Catholics have changed since I was a card-carrying member of the club. I remember Christmas being about little baby Jesus and Mary and swaddling clothes and parumpapumpum and shepherds and stars and camels and mysterious men from the Orient bearing balms. Trumpets and harps, chesty soloists warbling about the resouding joy throbbing from hills and plains.
I know you're thinking: Here comes another rant about neo-conservatives, chauvinists, organic diapers and all that.
Nope. Catholics ROCK. At least the Catholics at the college Christmas party I went to the other night do.
To AC/DC, to be precise.
They also wear fishnets, tell loud jokes about Mickey Dolenz and feces-flinging, pound 8 glasses of wine in 2.5 hours, engage in girl-on-girl disco action, and give out 10 pounds of Belgian chocolate as door prizes. They load their ipods with BeeGees, The Sweet, Elvis, Donna Summer and Culture Club, tempting my high-school English teacher of 25 years ago and his wife to boogie oogie oogie til they just can't boogie no more.
Scariest damn thing I have ever experienced. Definitely NOT the Christmas to stop drinking. Bring on the frankincence, and make mine a double.
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