My sister Meggan was to take one class this fall at a community college. Today was her first day of college. She spent the entire hour this evening crying through her composition class because she really didn’t want to be there. She has since dropped out. I told her college was a bad idea.

Nathanael and I were talking on the phone the other day and he mentioned that the church he attends in Atlanta recently stipulated that all who partake in the Lord’s Supper be a member in good standing of an evangelical church. This poses a problem as I’ve never been a member of a church (although I’ve been a regular attendee in good standing?, that must count for something, yes?). Nathanael queried as to what sort of church I attended when I was bapitised (I was about ten or eleven; indoor swimming pool, church retreat, somewhere in Minnesota). As far as I could remember it was a Baptist church (to my knowledge I was raised in a non-denominational church that eventually merged with a Baptist church (the one that my great-grandparents had started in their house in the Thirties)). However, of course, I think the understanding was that I was being baptised into Christianity, so I didn’t gain membership or any other such perfunctories. Still, the thought that I am technically a Baptist — albeit a very bad and wayward one! — is still bothersome. After putting the coffee shoppe to bed tonight, I stopped by my parents to visit and inform them that Mrs. Mosley and her daughter Rebecca will be coming up to Atlanta when my mother and I visit there this September (me dear mum and I are thrilled). I asked them whether their church had already merged with the Baptist church at the time I was baptised. Apparently, I was wrong, the disasterous merger (you see, the church ended up schisming in the end) had not yet taken place. Furthermore!, I was wrong about the non-denominationalhood of my parents’ church. Dear and gentle reader who is not as dear and gentle as Mrs. Mosley, I am afraid I have news for you of a most dreadful sort! My parents’ church was Plymouth Brethren. Which, by some odd and cruel twist of fate, technically makes me a Plymouth Brethren! Woe! I am undone! It is almost enough to make a girl run off and become an Anglo-Catholic! I am distraught. What is the proper course of action? Writing a letter in which I secede from the Plymouth Brethren?

This morning I played Echo and the Bunnymen’s Songs to Learn and Sing, the Cowboy Junkies’ The Trinity Sessions, and the Smashing Pumpkin’s Gish. Do you think that D’Arcy’s parents were hippies or read Chesterton? He names his pumpkin-headed, comic relief Etonian rower D’Arcy Cheesewright, though Bertie Wooster likes to call him Stilton.

I cannot find my briefcase, but if I do find it and am then able to complete my homework in a timely fashion, then I shall post about my weekend trip to Blue Ridge, GA.

The Bishop of South Africa, Trevor Rhodes, spoke today at the church I attend. He gave the benediction in one of the many South African languages. Coupled with his Yorkshire accent, it was quite something to hear.

My roommate, myself, and some other friends are going to the Minnesota State Fair this afternoon. Did you know that Minnesota’s State Fair is second only in size to Texas’? I really feel like, oh, I don’t know, say Oklahoma’s, or Ohio’s, or even Illinois’ or Arkansas’ fairs should be bigger than ours.

Goal for the day: Prohibiting my companions from trying a deep fried Snickers bar on a stick.

I heard he has an ex-wife in some place called Mayors Income, Tennessee
And he used to have a consulting business in Indonesia
But what’s he building in there?
He has no friends but he gets a lot of mail
I bet he spent a little time in jail
I heard he was up on the roof last night, signaling with a flashlight
And what’s that tune he’s always whistling?
What’s he building in there?
What’s he building in there?
We have a right to know