"At our church, if we absolutely can't avoid the folk mass (and it's a desperate choice, believe me. The first time the tubby guy in jeans whipped out his banjo, my 5-year-old son gave my husband such a look of comic bewilderment, I had to pretend I was sneezing to hide my giggles. When my son, who sometimes goes by the name "Farty McBeanfart," can tell that something's not reverent, you know you've gone astray), we console each other by pointing out that every single picker, tooter, twanger, and tambourine man on the platform is gray, gray, gray." -- Simcha, from I have to sit down.