I went to church a couple of months ago, and I didn’t burst into flames or anything like that, contrary to my expectations.

I was born and raised Catholic, and went to Catholic grade school and high school, but I’m not a practicing Catholic. I’m about as Catholic as Martin Luther.

My mom and dad came into town and I thought they might want to go to church on a Sunday, being Catholics in the non-nominal, actual practical practicing way.

“I’m touched that you’d take us to church,” my mom said. “I’m shocked,” my dad said. “I mean, I’m not . . .

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Coming up in August, I have the terrifying opportunity to take a helicopter ride down into the Grand Canyon (it’s an integral part of my two friends’ Vegas wedding).

When I say “opportunity” I mean “Oh my God is that safe?” I’m just starting to fly — in airplanes — with a relaxed white-knuckle grip on the tray table in front of me. But helicopters? Like in ‘Nam?

I decided to do some Interweb searchings to still my beating heart. Surely, helicopters are extremely safe contraptions to routinely defy the laws of physics like they do. I tried googling “helicopter . . .

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I have a bad habit of responding to people who are in no way talking to me.

The other day, the cashier said “Thanks so much!” and I turned around from the door and gave her a hearty “Thank you!” back, thinking, boy, she really appreciates a customer, even if it’s just a small cappuccino, only to see that she was, obviously, in conversation with someone she knew, about something else entirely.

The other other day, on a plane, I totally went the other way. I was at the window and in the center and aisle seats were two women, . . .

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