We all grip escalator railings, perhaps because it gives us the kind of security we never got from the public school system, our parents, babysitters, or gym teachers. Perhaps we hold on because we all feel a little less safe with Martha Stewart on the loose. Perhaps because signs advising that children's hands be held while riding the escalator move us with love toward our own inner child. We hold on tight, as if to say, "Dammit, I have a right to be here." If only Terri Schiavo could have done the same.

And if only the Pope could still optimistically rove the globe in his Popemobile. His Holiness did a lot for the Solidarity movement in Poland. He apologized to the Jews for the Church's overlooking the Holocaust. He admitted evolution was plausible. Most of all (thanks to gravity), he pardoned Galileo, that troublemaker.

But the Pope's condemnation of birth control, even of condom use-a lame alternative to Madonna's "Be a Ho" message-hasn't helped Catholicism move into the 21st century (it only AIDS it). Less PR, less international smiley-facing, more consideration of the realistic concerns of Liberation Theology, was due. He compulsively canonized more saints than you could shake a stick at. He appointed yes-men in his American ranks, leading to Ken Lay-like airheadness: It took Boston's Cardinal Law almost as much time to decide to resign-he effectively sanctioned child molestation by protecting perverted priests-as it took Britney Spears to decide if she was a virgin.

Evangelicalism is fighting for supremacy in the same way the Beastie Boys fought for the right to party. Should Catholics have fought to keep Johnny Carson's brain alive so that it could have relocated to the papal cranium if need be? That would've packed the pews.

So many questions. Should we all spend more time in America's 51st state-that between life and death? Is limbo more than just a dance, a rite of passage for boozehounds on spring break? When will brain transplants be an affordable reality? Will they be done on an outpatient basis? Did President Bush and his lovely wife Laura try to adopt the Pope as he declined so they, as his legal guardians, could speak for him? Will Jeb Bush convert and get Justice Scalia to let him buy the papacy? Should one wear casual dress when writing one's living will? We question, and we hold on...

At least the Pope knew when to let go. Following the church's "knock three times on the ceiling if you want me" policy, aides at his deathbed tapped three times on the Pope's skull cap, stating his name. With no "Yo," death was officially declared. Johnny Cochran also knew when to split, apparently following his own advice, as his brain shrank from a tumor: "If it don't fit, you must acquit." But poor Terri Schiavo held on so long, too long, perhaps; the courts finally favored the view expressed in the words of the prophet MC 900 Foot Jesus: "If I had a clue, would I still be here with you? Gee whiz, if I only had a brain."

In riding the escalator of life, gripping the railing fails as a long-term strategy. Eventually you realize the rotation of the railing is larger than that of the stairs, so that holding your position unwaveringly means your shoulder will become dislocated. So you ease up, slide your grip back. You look for signs-for sporting goods, lingerie, appliances, your own death-mostly for lingerie. You want to know when it's time to let go, to shop... or to ride that stairway all the way to the top.