From the Streets of Meadville to Your Home

Well, as promised, I've got a picture of the Jesus Living Witness Healing Ministry in all its shabby glory:

The skin-colored blur in the upper left corner is not my thumb, but rather a baseball bat about to hit my head, wielded by an angry mob of Jesusites intent on the destruction of modern America. Aw, hell, no it isn't. It's my thumb.

What do you think of it? You might have to click for the larger version to see the tarp on the roof; it's on the right-hand side, towards the back of the main roof. Now do you see why I'm not running in there? The place just doesn't scream out welcome. More like, "Stay the hell away!"

I've come to the conclusion that the church signs around town aren't going to keep up a steady stream of religious inanity, as I had originally hoped. Occasionally, I'm sure I'll see a good one, especially out of town--just gotta remember to have my camera handy! Here's one for old time's sake:

In other news, people around town are constantly throwing out the most amazingly abused shit you've ever had the misfortune to stumble across on your walk. You've already seen the unfortunate television. Now, behold the Saddest Mattress in the World:

Let me use one of my new favorite verbal ejaculations (gleaned from the very funny Laundryroom Swapmeet): What the Christ? I've had mattresses that have been used for decades and are still in fairly pristine shape. What sort of horrible, non-sleep-related event caused this mayhem? Was someone on this mattress when it exploded? My guess is that this is the result of a sexual experiment gone very much awry.

Remember, the local waste authority doesn't pick up items like Mr. Destroyed Mattress. So this piece of beautiful local color is going to be on this major street corner for a while. This town is great sometimes.

P.S. The extra-observant among you may have noticed that the file name for that picture is "mattres.jpg". Leave the last "s" off for shitty!

What the Hell?

That's what everyone's been asking as they visit this site, day after day, and see that there are still no new updates. July spreads out like a loathsome pit of venomous nothing. However, after just spitting out one of the worst similes of my writing career, I would like to welcome you all back to Electron Glutton. Rather, I'd like to welcome myself back! It looks like I'll have a little time for updating this thing, so let's just get to it.

We've lived in Meadville since the summer of 2001 (Ah! What a simple time it was!), and moved to our current house on North Street that winter. For that whole time, we've lived just down the road from this:

Behold, brethren, the Jesus Living Witness Temple Healing Ministry! This sign stands next to an unassuming--dare I say it, run down--house a block and a half from ours, neatly kept but with a tarp covering part of the roof. On occasion, an elderly black couple can be seen outside, tending the yard. Once, another man was on the roof, attempting some repairs. Otherwise, there is no activity. There are no signs of services, regular or otherwise.

Despite the sign's broken wish for us to be "Well. . .Come", I would hesitate to walk up the steps and knock on the door. Not, mind you, out of any fear for my well-being. Rather, the place just doesn't seem like anyone's much interested in visitors.

The hand-painted sign seems so desperate. "JESUS died 4 U," it says, as though the use of just a handful more letters would have caused the sign-maker to run out of his or her white paint. The name suggests something grand and evangelical, like one of those Southern mega-churches that we're always reading about in the Godless, northern, elitist, commie press (i.e. the New York Times), and yet there's not really a temple to be found, much less a church.

I realize now that not posting a picture of the building makes this post a lot less entertaining. Also, I wish I could see the inside of the place. Maybe one day I'll knock.