September 17, 2006

Turn to Page 253 in Your Hymnal.

I'm feeling a tad blah this morning, maybe because I'm not fully awake yet. But, my mind started wandering on all the different words that mean sad, and I thought of melancholy. Then I looked it up in the dictionary and along with the normal, boring definition I also found this:

mel·an·chol·y
3. Archaic a. Black bile. b. An emotional state characterized by sullenness and outbreaks of violent anger, believed to arise from black bile.

So, then I had to look up black bile, and this is it:
black bile n. One of the four humors of ancient and medieval physiology, supposed to cause melancholy when present in excess.

Then, on Wikipedia, I found this. And, now I have something to entertain myself for most of the day. I also can tell everyone that I'm suffering from the black bile, and I can do so in a pirate voice.

In reality, I'll be spending part of the day cleaning up my art room, whose official title is Room Formerly Known as Dining. It looks like a flea market puked in here, and I seriously can't get anything accomplished while sitting in the middle of flea market vomit.

Speaking of flea markets, I know the first month for our booth was somewhat profitable, but I'm not sure how profitable. When we went to pick up the check last week, they had miscalculated the total. When we went yesterday for the corrected check, we learned that the owner's were out of town. It's not like we're digging in the sofa cushions for grocery money, but I'd like to know how much we sold, and what we sold so I have a better idea on what to buy.

You know those letter signs they have outside churches? I have a love/hate relationshiphip with them. I hate them because I think they're perfectly tacky, which, oddly enough, is the same reason I love them. I always take note of what the intellectuals at the local churches have brainstormed for the weekly sign message, and I'll be posting the more succinct ones on here. Last week, one of the local signs sported this message, "Want to avoid burning, try using sonblock." And, I was all like SONblock...I get it...not SUNblock...SONblock...like the SON of GOD...I get it. Those clever, clever devils. If anything would ever remotely come close to getting me into a church, I'm sure bad puns would do the trick. By the way, what SPF do you think Jesus is? Ready for some fun with church signs? I found a church sign generator, here. You choose your church sign, and then what text you'd like to see on it, click on the go button and like magic your sign appears. You can also get magnets and stickers made with your customized church sign.

Okay, I've used the word church far to many times in the previous paragraph, and now I'm starting to get itchy all over. And, I'm twitching a little bit.

Have I mentioned that I was raised Baptist, and I'm severely bitter about it? And, instead of using the phrase, "raised Baptist", which always sounds awkward, shouldn't it be "As a child I had the Baptist faith jammed into my veins with a dull, rusted, 10 gauge needle"? In my opinion, that's much more accurate.

And so, brothers and sisters, this ends another service of The Church of the Art Freak. Don't forget to leave a little something in the plate on your way out. And, remember, if it's not at least 10% of your GROSS income (not NET, you cheap bastards), you're going to hell -SONblock or not.

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