Best of 2005: Things I Forgot To Post #1

Marked Men

I met Bill Sykes on the steps of St. Dominic’s last night at 5:30. Bill had a cigarette going and when he saw me crossing the street removed a flask from his jacket and waved it in my direction. Not much has changed since our parents dragged us to mass twenty five years ago; we still can’t stand the ritual, the nonsense, the pious people acting and looking better than we do. Ash Wednesday is something else. It’s the one service I hit every year, for varied reasons.

First, it’s a day to proclaim who you are. All the spotted foreheads around town are talking to one another; we’re o.k., we follow an old polack in Rome, we’re fans of Mel Gibson. The second reason to go is that the Imposition of the Ashes comes well before the Eucharist and Communion ceremonies, a pair of rites that should I partake would bring a lighting bolt through the cathedral roof and fry me on the spot. Lastly, one goes to mass to watch girls. I can’t say this enough, but church is the best place ever to meet women. They are dressed sharp, humble, and appreciative of a little nerve on the part of high holy men like Bill and myself. Last night there were so many stunners we lost count.

The Gospel reading last night was Matthew 6: 1-6, 16-18. If you haven’t read it, ya should. It’s basically the church’s dig at flawed believers like myself and the uppity core of blue America. Anyway, it was powerful enough that Bill and I rubbed our scalps clean once outside, as we’re a pretty sad pair of hypocrites. For a Lenten abstention we decided on red meat, which I don’t think either of us eat any more. We decided this well into the flask, cokes supplied by the lugs at Frankie’s Bohemian. Ah the perils of pennance.