Until Ms Moon reminded me, it's palm sunday. You go to church and get a palm and take it home and bend it into a cross because, uh, oh, next week is the BIG EVENT when they nail the guy up there, torture him for a few days, take him down and throw him into a tomb. Whoa.
Then build a whole religion around his life, embellish at will, take his words out of context and spawn legions of whack-a-mole preachers who delude the masses into voting for someone like Rick Santorum.
Back to your regular programming.
To celebrate, I'm going to my church. I'l dance for two hours into a state of bliss and sweat with my fellow dancers. Loud music and bare feet. Then on my dog walk, Felix will teach me how to run and bark with joy with a ball in his mouth. Woof! Dogs are joy machines.
And the sun is out.