RazzyBlog

The interior of St. Pat's makes a worshipper hearken back to the good old days of Catholicism: Latin masses, the selling of indulgences, and gold or marble everything. There is a devotional chapel for virtually every major martyr/saint you can think of inside. Everywhere you look there is an image of what my Aunt Jesus would call a false idol, but what Catholics call St. Peter, St. Anthony, St. Francis, St. Anne, St. Patrick (of course) or the biggest graven image of them all, the Blessed Virgin. I dig Catholic iconography in a serious way (it is the basis for my entire pendant/neck jewelry collection), so I LOVE it. I also have a huge figurative hard-on for St. Pat's because it was built in the Gangs of New York era to appease the huddled masses of drunken Irishmen flowing into the city, and I love me some good immigrant history, especially with regard to my own people (I'm Irish on my non-Viking side). Another good thing about St. Pat's is that, because they have mass all day, each service is always restricted to 50 minutes. In other words, no surprise baptisms at Easter mass to stretch church into a two-hour affair. They get you in, do a little kyrie eleison-ing, read you some Gospel, preach for about 5 minutes, collect some money, feed you some eucharist, sing a hymn, and get you promptly out the ornately engraved doors. Therefore, it is across the board my Easter destination of choice.

Last year, I went to the 5 p.m. mass. By then, the Easter action was winding down, and although the cathedral was full, it wasn't too hard to get in. This year, I thought the same would be true of the 1 p.m. mass. So I told my friend Miss Corbutt to meet me on the steps of the church at 12:30, and we'd find seats at our leisure.

I got off the subway at Rockefeller Center feeling relaxed and happy. A girl on the train even complimented my adorable yet excruciatingly painful pink Easter heels. I was thinking that Easter was off to a capital start. What I didn't think about is that New York City has an Easter parade. This wouldn't be an issue, except that all parades in NYC go down Fifth Avenue. Where is St. Pat's located? On Fifth between 50th and 51st. It took me literally ten minutes to cross Fifth Avenue through the hordes of Easter people wearing crazy pastel-colored hats (the parade tradition is funny hats), only to discover that the line to GET INTO CHURCH was going all the way from 51st and 5th to Madison Avenue, then down Madison, all the way back to 5th on 50th Street.

I met Miss Corbutt, and we got in line at the end. Since we were standing in front of the windows at Saks, we passed about 5 minutes making fun of the spring Louis Vuitton purses (which look the same as every other fucking Louis Vuitton product). Then we got impatient. I proposed that we cut in the line. Miss Corbutt scolded me for proposing such a thing on Easter.

Then, the noon mass got out, and the doors of the cathedral burst open as they hurried the faithful out in time to get the line in for the 1 p.m. mass. I told Miss Corbutt we probably wouldn't get a seat if we stayed where we were, and there was no way in hell I was going to stand in my blister-inducing (but TOTALLY adorable) shoes.

"We're New Yorkers," I said. "This sort of thing is expected from us. Let's just blend in with that mob coming out and cut in line."

Miss Corbutt seemed uncertain. My feet hurt like hell, so I needed to sit.

"Fuck," I said. "This sucks. We have to get to church."

Since Miss Corbutt isn't Catholic (she just likes art and votive candles, but was tickled when I taught her the proper way to cross herself), she may have been worried about offending the Catholics there. It's a reasonable fear, because I've seen people refused communion at St. Pat's because they didn't act Catholic enough when offered the Body of Christ. I told her that, as a card-carrying Mackerel Snapper, and an Irish-American to boot, she would be okay so long as she was rolling with me and she didn't try to take communion once we got in. So without further ado, I grabbed her arm and proceeded to brazenly stroll in front of the people who had been waiting for an hour.

Ten minutes later, when mass started and we were settled in our prime seats with an altar view, I prayed for forgiveness, as I don't think Christ would really look so kindly on my shady tactics for getting into mass. But hey, he hung out with hookers and tax collectors, so maybe he'd break bread with line-cutters too. Isn't that the message of Easter, Mary Magdalene (trashy ho) is first to discover the Risen Savior and all that? I felt much better. J.C. died and rose to free us from the burden of sin. In other words, His sacrifice let me off the moral hook for such debased behavior as shafting honest Catholics out of a seat in mass. Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ. Happy motherfucking Easter!

# posted by Razzy @ 6:40 PM