Like selling cotton candy at a cruxifiction!

That's what I'm going say now when people ask how I'm doing. "Like I'm selling cotton candy at a cruxifiction!" which, I think, expresses both a harried hardworkingness and an upbeat sense of the absurd.

This year's Pilsen Passion was just alright. Two years ago it was much colder (bad) but the Roman soldiers were on horses (good). It also seemed like less people were involved, despite the weather. If that were the case, then it conforms to my theory about the American religious experience: everyone was at the mall, getting happy, ignoring the Reaper and the naked fact of pain in human life. Which would also mean that American consumerism zapped the spirituality out of the Mexicans of Pilsen in two years: blame the new Target on Damen and Archer. Maybe there were more people there, hell, how would I know? I can barely count.

First you walk down 18th, where children soldiers whip Jesus.

Grandpas, kids. A little boy grabbed my hand in the crowd and I was instantaneously pleased; then we looked at each other and realized I am not his mommy. His mom thought that was the funniest thing; little boy and I were sad. Later, an older lady grabbed my arm, laughing, and I think maybe she had grabbed me while tripping, or something; I need to learn Spanish, but was pleased by all the touching and laughing, regardless.

I went with my former roommate. While we walked in the procession she discussed her man hunt, the lack of good men for dating, those kinds of things. I can barely tolerate thinking such things. I am certainly too cool to discuss dating, Cathy-style, at a reinactment of the central mystery of my faith. However, I am currently reading "The Last Temptation of Christ" wherein the whole town is gearing up for the weekly Jewish zealot-cruxifying. Historically speaking there were probably some spinsters moseying along, bitching about the lack of good husbands, and having epileptic fits, which also happens in this book all the time. It's nearly Russian with all the sweating and convulsing and digging of fingernails in faces. I digress. Suffice it to say the experience was not particularly holy, but it was nice, and topped with a tasty chile rellano meal for $3.