Job got you down? Wife don’t understand you? Wife understands you way too well? Husband basically being a male? Domestic partner difficult to explain to family? Dog throw up on the boss? Pull up a stool, prop your feet on the rail, and tell Jesus about it.
Not to be too awfully reductionist, but wouldn’t your religious experience be that much better if it was more like an episode of Cheers? Warm and friendly, with a savior that waves at you and knows your drink order before you place it? Granted, serving a Captain Morgan and Coke in the Holy Grail lacks a certain gravitas, and is possibly even somewhat blasphemous, but it’s his cup after all. Take, drink, this is my cocktail, which I have mixed for you. Do this in remembrance of Happy Hour.
I’m sure I’ve brought this up before, because I’m a little crazy for saint statues, but what’s with the lipstick? I can handle Mary tarting it up with some blush and lip-liner–maybe not quite as much as she did on Wednesday–but I’ve never really been comfortable with the Jesuses, Josephs, and Christophers of the world wearing “passion pink.” That and the faux-velvet beadwork bar makes JC look a little like he’s mixing Appletinis at Aunt Charlie’s Lounge, which would be very ecumenical of him, but I’m not quite ready for Sixth Street Saturday Night Saviors quite yet.
Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin