I'm wearing beads while I type.
No, I'm not. But in my mind, I definitely am. I make Faith wear Mardi Gras beads sometimes, but she doesn't have to take her top off for them, like the Girls Gone Wild. She just has to suffer through having an anthropomorphizing owner. Which is probably more humiliating in the dog world.
I grew up in Pittsburgh, not New Orleans, which means that, unlike Ellen Degeneres, I didn't get to watch Dixieland bands parade around my hometown just before we entered into that dark strange period before Easter/Passover.
The Last Supper was actually a Passover meal, which somehow wasn't taught in our Catholic grade school. When I was a sophomore in high school, fully a third of our religion class told Sister Mary Beth she was SO WRONG that Jesus was a Jew.
The day after Fat Tuesday was Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the dark period, the scary music time in the movie. And each year, I got ashes on my forehead. "Dust thou art, to dust thou shalt return," the priest would whisper, and smudge me through my bangs. And it was a spooky ritual, the Halloween rite of the Catholic Church, somehow scarier than the body and blood of Christ. Because dust...just blows away.
posted by Martha @ 1:32 PM
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