In the Friday paper, there used to be a column where local 20-somethings would talk about what they were doing that coming weekend. They were fabulous things that definitely did not involve going to bed at 9 p.m., attempting to not swear at the lovely patrons of Borders Fox Point, or consuming one's weight in brownies while watching Say Yes to the Dress.
Because that has totally never described one of my weekends.
Anyway. It's gone now. Like most of the paper, actually. I think it's a recession thing. However, I propose bringing it back. I could write it. Except it would be called the You're-Wasting-Your-Early-Twenties Crowd.
Make no mistake, this weekend included a large number of the typical embarrassing things. I watched What Not to Wear. For awhile. Until I fell asleep. I tried valiantly to not throw a book at someone's head and you know what, sir? I see that you're purchasing something from the Christian fiction section. Do you know what Jesus doesn't like? BEING OBNOXIOUS TO EMPLOYEES THAT'S WHAT. I read at Mass. That's not really embarrassing. It's just dorky.
But I actually did stuff too! Except even as I was actually doing stuff, I still managed to stay firmly in the "uncool" sector. I went to the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit on Friday afternoon. That was cultural and outgoing. But then I was so exhausted when I got home I did nothing else the rest of the day.
(The exhibit? Is long. Fascinating and amazing, but it took us two and a half hours to get through.)
I went out with friends on Saturday night. That's normal. But when we were finished with dinner, one of us went back to the seminary, one spent the night reading Reformation-era theologians, and one listened to the last twenty minutes in a series of angry 16-year-olds hooking their angst up to amps and spewing it throughout the Grafton High School auditorium.
(Not John! John was lovely. And perfectly not-angsty.)
(Can you tell which one I was?)
Aaand, now it's Sunday night and I'm watching the eighteenth version of Emma on PBS. And I think it may be my favorite, despite the disturbing lack of Ewan McGregor. Yeah. That's right. I have a favorite version of Emma. Wow. Form an orderly queue, gentlemen.
Oh, whatever. I frickin' love Emma. The lesson to be learned from this version is primarily- Mr. Elton: Reason #1 for Priests to Remain Celibate. We do not need your drama, Father.