My friend RedHot is an Irish step dancer. Actually, she excels at ALL forms of dance, making her the polar opposite of yours truly when it comes to the craft. When I attempt ANY dance, even the Twist, I do not appear even remotely graceful. Rather, I resemble a broken marionette puppet being operated by Michael J. Fox. To say that I suck at dancing is like saying the Pacific Ocean sucks at being dry.
Anyway, RedHot’s proficiency in Irish step dancing in particular has taken her to venues all over the country, both close to as well as far away from each year’s annual St. Patrick’s Day holiday. A New-York-City-based troupe with whom she toured recently touched down in the Big Apple suburb of Yonkers, New York. Since my only real plans on the date of her performance included choosing between beef-flavored or chicken-flavored instant ramen noodles for lunch, I decided to make my way north from Philadelphia to see her dance. Upon my arrival, I quickly discovered that “Yonkers” is apparently a word that is Gaelic (or possibly Japanese) for “town full of Irish Catholics no younger than my parents.” A main street through the town was lined with businesses whose signs were rarely without a shamrock, leprechaun, or the word “Irish.” We’re honestly talking businesses with names like “Paddy O’Malley’s Dry Cleaning.”
It was a far cry from the Bronx MTA station I had used to access the neighborhood. Located less than a mile from Clover City, the subway station, held together by graffiti, was smack dab in the middle of a neighborhood that I would call the “Detroit of Detroit.” It’s a neighborhood so bad that its main nighttime illumination source does not come from street lamps (which were stolen a LONG time ago) but rather from the moonlight reflecting off of the used crack pipes, malt liquor bottles, and blood puddles carpeting the street. It’s so bad there that you aren’t considered officially shot unless you’ve been hit by 5 or more bullets.
RedHot’s performance was held in, of all places, a church. The church was either defective or God wasn’t paying attention (gee, when does THAT ever happen? Cancer patients and homeless people, don’t answer that), as I failed to burst into flames immediately upon entry. Once inside, I noted that the dance numbers performed by her troupe, as well as her solo routine, went off without a hitch. She did just as great a job of dancing as I would have of falling on my face and dislocating a major body part, such as my ass.
During the show’s intermission, I bypassed the G-rated refreshments and used the little leprechaun’s room. On my way back, I passed a group of the church’s nuns. One of them, as is standard, was approximately 10 billion years old and most likely predated the entire Catholic faith. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if I was told that this nun spanked the actual Jesus Christ with a prehistoric ruler during the Son of God’s school days. However, a multi-era gap separated her from the other nuns in the group.
The other sisters were YOUNG. And CUTE.
Of course, I checked them out. The years of public schooling, “Beavis and Butt-head,” and Tucker Max essays that stood between the present and my abandoning of the Catholic faith led me to think thoughts like “I can do things to you that your rosary NEVER could!”
Holy shit. Was I really objectifying NUNS in a CHURCH? Religious or not, that’s a pretty messed-up thing to do.
Sadly, the only thing I regret about doing this was that it made me feel old. Traditionally, nuns have always been frail old ladies with 3-digit Social Security Numbers or stern, middle-aged women who looked more like Tom Arnold than anything remotely resembling a female. Attractiveness was NEVER a characteristic. Were young cute girls really becoming nuns or am I now so old and senile that I was actually checking out nuns falling into one of the previous sentence’s two categories?
Before I made an attempt to perform the first carnal activity in the church that did NOT involve an altar boy, I composed myself, took my seat, and enjoyed the rest of the show. While occasionally glancing at the nuns, of course.
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