From my crow's-nest view in the café within the Borders overlooking Madison Square Garden, I sometimes watch the giant screen billboard flash upcoming events and attractions at the Garden. It’s a mind-boggling list: everything from The Cure to My Little Pony Live: World’s Biggest Tea Party. And…a church? World Changers International, pastored by Creflo A. Dollar, one of the faces of the "Prosperity Gospel."

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Easter has come and passed. Now what?

Well, for us Armenian Orthodox Christians, the Monday after any major feast day – Easter, being the most significant of them all – is a kind of ‘Day of the Dead’ as celebrated in some Latin American cultures, though without the painted skulls and all-night camping out, etc. The term we use for it is “Merelotz.”

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John 20:18: Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them that he had said these things to her.

Mark 16:8: Trembling and bewildered, the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid.

When I listened to John’s resurrection story on Easter and all I could think of was how it didn’t pass the “criterion of independent attestation,” I knew something was up.

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What is it about Texas that can make an East Coast girl feel like such an outlaw? I’ve barely been here 24 hours and I already feel like chirping “Ya’ll” to everyone I see and am fixin’ to fit myself with a pair of cowboy boots. And one short day after flying in, I have already caved into the sins of the flesh: This evening I -- a dedicated vegetarian -- moseyed on over to a food festival where I found myself inspired (more likely by my inner carnivore than the Holy Spirit) to eat a dead animal. And it was delicious.

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Last week I spent three days traveling with my parents. We went to Bloomington, Indiana to check out the graduate program for Indiana University. My relationship with them has been somewhat strained since coming out and I had hoped that this trip would allow us to reconnect, as well as answer the question as to where I would continue my education. Although, the trip showed no progress for my parent's attitude towards my revelation, I found myself turning to the lessons of faith and hope that they taught me as a child to help me through this hectic time.

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“Do you want fries with that?”

More than once, I’ve gotten this interrogative statement in response to my declaration that yes, I am an English major. This is my least favorite reaction. My second least favorite is “Oh, you are going to be a teacher?” (There are other things to do with the degree!) Then there are the understanding folks who perhaps understand a little too much and ask me what I plan to do with my schooling. My usual answer: I don’t really know.

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I’m home this Holy Week –and by home I mean the Long Island house in which I grew up. Although I’ve only spent a few months at this house in the past five years, I don’t know where else to call home.

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My heart is full; it is Holy Week, and alas I have felt the heaviness of this sacred time for us Christians. Perhaps, of all the nights of the year, tonight is when I am most certain of God and of eternal life. I have just returned from Maundy Thursday services, and in the Armenian Orthodox Church, these services constitute such a beautiful flow of prayers, hymns, and acts, that it is impossible for one not to be moved.

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I have been a campus tour guide at Boston University for four-and-a-half semesters and one full summer. That adds up to hundreds of campus tours given. And on every tour that I have ever given, there is a time when it becomes apparent who the Jews in the crowd are. Sometimes it's as easy as a yarmulke or an Israeli army T-shirt on a prospective student. When I pick up on this, I’ll add some Jewish tidbits into the tour to make my Jewishness known: I’ll point out the kosher dining hall in the Hillel house, or mention the Hebrew classes I’ve taken.

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Here in the Yale bubble, two hours on a train and a world away from the real world concerns of New York, students are outraged. The Yankee Doodle — a dozen stools and one grill that served up pigs in a blanket — has been closed. Students mourned the closing. Some raised money to bail out the shop. Rick Beckwith, Doodle owner, campaigned against his former landlord — the copy shop next door — and asked the university for new digs. The old landlords reconsidered then re-reconsidered. The Yale equivalent of pundocracy weighed in on the weighty issue.

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Live-blogging my flight: An anxious flyer takes to the skies.

2:00: I’m standing in line to board at Midway airport and the Southwest airline attendant announces that they have overbooked the flight and wouldn’t one generous volunteer just love to receive a $200 voucher to give up his seat and take a later flight? At first, I’m steadfast: I’m getting on this plane. As the attendant becomes desperate, the offer goes up. I become weak. I sell out. $420 Southwest voucher, here I come!

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In the myriad comments on my last post, many points were made about God’s role, or lack thereof, in Eve Carson’s death, and God’s role in tragedy on earth in general. But oddly even a tragedy as momentously sad as this does little to change people’s opinions. Religious folks pray to God for solace. Non-religious folks take solace in knowing no benevolent God could allow something like this to happen. I was reminded of a childhood telephone game: less listening to what is really said, and more hearing of what you want to hear, and passing it along in the place of truth.

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It's 1a.m. in the narrow booth of a chilly diner. Reruns of That ‘70s Show are playing muted in the background. Textbooks are sprawled open-face across the table in front of me; a mug of coffee, cold and forgotten, has been shoved off to the side. I am frustrated because I’d rather be finished with my assignments and in my bed at home, but I still savor the serenity of solitude and quiet.

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Recently in the news attention has turned to Oklahoma Rep. Sally Kern. She was being recorded while she went on what at best is a rant and at worst a “speech” that could end her political career. I suppose she thought she was in the company of people who shared her views, and decided she would let her hair down about the state of the nation and how homosexuals are a danger to America. The following are a few of her enlightened views:

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I follow politics quite religiously. Despite this, reports that New York Governor Eliot Spitzer’s having paid thousands of dollars for illicit sex surprises me. There has been no shortage of sex scandals in politics, no shortage of wives standing beside their husbands as they confess to disgusting crimes of infidelity. But Spitzer was supposed to be one of the good ones; in fact, TIME magazine named him 2002’s Crusader of the Year.

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I got an email Thursday afternoon that I thought was a terrible joke. Since then I’ve been trying to process the reality of that email and circuitous attempts at logic lead back to the same conclusion: Why? Our student body president, Eve Carson, was shot and killed early one morning last week.

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With next week’s sober Easter Tridduum just around the corner, I paid a final Lenten visit to my spiritual director.

In the five months that we have been meeting, Sister B has helped me to laugh at myself, to learn from myself and to seek wisdom within Catholicism’s spiritual depths.

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I'm bothered and can't put myself at ease. Saturday, as I made my weekly scavenge of the (still closing ) 6th Ave. Barnes & Noble, a guy approached me looking to find a kindred spirit (or one-night stand). Early on, he told me, "I can tell you're a very good, kind person."

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Spring Break: The pinnacle week of every college student’s academic year. It’s what is most looked forward to next to the end of finals and the beginning of the careless, free summer months of beaches and outdoor concerts, traveling and unwinding at home.

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I was excited to show off my new Episcopal home church, and he never missed Catholic mass and wasn’t about to start now, so one thing led to another and there I was, going for an Erin Becker record: two church services in three hours.

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Even on Spring Break in a commonwealth that is not my own, I couldn’t keep away: a whole crew of student organizations got together last night here at the University of Kentucky for a juicily titled “dialogue” on the question “Does God exist?”

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The race for the Democratic presidential nomination has seemingly gripped the nation. We have heard over and over again how important certain primaries were, and yet, despite many proclaimed do-or-die scenarios, each campaign rages on.

Last night, both Senators Clinton and Obama looked tired in their speeches capping Super Tuesday Deux (Senator McCain always looks tired). While this race is rightfully captivating, I find myself also needing a breather from the rhetoric every few weeks to regain perspective.

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One finding of the recent Pew study on the American religious landscape that did not surprise me was that the largest Jewish populations are in New York and New Jersey, with Jews comprising 6% of each state’s population.

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In my Religion and Society class, we have been discussing this phenomena of young adults who classify themselves as spiritual but not religious. At first this was a curious thing for me, because I guess I always thought of them as being one and the same.

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For all but the first ten months of my life, I have lived in the same house. For the greater part of growing up, I had my own room while my two older sisters shared a slightly bigger bedroom adjacent to my room. They always yelled at me for having my own room, even though it could hardly have been my decision when we moved into the house.

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