed.


Now I feel rested and ready to take on yet another very busy chaotic week. But no worries, after a hurricane comes a rainbow. We are fireworks! So, let's go out there and let our colors burst! Make em' go "oh"! Leave em' all in awe!  (Like I wouldn't leave you with some kind of cheese. Please.) BOOM!









*10 points to your house of choice for finding all the Katy Perry references in today's post..

Not-So-Easy Silence: Shambhala Meditation

I want the world to stop. Give me the morning - give me the understanding.

                                                                                      - Belle & Sebastian "I Want the World to Stop"


Ssshh. Let's be quiet.

Just for a few minutes.

Let's do nothing.

Think about nothing.

Require nothing but breath. Deep slow breaths.


When's the last time you did nothing? Probably been a while, eh?


If you are anything like me, your life is fairly busy. You have lists of things to accomplish (I have got to mail those "thank you" cards FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!!) When you watch a movie you are probably also making dinner, vacuuming, wrapping packages and putting on eyeliner. Perhaps, like me, you've even had to start multitasking during your down time. My bathtub is my favorite multitasking location. I can soak my tired old feet in Epsom salts, get cleanish, moisturize with some coconut oil, eat a chicken dinner, listen to the latest indie tunes on Soundcloud, catch up with my family on the phone and text my best friend about her day all while relaxing in the warm waters of the tub.

But, ya know, the point of down time is to shut down, like a computer, so you can rest the system. Doing fifteen different things during your "down time" isn't really down time at all.


It occurred to me on Saturday after I worked out, went grocery shopping, ran errands, painted the Sensory Room at work (we have a mother fucking ball pit at our school now), showered and put on real people clothes, grabbed some Thai food, watched a movie, cleaned house and snuggled the cat that I was in desperate need of a truly quiet moment.

Rainbow windows!
The colorful reflections are awesome!

Goodbye hideous balloon border. I always hated you.  

So, Saturday night, sitting on the Carroll's couch, I googled "sit and be quiet churches" in hopes I would find what I was looking for.

I did.

Apparently, sitting and being quiet is called "meditation". Who knew?  My google search directed me to a Shambhala Meditation Group at the St. Louis Wellness Center. 

Sunday morning I woke, made a lovely breakfast of eggs and watermelon, watched my usual Sunday morning shows, talked to my brother about financial and retirement issues and threw on some comfy clothes. It was a leisurely Sunday morning. My favorite.

I arrived at the St. Louis Wellness Center around 11:20 am. Meditation began at 11:30. So, I had some time to get the lay of the land from the THREE other people who were attending this Sunday.

Shambhala 101 (or the few things I know about Shambhala)

* It's founded on Buddhist traditions, but is it's own entity. (see Buddhism)

* Rooted in the principle that every human being has a fundamental nature of basic goodness.

* Striving for an "enlightened society" (which has something to do with "The Magical Kingdom of Shambhala").

* It's fun to say "Shambhala"

* It's about "awakening" which is achieved through mindfulness meditation.

* You don't have to dress up or shower for a Shambhala meditation group. It's very come as you are - messy hair, ripped leggings, smelly armpits and all.

Okay...so I know very little about Shambhala. Ask Google. She'll know more.

The second I walked through the door I felt myself speaking in a humble whispered voice. Perhaps because everyone else was. There were 3 other people in the building when I arrived. They gave me the lay of the land - take off your shoes (check), hang up your belongings (check) find a floor cushion (check), we'll be meditating with eyes open to symbolize our connection with each other (check), grab some tea or water (check), here's the bathroom (check) and class will begin in a few minutes (check-check-a-roo).

I spent the next 5 minutes speaking softly with 2 other class participants about how their weeks had been. They discussed their week long meditation retreats and upcoming ALL DAY meditation class. (Can you imagine?) I smiled sweetly and explained that I was here to be quiet and was very excited to sit in silence with them. That's not a weird thing to say. Not at all.

Our leader, Gwin (who I referred to as Gale for the first hour), rang the bowl and it was time to begin meditation. She gave some brief instruction on appropriate posture, what to do with our gaze, breathing properly and how to handle the comings and goings of thoughts.

Now, we sit.

Have you ever been in one of those moments where someone asks you what you are thinking? A friend questions your thoughts when he notices you staring off into the night sky. Perhaps you are lying in the arms of your lover and she turns to you and asks "what are you thinking?" When I get asked this question, no matter the time or place or circumstances, I am ALWAYS thinking something. And it's usually bizarre.

What are you thinking?

I was just thinking about why I wake up every single Saturday craving lemonade.

What are you thinking?

I was thinking if the zombie Apocalypse happened right now whether or not I would try to survive. Because sometimes I think I might just want to die and call it quits. But then I worry about reincarnation and getting reborn into a less awesome body and I already have 30 years of knowledge with this body so it would probably just be best to fight it out. Unless we could disprove reincarnation. Then maybe I'd rather die.

What are you thinking?

I was thinking that if I ever got another cat I would want to name it Noodles.

My brain is always on. Always going. Always thinking. So, meditation isn't very easy for me. As I sat on my floor cushion comfortably in half lotus and focused my gaze on the swirl of the hardwood floors I began to have some thoughts. At first they were basic - food, sex, my to-do list, my cat, my body, what I would write about all of this, the people around me, etc. Focus on your breathing Sarah. IN one two three four. OUT one two three four. Come on. Find the quiet.

I was desperate of a quiet moment. So I tried hard. As thoughts came I attempted to do that thing where you recognize them without judgement and then calmly and gently let them go. This ain't easy. Maybe I should join a commune? Mmm...pie sounds so good. I have to mail those freaking "thank you" cards. I wish I knew more about stars. I should start reading about stars. I need to paint my toes. I'll do that tonight.  The only way I could shut my mind down was my counting breaths. So, that's what I did. For 30 minutes I counted my breaths. IN one, two, three, four. OUT one, two, three, four. At some point, the floor began to breathe - rising and falling. I noticed the swirls on the floor we moving. Um. Am I on shrooms? Nope.  I had just breathed myself into hallucinations. Too much oxygen? Too much focus? So, I decided to return to normal breathing and just go ahead and let my mind think about whatever it needed to, because I was starting to feel nauseous. 

My toes were beginning to go numb when Gwin rang the bowl. It was time for walking meditation. With our hands balled in a fist and pressed to our stomachs we walked in slow circles around the tiny space. Walking meditation was much easier for me, because I just noticed various things in the room. Ooo, orchids. Ooo, antique wood chair. Oooo, pretty shrubs outside. Oooo, my feet are sticking to the floor. Oooo, who are those robed men with their pictures on the wall?  Walking meditation wasn't exactly my thing either. 

I'm not a very good meditator. I suppose I could try and train my mind to be still, but it just seems too hard and vomit inducing. I prefer Yoga. I enjoy having something to focus my thoughts on - like the physical pain of pigeon pose, that bastard pose. 

After meditation we gathered in a circle and did an exercise. The group was now up to 6 people, including the leader. Big turn out. We were given a sheet of paper and asked to write 4 things about ourselves we were willing to share with the group. Mine? 

1. I have curly hair. 

2. I eat unconventional things for breakfast

3. I am very sarcastic

4. I cry at Hallmark commercials. 

Then we had to pass our paper in a circle and each person had to write 2 more things about us. This was interesting for me since I KNEW NO ONE IN THE GROUP MORE THAN 5 MINUTES. So, I had to scramble to think of things to say about strangers. Um, Kate wears lovely brown skirts? Mark is warm and welcoming? Gwin has a calming presence? It was hard to come up with positive characteristics about strangers! In the end I stuck with appearance and friendliness. I didn't worry about what people were writing about me. I've never cared much for what strangers think of me.

When I got back my paper, people had written....

kind

strong

willing to try new things

is going to die

has a lot of give

has good posture

wears red well (i was wearing my red tunic)

is alive 

Very astute new friends. Very astute.

We talked about how the words on our paper made us feel. I was cheerful and pleased with my paper. This exercise didn't bring about any big feelings for me. I am all those things. Woo hoo! But for other people, it was hard to accept positive comments. It got kind of intense as participants argued about the words on their paper - "That's not me" "I'm not those things" "The only thing I am is sad". Church was starting to feel more like group therapy. It got intense. It got quiet and not the good kind. Not the kind I was there for. We worked through some of the thoughts, but were unable to come to any conclusions (such is life). It's nice to have a group of people you can share these thoughts with and they can help you work through them. It's just, that's not why I was there. I didn't want to hear about anyone's problems...I came to be quiet.

I was ready to leave. The quiet was done and so was I.  I said my goodbyes and my thank yous and got in my car. I turned up my music and sped off toward the next thing on my to-do list. 

 

 

I've tried meditation several times now and I like it....in small doses. It's kinda how I feel about olives. A few olives in a Greek salad? Sure. A few on a supreme pizza? (hmmm...pizza) Yummy! A giant bowl full of olives for snack? Um. No. Gross. Olive tapenade? Goo. Ain't gonna happen. I can be down with 10 minute meditation sessions to help clear the mind, but anything over that is as unappealing as big bowl of olives.

 

 

Still, I need to find time to be...still. Time to just breathe. Maybe today I will put down the phone, turn off the music, keep the chicken in the kitchen and just enjoy a relaxing non-multitasking bath.

 

Well....

 

Actually...maybe tomorrow. I'm really busy tonight.

 

 

BUT I do hope you find time to bask in the peaceful quiet my friends. I really do.

 

 

 

Ohm.....Ohm....Ohm....tra-la-la-la....

 

 

 

Speaking in Tongues: Lively Stone Church of God

 

 

 Do you remember the old card catalogs they used to have at the library? You know, those wood cabinets with mile long drawers stuffed full of off-white index cards? Remember? My mind is like an old card catalog, but it doesn't reference books. It references movies.

 

I love movies. Love em. Just freaking love them.

 

My mind movie catalog is generally organized by subject, actors and genres. When I have a life experience, see something/someone, hear a particular phrase, etc it pulls up a card in my mind. For example just mention John Cusack's (uh, so dreamy) name and a mind drawer flies open and little faded typed movie titles flash across my mind...Better Off Dead, Serendipity, Being John Malkovich, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil... And then my mind starts cross referencing all the movies John and his sister Joan did together...Sixteen Candles, Martian Child, Grosse Pointe Blank, High Fidelity... Almost every topic has a card. For example: Beverages = Waiting for Guffman "Just drive up and get a coke...if you're thirsty." or Anchorman "I love scotch. Here it goes. Down into my belly." and also "Milk was a bad choice".

Saturday night rolled around and I was trying to figure out what church to attend the next morning. For a while now I've been curious about attending a service where people spoke in tongues. I find that whole practice fascinating. My card drawer flew open and out popped the image of Casandra in the movie Saved! as she pretended to speak in tongues during an assembly at her conservative Christian school.

 

 

Sometimes movies give us unfair expectations of the world. Which is why I'm still waiting on Ryan Gosling to build me a gorgeous mansion with his bare hands and make me romantic candlelit dinners while reading the story of our love to remind me of our magical life together when I have Alzheimer's and can barely remember my name. IS THIS TOO MUCH TO ASK?!?!?!  Perhaps.

 

So, when I chose Lively Stone Church of God an Apostolic Faith church in north city St. Louis I already had some preconceived notions for what a "church that speaks in tongues" would look and sound like based on movies like Leap of Faith, Religulous and Saved!

 

No amount of movie education could have prepared me for what I was about to experience....

 

 

This church had GORGEOUS windows

 

 

 

*Tip for those of you who are thinking about embarking on a church journey - buy a damn knee-length dress or skirt. You're gonna need it.

 

Dressed in a bright green see-through dress that barely covered my ass (thanks carbs), black tights, a cardigan, bright red nails and glitter lip gloss I drove off to my destination. With nearly 4 hours of sleep under my belt I was ready to take on a new adventure. I hopped in my car, rocking out my new hipster glasses that I order for $12.95 - BOOM! When I arrived at Lively Stone I noticed something not present at the other churches I've attended - security guards. Huh. Interesting. There was security posted outside and inside the building. The Bishop (head preacher person) even had a small detail with him - kinda like bodyguards, with earpieces and all. (The Bodyguard starring Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston. "And Iiiiiii Willllll Alllllwaaaays Loooove Yoooooooou".)

 

People looked a little confused as I walked up the steps of Lively Stone gleefully greeting people with a "Good morning!". I got several looks as I walked through the doors and found my seat in the sanctuary. This could be for one of several reasons:

 

1. I was the only white girl in the room.

2. I was a complete stranger who just walked in and sat down alone.

3. Something may or may not have been hanging out of my nose.

4. I am so pretty.

5. I was the only lady in the room without a knee-length skirt.

 

It could have been a combination of all of the above, but most likely it was #5. I kept pulling my dress down. It didn't help. My ass is huge.

 

                                           

 

Service was beginning. The choir started singing while one of the preachers was talking, no, not just talking, emoting. He was singing/screaming/performing powerful words. Within 4 minutes of my arrival I saw a man in a brown suit start jumping around, waving his hands, and speak in a strange language. He was speaking in tongues. Oh boy. This is gonna be good. 

 

The seats slowly began to fill. The large chapel was packed with people clapping and dancing and singing along with the choir and 6 person praise band. Female ushers in crisp white suits with pristine white gloves and lacy black flower pins escorted people to open seats. I was crammed in the middle of a pew in the center of the room (felt a little trapped). Looking around the sanctuary it was hard to miss all the colorful hats. These women put the Kentucky Derby to shame! The hats were unreal. Giant red frilly hats that stood a foot tall. Feathered fascinators with bright pink plumes. Wide expansive rims covered with rhinestones and ribbons. I've never seen anything like it in my life. Where do they get these hats? Where can I get one of these hats? Where do I get the colorful coordinating outfits? Where are these stores?!?

 

After a few moments of observation I became swept up in the music. It was intoxicating. The choir was amazing - full of talent and energy. Every single female member of the choir had a voice like Aretha Franklin - deep and soulful. The choir would sing the song over and over until the congregation had the words and then we would sing the same song with growing intensity and occasionally an octave change for the next 20 mins. Hands were in the air. People were screaming. People were dancing. People were singing with great enthusiasm. The lady behind me was saying ALL kinds of things - speaking in tongues. The pastor was speaking in tongues. Little old women were running laps around the sanctuary - sprinting down the aisles holding on to their colorful hats. People were crying. People were hysterical. It was loud. It was chaotic. IT. WAS. AMAZING.

 

Okay. Speaking in tongues. Don't know how I feel about it. It's supposed to be "God's love language" or a "special prayer language" or the "language of heaven".  I don't know about any of that. To me it just sounded like when I get really really excited about something and all my words start mixing together. Like, if Ryan Gosling (I'm having a Ryan Gosling day) walked into my office right now my words would sounds something like "higdgfnhdsgh$*&*%$moooiloveyouhiogoifhposdfhgioho*5" and I would probably be jumping up and down and screaming and then I would pass out and people would have to fan me back to consciousness. So....kinda the same thing?

 

It didn't seem demonic to me - as many other religions believe it is. People just seemed really happy and full of joy and excitement and "speaking in tongues" was their way of expressing it. It does seem a little silly. Naturally, it reminded me of a scene in Bruce Almighty where Steve Carell's character is "possessed" by Jim Carey and forced to make all these noises during a TV broadcast. I found myself hiding a smile during some of the more random glossolalia moments.

 

 

I didn't speak in tongues. I don't know how. I don't understand how people come up with the sounds. I guess The Holy Spirit passed me by. Instead, I danced. I twisted my hips and tapped my feet. I sang as loud as I could - in harmony, my favorite. I bounced around. My hands were red and numb from clapping. It was like going to a club and crazy dancing with your friends. I was getting kinda sweaty, because 45 minutes into the service all we had done was sing and dance.

 

Luckily, we took a break and prayed. Even the praying was dramatic - people got down on their knees, clung to the rails, laid on the floor, etc. The preacher (there were 2 preacher people and a Bishop) talked about how over the "next few hours" we were here to worship the Lord and praise Him for everything He had done for us during the week. Uh. Next few HOURS?!?! HOURS!?! Holy crap, this is going to last all day isn't it???

 

Yup.

 

Such pretty windows.

 

In between choir numbers a preacher would speak/sing briefly. It was kind of like a rock opera. A really intense one. There was always music playing. The praise band emphasized the moment and heightened the emotion with their various sounds. It was very participatory. We were often asked to turn to our neighbor and touch them or tell them they are blessed or tell them how great Jesus is, etc. Everyone was so incredibly friendly - turns out no one really gave a crap about my skirt or skin color after all. ("People is people" - The Muppets Take Manhattan) There were all kinds of women in various uniforms - priest like uniforms, nurses outfits, black skirt suits with gloves, etc.

An hour and a half  into the service the children came up to sing a song - Lord I Lift Your Name On High. I freaked out. I psychotically love that song. Sometimes Rebecca and I make her husband Nathaniel play it on his guitar so we can have a sing-a-long as relive our youth group days. So, I just went ahead and sang along with the children. So did the women around me. Clearly, they loved the song too.

 

I was growing tired nearly 2 hours into the service and all we had done was sing and sing/speak. We still hadn't done the sermon or communion. They took an offering. It was the kind of offering where EVERYONE had to walk up and drop their money in the velvet bag. There wasn't any cash in my purse. So, I frantically gathered up all the change I had in my wallet and stuffed it in an envelope so no one would know I was only donating roughly $0.80. Go ahead, judge me. I'm a horrible person who forgot to stop by an ATM.  

 

After the offering we had a moment. Monday was the first day of school for many of the students in St. Louis and we "lifted them up in prayer". It's unlikely that you know about the school situation in St. Louis, but it's heartbreaking. St. Louis's school system, like so many across the country is crap. Recently several schools lost their accreditation due to the school's inability to keep children safe. These students now have the option to go to some specially selected schools in the county - except the selected schools threw a bitchfit about letting in these "dangerous kids" into their schools. The past few weeks it's been like the 1950's in STL with a whole lot of racial tension, hatred and ignorance. I stopped watching the news and listening to talk radio - it's been too upsetting. So when the preacher asked everyone in the sanctuary to hold hands and pray for these children and their families I started to tear up. We prayed to open up people's minds. We prayed to open up people's hearts. We prayed for safety. We prayed for understanding.

 

I'd been at Lively Stone for over 2 hours. I'd danced. I cried. I sang. I prayed. I got sweaty. I hugged people. I was done. I needed some water and a bathroom break. So, quietly, I left - passing by people convulsing near the doorway and spinning in circles in the aisles.  

In the car on my way home I reflected, as I often do, on my amazing privilege. This experience was too cool and I couldn't help but be thankful to live in a city with such a rich diversity of religious opportunities. Pretty much after every service I find myself being grateful for my family and my upbringing. I had a magical childhood and my family loves me - I didn't know until recently how amazingly rare that is.  I thought about my privilege as a white girl who grew up in suburbia where all the schools were basically of equal quality and  I never had to worry about an entire school district hating me or thinking I was "no good" because of my skin color. My life is pretty terrific and I have so much to be grateful for. Every Sunday I am reminded of this and it's one of my favorite things about going to church - perspective.

Jesus the Light of the World
(hard to capture it with all the people around)

 

 

 

Holy crap it's August. Only 4 months left of this journey.

 

Music Is My Religion

That's a Jimi Hendrix quote - "Music is my religion".  He said that.

But I imagine there's lots of us who feel that way.

Myself included.

It just sounds infinitely cooler coming from Jimi Hendrix, because he was a wicked talented musician who broke barriers and set his guitar on fire and stuff.

If music is your religion does that make a concert your church - the place where you gather with like minded believers to worship at the altar of sweet sweet tune-age?

I think so.

Now...let's say every religion decided to get together and worship simultaneously over a weekend. You would have lots of options of services to attend from various types of religions. You could create your perfect worship blend by combining different experiences that speak to you. You would gather with hundreds of thousands of other people and have both a collective and separate experience.

In the music world we call these festivals and they are indeed a religious experience.

On Sunday, my designated day of religious reflection, I didn't go to church.

I went to Lollapalooza - a 3 day music festival in Chicago. There are multiple (like 15?) stages and a hundred or so musicians playing hip-hop, EDM, reggae, indie, rock, sad lady music, angry boy music, punk, blues, and all those other genres I don't even know about - like sissy bounce. What the hell is that?

This is the only picture I took at Lolla when I realized I needed
something for the blog. This is "Perry's" stage - dance music. Note
flower headband please.

I only attended one day, Sunday, because I could only afford one day of festivities. At $95 for a single-day ticket it was by far the most expensive religious experience I've had yet, but totally worth it...well....kinda....it was mostly worth it....it's just....I'd probably never go again.

Why?

Because I'm too freaking old.

We tallyed the fashions of the kids

I'm too freaking old for crop tops and hair flowers. I'm too freaking old for tiny baby college students who can't handle their first hallucinogenic experience. I'm too freaking old to spend $25 on a crappy sports bottle of festival wine. I'm too freaking old for eardrum bursting volume. I'm too freaking old to wait 40 mins in line (with douchebags) to use the world's most disgusting port-a-potty. I'm too old for hipsters that claim to care about the environment yet think it's perfectly acceptable to leave their trash all over the park. I'm too old for expansive crowds you can't escape. I'm just too freaking old for this crap.


So, why'd this "old" lady go?


The music of course.



Jake Bugg, Palma Violets, Lianne La Havas, Alt-J, Tegan and Sara, Beach House, The Cure (and bits and pieces of others) - that's why I went. I was there to experience the music. And the music didn't let me down. Jake Bugg freaking killed it - you gotta check him out. Tegan and Sara's show was just a giant ladyparty of happiness. Palma Violets rawked. The Cure was....still not my type of music, but that's totally okay. Alt-J was hypnotic...

I don't know if it was the wine, or the breeze blowing through the trees or the energy in the space or the tantalizing sounds of Alt-J or the cloud of marijuana smoke all around me, but I had some religious reflections during Alt-J's set that I'd like to share with you...


Sarah's Reflections About Religion and Church and Stuff That Occurred to Her During Alt-J's Lollapalooza Performance:

1st - Oh my god, I am never going to another Alt-J show again as it is filled with pretentious douchey  hipsters who don't give a shit about music and only like Alt-J because they started playing them on MTV.

2nd - I need to get over my music elitism. Everyone has the right to experience music as they choose. Some (assholes) probably best experience music through loud obnoxious talking. Stop being such a judger. Drink more wine.

3rd - Oh my god. Music and religion have so much in common.

4th - Everyone experiences God/spirituality in different ways - that's why there are so many different religions, because there are so many different kinds of people. Some people identify with one religion where others combine several belief structures. Similarly, there are soooooo many different kinds of music. There's something for everyone. Some people just listen to classical or death metal or punk or Kenny G while others (like myself) create a suicide (you know, that thing where you mix all the different sodas together?) of various music genres. Still... no matter what you are listening to...it's all music. Aren't all religious beliefs just a different genre of God?

5th - People come to religion/church for various reasons - they grew up with it in their family, deep spiritual connection, for healing, for understanding, because they enjoy it, to give life meaning, all their friends were doing it, or there were free donuts and coffee. AND people come to music for different reasons - because MTV told them to like it, to fit in with others, because the music speaks to them, for healing, for understanding, for enjoyment, for release.

6th - There were lots of different genres represented at Lolla and somehow we all got along swimmingly. Not everyone at Lolla was my style, but I met quite a few friendly people. I stayed away from the people who creeped me out or annoyed me. They didn't ruin my fun. No one was fighting or arguing (that I saw). The darkly dressed Cure people weren't setting fire to all the EDM kids' brightly colored blinking rave gear. Why can't religion be like that? Why can't religions festival together?

Everyone calm down and look at the pretty lights.

7th - I need a snack. Like now. Like right fucking now. (When I get hungry I turn into some kind of food monster ready to kill even small children in the way of my ability to get to that taco stand as quickly as food monsterly possible.)

The food at Lolla was way better than expected. When they ran out of wine (MOTHER OF GOD NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!) Rebecca and I turned to food for comfort. It was like a fat girl curb party - just downing baskets of fried deliciousness.

It was nice. Real nice.

And that was as far as my deep thoughts went. After snacks it all went downhill. Eventually we left Lolla.  Hours later I found myself drooling and staring off into space at a bar we went to after the show to meet up with some friends. I was on sensory overload. Lolla is a lot to take in....at least for this old bird. Post show drinks were a bad idea. Around 2 am we returned to the friends house we were staying at and Rebecca and I got to curl up on the tiniest twin pullout you have ever seen in your life. Super comfortable. Snuggled up to a steel bar my exhausted body gave into the overwhelming experiences of the day and began to doze off, but not before having one final thought....

I'm too freaking old for this shit.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz