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Frank Gumola - Journal | Weblog

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I've only recently discovered the rare gem known as the eXpress bus. I've previously written about the bus route I normally use to get to work on the weekends, and we all know how unhappy an experience that can be. I tried a different route a few days ago, and I'm sticking to it. The route is shorter, more direct, and the bus is always nearly empty.

The old bus route was tolerable, except for Sundays. On Sundays the old bus is filled with church goers. Not itself a problem seeing as how I love colorful displays of adoration; even the religious kind. But the shouts of praise spouted as a reply to each and every comment from another can be a bit taxing.

I'm not talking about a simple "Amen!", or "Hallelujah!" either. My African American Step-Father (worships one way) and Czech/Italian/Polish/Serbian/and-probably-more Mother (worships another way) can attest to the fact that I enjoy nothing more than a powerful soulful experience.

But only when I invite it.

I was an altar boy, I took theology courses. My religious background and beliefs aren't something I often discuss partly because of the possibility of igniting or sparking arguments with others who believe differently - and wish you would too.

Praise him, her, it however you want. Just not so loudly in my right ear.

And since when does "My drunk ass husband got himself arrested again last night," deserve an "Amen!"?

This post is also brought to you by the adorable young man who drove past me at the bus stop and pulled over only to hand me a copy of Watchtower. Seriously.

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