For a while, I used to hope something would change my mind. I’ve fantasized about finding religion in some romanticized way, like those washed up actors who suddenly have a mid-life epiphany. They spout Bible verses like everything finally makes sense.
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I am descendant from apes, this is true, but I am nogorilla, and in that light I admit I am the descendant of religious folk but am no longer a believer. Religion is my coccyx bone, and the fact that its residual echoes choose to surface during moments of passion is something I have come—pardon the pun—to relish.
“Vow” – the first song off Garbage’s 1995 self-titled debut – came on. When Matt and I first met, we had bonded over our mutual childhood love for Garbage – and how much we (without even a shred of irony) continued to enjoy them. We sang along, loudly, until Matt slammed the volume button and turned to look squarely at me, his face lit up with one of the biggest grins I’d ever seen.