Batman and Jesus: The Dark Knight Rises Again

I was kneeling on the pavement in a long white robe, cradling a small, frail stranger against my linen-clad breast.

She gazed up at my face, her eyes filled with trust.  I said a little prayer that she wouldn’t die or throw up on me, and then begrudgingly acknowledged that my ambitions for Halloween had gone too far.

I take costumes seriously, and this Halloween, I decided to dress up as Jesus.  I looked like this:

And may have been drinking a little bit of this:

(It's a miracle!)

Around 10PM at night, however, I walked to a local bar and happened upon a lanky female Batman drunkenly sprawled upon the ground.  Except for the shambly revelers stepping over her to get in line, she seemed entirely alone.  I decided to help the little lamb—I’m kind of a Method actor—so while my friends took her phone and started calling her friends, I made it my mission to hold her upright.

“Where do you go to school, Batman?” I asked, supposing that if I could get her to speak, maybe she wouldn’t die as quickly.

“Poit Schloma Nazzzarine Unifershity,” she said. 

“Nazareth?  I’m familiar with it!”  I was pleased with my poorly timed joke, but apparently she wasn’t, because she became entirely unresponsive, and we decided to call 911.

By this time, lo! we had started to attract some attention.

“Get your shit together, Jesus!” bellowed one drunken reveler.  “Take your friend home!”  Someone else started making fun of Batman, and in not very WWJD moment, I actually flipped him off.  He immediately repented: “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize she was so sick… BLESS YOU!”  I forgave him, and he went off to say fifty Hail Marys.

When the paramedics and firemen finally arrived, they found Jesus huddled on the ground, cradling Batman.  They told me I could step away before she puked on me, and I agreed; I didn’t need to be more of a martyr than I already was. 

“ARE YOU A REAL FIREMAN?  THAT’S A GREAT COSTUME,” a zombie exclaimed.  “You are the real Jesus,” a wide-eyed blonde whispered to me earnestly before I anxiously eased away.
The paramedics told me that Batman’s heart rate and blood pressure were stable, but she was still drunk and alone, so they had to take her away.   I assume she made it back to Nazareth just fine.  And it was good.

The rest of the night was less eventful.  A boy asked to take a picture with me to send to his mom because, in his words, “She LOVES Jesus!”  A few men hit on me, so I’m now convinced that Biblical fetishes are a real thing.

Nevertheless, I can’t stop wondering how Batman is doing.  Now, a week later, I wonder if she might still be hungover.  And I wonder if, somewhere in her swampy blackened memory of Halloween, she remembers looking up at Jesus embracing her feeble body.  I wonder if she thinks she had a miraculous spiritual encounter with God.

Either way, she was saved.

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Shopping for Sweatpants

Me, ever so sensuously modeling "Jesus" sweatpants.

I posted this picture a couple of weeks ago on Twitter with the caption, “You can keep your reindeer sweaters. These sweatpants recall what the season TRULY is about.”  I feel I now ought to elaborate on where and when these blessed pants fell into my praising, prayerful hands.  I did not find them in a shop that also sells “Jesus is my homeboy” hoodies.  Rather, I found them in the official shop of Oxford University.

During my last week studying abroad in Oxford, I casually waltzed into the store with the intention of purchasing some memorabilia that would cause onlookers to think “Wow, that person is smarter than me.” 

(Note: I am a poser who studied IN Oxford, but not AT Oxford University.)

But, you see, Oxford University is made up of many separate colleges, and in this shop you can buy college-specific apparel, not just generic tourist swag.  My eyes first gravitated towards the “Christ Church” sweatpants, representative, of course, of Christ Church College.  I wanted them because 1. Harry Potter was filmed at Christ Church and 2.  Christ Church is a really good school.  I imagined running out the door in my new prized sweatpants and pretending to be a world-class rower on my way from practice to class, and people on the streets admiring me whilst tearfully recalling their own Christ Church rejection letters.  But then I thought better of the purchase.  I realized that unknowing Americans would think I was publicizing some church… and I just couldn’t have that. 

But then I saw sweatpants with  “New” written up one leg.  Oh the glory of the joke therein!  If I dropped the requisite 25 quid, they could be my new “New” sweatpants from New College!  And ah, the beautiful irony when the “New” sweatpants were no longer new, and I had OLD “New” sweatpants!  Oh, how I dreamt of the potential hours I might spend lounging about, alone in my apartment, giggling over my “New” sweatpants.

Then came the “Jesus” sweatpants from Jesus College.  You can tell I got a kick out of those—hence the photograph.  I almost bought them.  But then…

From the excellently reputed University College came “University” sweatpants.  How smashingly vague!  I wanted them immediately.  “Look fellow passengers on this aircraft, or fellow runners in the park.  Here are my sweatpants.  From my university… University.  I wear them because I am so proud of the… university… where I study.” 

I was in the Oxford University shop for probably fifteen minutes, but in those fifteen minutes I saw comedy gold.  I decided I should probably not spend 25 quid on a gag gift for myself (stingy bastard), but at least I have this picture.  And a picture is worth one thousand words.  Though apparently one thousand words were not enough… because I just blogged 500 more.