The past few days I've been thinking about salvation. Don't worry, I'm not going to start chanting or sprinkling passerbys with holy liquids. My deep conviction to being wholy uncommitted spiritually is still quite intact. This week, I broke down and hired a cleaning lady. I'm not quite sure what the politically correct term would be. I like housekeeper. It sounds tidy and orderly. I can't ever say maid, that's just whack. Anyway enough on the semantics. My new cleaning lady is special in that she calls her service a "cleaning ministry." Just as I get some odd comfort from eating kosher foods because they're blessed; I like the idea that she's ministering to my home. Tonight, I was waiting at the gas station when a man walked up to my car and handed me a flyer that asked, "Are You Saved?" Hmm. I looked up saved and salvation in the dictionary to be sure. When I think of something being saved, my first thought is the definition: keep for future use before the definition:being preserved from damnation. I always get aggravated when my Grams tells me she's saving something to use on a special occasion. Because those occasions never seem to come. Pretty things wrapped in tissue paper languish in boxes and drawers. I want to use the good stuff everyday. Today is as good as an occasion as any other if you approach it with the right attitude. I don't know, is my irreverent attitude setting me up for damnation? If we can't be saved, we can at least be found at the Found Magazine party this weekend. Davy Rothbart, finder extraordinarie, with all his homeboys from Michigan in tow will be hanging at The Tank, 432 W. 42nd street, NYC 212.563.6269 doing two shows tonight and tomorrow night. Five bucks gets you up close and personal for readings of new fabulous finds and some that have already made the zine and their recently released book Found: The Best Lost, Tossed and Forgotten Items. The Bad Girl Posse attended the Found Players Ball in May and had a marvelous time. Cyndemouse turned in a find to Davy. I tried out my event appropriate pickup line on Davy's brother, Peter of Poem Adept. I marched right up to him and said, "Excuse me, I'm trying to find my future husband. Are you him"? If you try this one at home, keep in mind results may be better if your subject's girlfriend is not in earshot and easily flabbergasted. Better luck next time. Headed for eternal damnation, I tell you. This weekend, go get found. Or saved. Or drunk. Just make sure you make it an occasion.