Father Carey

Jason is working tonight!

Not to sound so excited, but when Jason is working I can eat and watch whatever I want. Right now, I'm eating toast smothered in Heinz gravy. It's a dish that is only made edible by an artery-clogging slab of butter and years of conditioning. My dad introduced me to this dish before I could talk, so, for me, it will always be a delicacy.

I'm also watching Dancing with the Stars, a show that Jason scoffs at, and listening to Justin Farren's folksy jams during the commercial breaks. Jason would hate it - all vocals and lyrics, no robot sounds.

I played a show with Justin last spring when Dan and I were in Sacramento. It was my first tour and everything went wrong. Two shows canceled. We blew a tire on our way to Sacramento, and once we were there, my car was broken into and about $7,000 worth of our instruments and gear was stolen. This included my baby, my first guitar: Deano.

Needless to say, I was upset the night that I picked up a borrowed guitar to play a show with Justin Farren. My eyes were all puffy and I played depressing songs... depressingly.

If I hadn't been so distracted by the loss of Deano, I would have spent all night hitting on Justin Farren! I'm pretty sure I could have bagged myself a NoCal boy if I had put my back into it.  Instead I drank two bottles of wine and passed out on Jen and Derek's couch.

Justin creates songs in this remarkable way. He sings a lot of words really fast and they're all good. A lot of musicians who are vocally and instrumentally gifted can't write lyrics. Justin is the whole package. He sings like Andrew Bird, he plays like M. Ward, and his songs are hilarious.

His song "Father Carey" is only a minute and four seconds long:

If we were stranded on a desert island 
And you found a raft that only carried one, 
I think you'd desert me. 
And if the tide came in and cast you back on the beach, 
You would beg my forgiveness, 
But if you got hungry, 
I think you would eat me.

Now I don't know if Father Carey was his childhood priest, or if there's any religious implication at all, but I have met many Father Careys - especially in Christian college.

At Temple we had mandatory prayer groups that met once a week. It was three other girls from my hall who I never spoke to, had no classes with, and nothing in common with from what I could tell. The whole idea was that we would meet once a week to share all of our intimate problems and struggles so that we could pray for and with one another.

At Master's it was my RA, the student leadership, study partners, et al. Any situation where you were supposed to spiritually bond with someone.

She would be super understanding, and nod and smile a lot. I even thought that I made a friend who cared about me and loved me like a sister. Then it hit me. This person has no idea what I'm talking about. She doesn't relate to anything I have to say. Or worse? She's only pretending to like me.

When one or two of the things you say in prayer group show up on the gossip chain, you get wise. Pretending to care is a good way to get the dirt on someone.

Every single one of them - If we were stranded on a desert island, I think she would eat me. In fact, most of the people I went to Christian college with would strip the jerky off my hide before you could say Jack Robinson.

 -KL