Dropping your pants and humming Barbara Streisand tunes is a great way to gain attention. Wearing a veil and publicly castrating yourself will get you even more attention.
Handing out free money to passer’s by will give you plenty of false friends. And, well, probably attract attention too.
Debating a sidewalk preacher over the merits of his Biblical interpretations, in front of the town Church, and in the middle of the Main Square…..well, that will gain you a legion of heretical admirers.
The setting was fairly serene – a warm sunny afternoon in an Andean mountain town (this is not the beginning of a wrenching romance novel – promise). I chose a shaded park bench to perv on the town’s happenings. Indigenous residents, known stateside as ‘Injun Joe’ were in abundance. Strikingly beautiful Quechua Indians, outfitted in traditional dress, strolled casually through the Square.
For a class of people who have been marginalized for centuries, South America’s Indians do a remarkable impersonation of jovial, welcoming citizens. Much to my surprise, I have never seen an Indigenous local wearing a t-shirt exclaiming, “Fuck Spain” or “Mayans Suck, Catholics Swallow” But their latent disdain for the motherland’s most prized Gift, The All-Loving Church, was about to show itself.
The ancient pastime of ‘People Watching in Public Parks’ has been proven to have therapeutic affects. Maybe it’s the feeling of community, that comes from sharing space with several other bored unemployed mentally challenged people. Maybe it’s the rejuvenating results obtained from the ancient French art of L’Voyeur. But gosh-darnit, sitting in a park is just plain fun. And free. Plus it reminds the population that becoming elderly can be quite relaxing.
He kept preaching the alleged words of the Bible’s authors. And adding a twist to the soapbox pontificator, he had a partner. A deaf man, with his own bible, standing nearby, who would shout “Amen” every few sentences. Being performed 25 feet in front of me. An apparent annoyance that caused many people to avoid their immediate perimeter. I thought the situation would simply add life to the overly tranquil park. Plus, I figured my Spanish was bad enough that his Salvation Harangues would slide right over me.
And that’s how I learned that I could comprehend Spanish. Not exactly rewarding……since a simple joy of life in foreign countries is the relative tranquility that comes from being completely oblivious to surrounding conversations. Fights with spouses. Appointments for Boob jobs. Orders for 9 cases of X291 R’s. They all become more traffic in the city. A little white noise with your salad.
So when I heard the traveling apostle shout that women were not allowed to wear pants, I immediately laughed. Bottomless women kneeling before the altar.
Unfortunately, my induced visual was interrupted by more words. Understanding another language is devastating. Imagine the joy in thinking the two old men next to you are discussing their Viagara monopoly, Only to find out they were trying to remember what they ate for dinner the previous night.
The self-elected Pastor delved deeper into the bottomless female. Huh?--- Shouldn’t that normally read: “and the pastor delved deeper into the ripe bottom of a young boy” Apparently, they were allowed to wear more “feminine” styles of clothes but not jeans. Oh, and the men were suppose to cut their hair short, since most Indigenous local men have long hair. Really long. About, this __________________________long.
The evangenitals, those much beloved purveyors of truth –the rare breed of human to prove The Evolution of Species has flaws – had landed in the equatorial Andes.
Debating a sidewalk preacher, regardless of faith (although, I wouldn’t mess with Voodoo preachers or Herbalife Salespeople), requires a few simple steps:
1. Knowledge of anything
2. The ability to speak the same language
3. A willingness to burn in hell
I made a promise. No arguments. Just enjoy the show…BUT, if you are approached and deemed worthy of Saving, then you may launch your attack.
Minutes after the Far-Off Broadway production of Jesus Christ Superstar, and the failure to sing Hair, I was approached. Apparently, the Lord deemed me SALVAGABLE.
Sir, are you ready? Are you ready to accept Jesus Christ, your saviour?
Uh..Uh..well, if he can accept me, a long hair boy who enjoys passionate love with gay Negroes, aborting babies in my spare time, worshipping Allah, and long walks on the beach.
Somehow, I managed to convey this is Spanish. Which explains the fury he unleashed on me.
Jesus Loves you. He will take you. But you must change these things you speak about. You must. Do you understand, my son?
Accept Jesus, and we will help you. And you must cut your hair. It is against the teachings.
His obsession with hair was cause for laughter amongst the crowd. Yep, within minutes, a crowd of almost 50 people, or maybe twenty, but whatever, had gathered around the park bench. And lucky for me, he carried on about the Hair. Cause I had realized my Africanus Fudge Packing baby killing description might have cost me supporters.
I decided to play the angle of a man from another religion, who doesn’t see necessity for one religion supremacies. Muslim, it was.
But the Spanish word for Muslim is hard to utilize in an argument with out laughing.
But your lord is not a true lover if he will not let me, A MUSSELMAN, continue to follow my traditions. I am a MUSSELMAN. A MUSSELMAN, should be respected, and treated as everyone else. Can’t I stay a MUSSELMAN, and you a Christian, while still having compassion for all.
The Spanish was working. Everybody understood the idea of their being no ONE right religion. And they seemed to grasp the MUSLIM reference. But I couldn’t hold my ground with chants of “MUSSELMAN”. When performing in front of a crowd, one wants the crowd on their side. To achieve this feat, one must play to the the crowd’s taste.
Surrounded by long hair men, and dungaree wearing ladies, What would Jesus do?
At this point, three other long hair men had sat beside me and began arguing with the dueling preachers --- picture Mathau & Lemmon on speed with the Lord’s blessing.
What a gratifying feeling. To argue theology in a second language with a gallery of heckling supporters. Yet, my eyes were fixated on the second preacher, the one with two hearing aids. He was carrying a box with an inflatable pool. Was he learning to swim? Housecall Baptisms? Kinky pool party? Euthanasia ceremony?
And then I stood up. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t even sure my words were being translated correctly. But I figured all up&coming Messiah Rock Stars need groupies. So I pointed to the women, who were already jostling for a foreign husband, and exclaimed in my best Judas voice:
These women deserve to wear pants. They have earned the right to wear pants. They must wear pants. Just look at those tight asses, you wouldn’t see that in a long loose skirt (ok…I didn’t say that last part, but I should’ve. Shock’em when you got’em).
And ended with:
Jesus didn’t say that women can’t wear pants cause no one wore pants 2000 years ago. Man hasn’t changed that much in two millennia. If it made her look good, and she was happy, he wouldn’t care what she wore. And by the way, I never saw a portrait of Jesus with a crew cut.
The argument had truly become abusrd. PANTS. At least it was easier to translate then “purgatorial enemas for the damned and repressive sexual tendencies of the papal’s clergy”
In the other corner, my offensive line of long haired Indigenous dudes had pummeled the blow-up pool preacher with their definitive history of long hair tribes in the Andes. And I sensed some of that latent anti-conquistador attitude bleeding through.
Then…the moment of victory. How do you know? The bible gets slammed shut. The prophet’s head begins to shake uncontrollably, a finger is thrust, and the long walk to the sanitarium begins.
This is how it feels to defeat a foreign enemy. Now I understand the popularity of War. Let’s invade more countries.
The women smiled, the men shook hands, and an air of redemption swept through the Square.
The sun began it’s descent, feeling equally satisfied. And I spent the remainder of the night with my new long haired possee.
Turns out, my Christ bashing bretheren were Andean Folkloric musicians who had played their music around the world. They had been victims of Racism in Germany, been Robbed in the States. But until today, people had always admired their hair.
They went on the say the Church had tried to destroy their way of life, and they would never be part of it.
Later that evening, the Long Hairs played a show at a local bar, and all the women in attendance were wearing pants, singing the words to traditional songs that could have been around for over 2000 years.
