"In vacant or in pensive mood..." I am: Bekah; 24; Law Student / Favorite Things: Carbs (so there!), Johnny Damon, Smiling at babies, Grilled cheese, Comfortable silence / Favorite Supreme Court Justice: Brennan / Favorite Wilson: Owen by an inch / Today's Special: Song: Elliott Smith, "Bled White"; Quote: "You know, there's like a butt-load of gangs at this school. This one gang kept wanting me to join because I'm pretty good with a bowstaff." Please love me: mmbekah@yahoo.com


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Satanic Curses

I’ve never been much of a stickler about not taking the Lord’s name in vain. Despite my personal religious background, I don’t even discriminate among various “Lords." (Sorry if you take offense, but I don’t think I should have to pass up fun expressions just because I’m Jewish). I say the occasional “God damn,” “Christ almighty,” and “Christ on a bike.” I’ve even been known to exclaim “Holy Shi—ite Muslim Temple of God!” when the appropriate circumstances arise. Believe me, I could take this opportunity to launch into a philosophical tirade about the power/arbitrariness of language, but for now let me just say that I have no qualms about breaking this particular commandment on a daily basis. (Please note that I do try to abide by “Thou Shalt Not Kill” a little more stringently).

Regardless of my somewhat questionable piety, I am now convinced that the phrase “Oh My God” can be truly blasphemous. This has nothing to do with “sacrilege,” as the term is used in common parlance. It has everything to do with a girl at the table next to me in the coffeehouse shrilly repeating “Omigod omigod omigod” into a cell phone for a good half hour. Let’s forget for a moment that she used the word “God.” I would venture to say that anyone who repeats anything in that tone for that long is indisputably the antichrist.

After witnessing this horrifying display, I had an uncharacteristic reaction. I turned to prayer. I prayed for ears like Mr. Potato Head’s, which could be removed easily at will. Alas, my prayers were not answered, and my ears are now sore as a result of a failed Van Gogh move involving a butter knife. Okay, that part’s not true, but I did fantasize about it. I looked over at the condiment cart with the plastic utensils and contemplated the sharpness of plastic butter knives. I decided that due to their finely serrated edges, they are probably quite hazardous. I’m keeping a mental note of this in case Omigod girl (a.k.a. Lucifer) starts up again. If she does, my newfound religiosity might be gravely jeopardized.

posted by Bekah at 1:36 AM :: |