JC’s Banging Birthday Week, Day III: Baby JC Ties the Knot

On Sunday, we met Baby JC: He was a baby, he was ginger, and he began balding almost immediately after being born. With those debilitating conditions in mind, Baby JC came to the conclusion that he had better lock down one of the many ladies that were all up on him, so to speak. Now, the actions of these women may seem more than a bit gauche, but can you blame them? The man - by which I mean the baby - had incense, he had gold, he lived in a barn, and he was from a good family. (I’m referring here to his real dad, not Joseph, a lowly carpenter. This issue will be addressed in due time.) We like to think that sort of stuff doesn’t matter, but, unfortunately, women can sometimes be superficial when on the hunt for an infant husband.

There was one lady in particular that caught Baby JC’s eye... 

Her name was Catherine of Alexandria. In my opinion, it was because she liked to show off this sword she always carried around. Babies love swords, I think. Well, to be honest, I don’t know very much about the likes and dislikes of babies. What I do know is that if I ever propose marriage to a woman, it will most likely be because she has a humongous broadsword. Hold on a minute; I just realized that my last statement could be read as quite an interesting, revelatory euphemism. Please forget what I just said, if you would be so kind. In any case, we were talking about Baby JC and Catherine’s relationship, not some hypothetical attraction I may or may not have to women with rather robust rapiers. Alright, that's enough. Let's get back on topic: All I was saying is that maybe bringing her cool sword around was a calculated move on Cate’s part to titillate the sanctified toddler, and maybe it wasn’t. Judge for yourself.

(Pierre Mignard, The Mystic Marriage of Saint Catherine, 1669; oil on canvas; St. Petersburg, Hermitage Museum.)

They seem quite in love; I mean she is marrying a baby. That’s an indication of a serious commitment, right? Now, this all may seem somewhat strange to our woefully constricted American morality; but remember, people did weird stuff back in the Dark Ages, or whenever all this happened. Add “entering into matrimony with infants” to that list.

Anyway, it was a pretty swanky wedding. Yeah, I was invited – not that I’m bragging. Truly, I’m not, as I had a fairly terrible time. I was at a table with all the single weirdoes and the drunks; appropriately, I suppose. Still, it wasn’t the greatest group. I shouldn’t name any names, but here they are: Moses, John the Baptist, Noah, and Lot. Boring fellows. Moses and "JtB," as he insisted upon being called, just bragged about their lame careers the whole time. I think one of them puts on wet t-shirt contests and the other one leads Outward Bound retreats. Congratulations, wankers.

As for the other two, let’s just say that they can’t hold their booze; and coming from me, that's saying a lot. I probably shouldn’t tell people about some of the stuff that they’ve gotten into, but I’m going to, because I’m petty and vindictive. You will definitely not find the following pictures on their Facebook profiles.

(Michelangelo Buonarotti, The Drunkenness of Noah, 1508-1512; fresco; Rome, Sistine Chapel ceiling. Noah, we understand that you felt the need to have a few after building your big boat and seeing all of creation drowned. But try to keep your pants on next time, please. No one, least of all your sons, wants to see your mizzenmast. Note: I’m using mizzenmast here as a nautical metaphor for a penis.)

(Hendrik Goltzius, Lot and his Daughters, 1616; oil on canvas; Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum. Your wife has been a pillar of salt for all of ten minutes - her very tiny figure can still be made out in the background, on the right - and already you’re having it off with your daughters? C’mon man.)

Unsurprisingly, considering this lot (zing!), our table was in the remotest corner of the basilica, right next to the speakers, by which I mean the speaker system was literally eight inches behind my chair. They should have saved some space and put the speakers on our table, as some sort of centerpiece. Anyway, I’m not bitter: How can one be when it was such a beautiful ceremony?

 

Do you, Catherine, take this naked, strangely coordinated baby to be your lawfully wedded husband?

Also, I’m completely fine with the fact that those winged, disembodied heads were asked to be in the wedding party ahead of me (and again!). And to think, I actually ordered the couple a great gift, which I know they received ahead of time! Check these out. Two of those and still I get stuck at the losers' table? Now that I think about it, I hope they didn’t take the gift the wrong way. I’m not saying that Baby JC and Cate booze copiously, like Noah and Lot. Seriously, I just thought that this would be a perfectly sized cup for a baby. There’s no way he can handle a normal cup yet. Plus, the slant would make it easy for him to just tip his juice right down, in addition to being a conversation starter, as the fine folks at Crate & Barrel note rightly.

My dear readers, I realized recently that, in my eagerness to celebrate the birthday week of our lord and savior, I started a day early. Writing an entry for each day from Sunday the 18th to Sunday the 25th inclusively, as I had planned, would require eight of these odes. While JC and his semi-divinity may deserve such a tribute and be able to handle such extended devotions, I am only a lowly, semi-Korean human with a quickly dwindling cache of ideas. So, check back on Thursday, December 22nd for Day IV of JC's Banging Birthday Week. However, be sure to visit tomorrow as well, as I have planned a very special surprise interlude, which I hope you will enjoy. Until then.

(Published originally on December 20th, 2011.)