Who is the Jesus of Melrose?

 A few weeks ago, in a state of insomnia-induced exhaustion, I saw Jesus.  Not in some melted snow pattern or in my coffee, but Jesus, in the flesh.  I was driving down Melrose, and he was outside Fred Segal. It was just a quick sighting, so I figured it was one of three things: 1.) I was going crazy 2.) Robes are the new Fedoras and some hipster was making a fashion statement 3.) God was sending a sign for me to buy something at Fred Segal.

Though generally not a religious person, I happily went with option 3: I was not yet ready to admit insanity, and the thought of designer robes just felt depressing and wrong. Besides, if God’s new thing was fashion PR, maybe it was time for me to start going back to church.

I was quite intrigued though: he didn’t appear to be actually insane (other than the getup), nor was he in a highly foot trafficked evening area where he was trying to make tips for pictures. Who was this Jesus of Melrose?

I had all but forgotten about this religious experience until Friday night when I saw Jesus again.  This time I was wide awake and completely sober: this was definitely Jesus (or a man dressed as Jesus circa year one).  I was walking down Melrose and there he was.  He was outside Joy Rich, which eliminated the possibility that he was a sign to buy something (that place is a junkyard of overpriced foiling and loud neon patterns), and other people saw him too, so I was not going crazy.

What happened next was a truly religious moment for me. It made me regret every time I slightly embellished a story I was telling, or added in a final touch detail to make it funnier.  The stars aligned for situational comic perfection, and there was not one detail I could have added to this one to make it any better.  It was with joy in my heart that I gleefully quoted David to myself (not the Bible one, the one After the Dentist): “Is this real life?”

The players: Jesus, a gaggle of tourist girls in mini-skirts, 2 Hasidic Jewish men
The location: Outside Joy Rich on Melrose
The “OMG is this shit seriously happening?” moment: One of the mini-skirt clad tourist girls asked one of the Hasidic Jewish men if he could take her picture.  With Jesus. On Friday. After sundown. The number of ways that was delightfully wrong absolutely killed me.

Which brings me back to the original question: who is the Jesus of Melrose?  Jesus of Melrose is the genesis of my new religion: Amazingism.

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