Earlier this week, I volunteered to help my manfriend clean his rather unfortunate kitchen. While balls-deep in Butthole Surfers, cheap malbec, and on my second steel wool, he innocently asked, “Is this…OK with you?” I think, since cleaning is traditionally not the most party time task we get to experience in life, he thought surely I was cursing him under my breath. But…guys, I’m kind of a pervert.
Caroline accidentally named it about a month ago when we were kicking it with bourbon and Kevin on my couch. I’m not sure how it came up, but I was trying to recall an OxiClean commercial—you know, those ones from the ‘90s when that bearded dude crouches next to a sickly-looking light brown bathtub and is all,“YO WATCH THIS,” and when you do, you see him swipe a perfect white scar, cutting through the scuzz. “HOLY FUCK,” 8-year-old me thought. Caroline nodded knowingly as I detailed all of this. “Oh yeah,” she said. “Biore pore strip people. I’m one of those, too."
I went to a WASP-y high school and attending youth group was a fairly popular, non-geeky Thing To Do — especially at Killearn Methodist or Wildwood Presbyterian.
I grew up Catholic, my family frequenting early Sunday mass within the stained glass Blessed Sacrament structure. But I tried out the protestant youth group with their PowerPoint presentations and acoustic guitar. It was very different from the rigid, pious practice that had become a beloved habit — Wildwood and Killearn’s lighting felt too bright and I couldn’t get excited about peanut butter-eating contests.
I was slipping away from Christianity in my early-/mid-teens but I was still trying to find some sort of footing in any of the three churches. I was trying to feel something, to believe.
It didn’t stick, but you can never fault someone for trying to believe in something — religion, love, magic. It’s worth trying.
I’ve been jamming pretty hard on warm-sounding, easy shit lately (combined, obvs, with way too much Dirty South trap shit). Try this Brazilian jazz album on for size. Add a kitten sleeping in your lap for an optimum listening experience.
Also lately: for the first time I can really pinpoint in my adult life, I'm really enjoying time alone. Dropping the needle on a solid listen, opening a window and sipping bourbon while attacking a baking project. Or streaming an album for work while laying belly down over some comics.
I miss my friends up north something fierce. I’m thrilled to have retained and made some amazing friends down here, too, but that count is significantly lower. I don’t actually mind it. It’s opened up a lot of time for myself and things I want to do and relaxation in general.
Remember, guys: Leisure isn’t a sin. Go find a porch and sit on it today. At least for a little while.