The Partridge Family Temple

When we watched the season finale of Mad Men Season 6 last Sunday, I did something I can’t believe I’ve never done before. I looked at Kaleidoscope and before we started the episode I said, “Let’s say grace.”
And so I said, “Thank you, God for creating Matt Weiner and all the wonderful writers and design people on the show. And thanks for creating the wonderful actors who played those wonderful roles.”

We say grace at dinner. And for years I’ve left flower offerings to the TV. From now on, when we get ready to watch a any new TV show, we will thank God for the writers, prop people, set designers, the TV station that provides us with the glorious entertainment.

And at the end of the day what do you remember more? The fried chicken and whipped potatoes? Or when Adriana was wacked on Soprano’s? Or what about that sockeye salmon that was on sale? Mmmm, wasn’t that good? Does it really compare to the “Chuckles the Clown” episode on the Mary Tyler Moore show?

So next time you close your eyes and fold your hands over your vegan salisbury steak with quinoa and glass of Almond Milk, just ask yourself, “Is this going to taste as good as the Family Ties episode where Michael P. Keaton gets addicted to pep pills and digs holes in the backyard?

I don’t thing so.

You wake up in utter blackness. No sky. No earth. Just forever made of black. Suddenly a dog barks. You turn around. The dog runs up to you. You get on your hands and knees and check the dog collar; it says, “Simone”.

“Simone’s your name?”

The dog barks and shakes it’s head and starts to trot away. You follow but then you stop. For floating high above you, is a gigantic, beautiful, blonde woman wearing crushed, red velvet pants and matching vest, her shirt ruffled and white. She starts to sing, and as she sings, pinpoints of light appear. Newly born stars; and then the stars begin to sing.

And as they sing, the gigantic, blonde woman’s stomach starts to Jiffy Pop, pregnant-swell. She rotates in the black void and smiles at you. Now she’s naked. From her blonde, honey cave hideout emerges a gigantic, yellow and blue egg. She floats away and all is silent.

Then the egg starts to roll back and forth and the yellow top is separated from the blue bottom as it loudly cracks in half. You can’t move and are hardly breathing. Shadowy beings climb out of the egg. You can’t quite make them out. Then they start walking towards you.

Keith. Laurie. Danny. Tracy. Two Christophers; one with blonde hair and one with brown. You know them. You know their names but you don’t know why. Then you notice the others. A young girl clasping a diary. Lancelot Link. Marcia Brady. Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman. The Banana Splits. Brandon & Brenda Walsh. JonBenet Ramsey. The cast from Seinfeld. Helen Keller & her Guru. Maude. Nate Archibald. Blair Waldorf. A man with a falsetto playing a ukulele. Bobby Sherman. The Goatfish Man. Flip Wilson & Geraldine. Snake Plissken. That loveable Hazel.

You hear a golden voice behind you.

“Do you love my children?”

You turn around and the gigantic blonde woman is floating on a gigantic, lotus flower dripping with sticky, incense honey.

“I don’t know”, you stammer nervously.

“That’s alright child. They love you and you are love.”

She kisses you on your brow and whispers into your ear, “Wake up.”

You open your eyes. You’re in your bed. “Was that a dream?” you wonder aloud. Just then your door burst open and Danny Partridge barges his way into your room yelling, “Hey, goofball! Mom said to wake up. It’s time for breakfast. I hope you like omelets. Mom makes the best omelets in Albuquerque!”

You hop out of bed and smile. You have never felt so turned-on in your life! As you follow Danny into the kitchen of God, he gives you a TV Guide. You stare in amazement… you’re on the cover!