Pray to the Heavens
Posted on | August 25, 2008 | 6 Comments
We Californians are not religious folks. A proper Californian doesn’t go to church. For example, I’ve never been to church for anything but a wedding or a funeral. I didn’t know my family was actually Catholic until I was 25 and at my great-grandmother’s funeral and everyone was standing and sitting and shaking hands and patting their heads and rubbing their tummies and I had to ask my cousin WHAT IN THE HELL IS HAPPENING? Because I don’t play well with others, and, again, physical affection chills me to the bone.
This was at the same funeral that I met my second cousin for the first time and he was a full-tenured professor at a private East Coast university. He had graying hair at his temples and an actual tweed coat with elbow patches and because I believe in wearing a good bra for all occasions, and I don’t wear pantyhose, but rather, stockings, and though my skirts always hit below my knee, I felt very naughty hitting on my second cousin at a funeral because wow that was wrong. The lord and death and a familial relationship did not stop me from crossing and uncrossing my legs several times in the limo and smiling and touching his tweed covered arm all too often at the Ukranian restaurant we went to for the wake. And when all of you die, you can count on me to be at your funeral acting like a whore.
But we Californians are not bereft of spirituality. No. We worship just like everyone else, except the idols we worship are tangible, real and infinately more self-referential than any silly old religion.
Things we Californians worship:
The Automobile
Our cars are our heaven. They are our sacred place, our Ganges. They transport us to better places and offer us solace from the confusing outside world.
They also provide us with a heirarchy with which we use to judge whether or not the person in front of us is a suitable mate. I had a single guy friend in Oregon and he drove a small, old compact car and I informed him that no girl would go home in that thing. And then I remembered — Oregon. NOT CALIFORNIA. Girls here have values.
Physical Beauty
We self-flagelate for the purpose of attaining the state of nirvana called physical perfection. Like the hairshirts or the flogging so many acolytes have done before us, we punish ourselves through exercise, plastic surgery, that itchy feeling while dying one’s hair, and dieting, which punishes those around us far more than it punishes us.
Convenience
Fast food was born in California. 7-11’s and Circle K’s flourish. Malls and supermarkets, like the heartiest flowers are sought after and reveled in. These places meet our needs and awaken new desires while satisfying them all at once. They are our houses of worship.
Therapy
*And here’s the point of this post* In Oregon, people worship prescription meds and booze. In California, we loooooove to hear our own voices, and so talk therapy offers us both a calm mind and an hour where we get to do nothing but TALK ABOUT OURSELVES.
I talked with my therapist in LA two days ago and I feel so much better. SO MUCH BETTER. And now I’ve decided that I will return to the homeland quarterly to lie on V’s couch in Malibu (its own sort of therapy) and then go and speak with my therapist for brain tune up. I will also shop at malls, drive a car everywhere and diet just to ensure my pass through the pearly gates (please ignore my hitting on a family member at my great grandmother’s funeral. And the small Thai person I have in my basement doing my bidding.)
Amen.
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6 Responses to “Pray to the Heavens”
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August 25th, 2008 @ 9:08 am
Oh don’t worry. Oregon does therapy too. I heart my therapist at OHSU.
August 25th, 2008 @ 9:20 am
Yeah, Oregonians LOVE therapy. Mine needs a nap after she meets with me – but I feel rejuvinated and fresh. Maybe it’s just east siders that love therapy? Who knows.
August 25th, 2008 @ 10:11 am
i need to flirt more at funerals. i’m always bored stiff.
August 25th, 2008 @ 1:08 pm
I made out with a third cousin by marriage when I was sixteen.
His name was Jeremy and he was from Australia.
He wore a tiiiiny bathing suit. I kind of hated him.
August 25th, 2008 @ 2:34 pm
I have found from wrenching personal experience that therapy only helps when you don’t really need it. If you are truly crazy, only prescription meds and booze do the trick. In fact, if you are totally apeshit, you talk to yourself and hear your own voices all the time, so therapy has nothing to offer you that you don’t get all the time. Maybe you have merely discovered that the overall level of insanity is higher in Oregon than in California.
Funerals are great places to meet people. Grief makes everyone horny, right?
I really need to get a better handle on when it is okay to do it with family members and when it is not before my next funeral.
August 25th, 2008 @ 5:22 pm
In California, if you live a good life and die young and pretty you can come back as a Prius