Whoopie Doodle Do

I had a very curious experience this morning; something that rocked the very foundations of my intellectual being. I went to the gym to spend some time on the exercise bike, as this is Seattle, and it was raining. As I was walking up the steps to the aerobics room I could hear the televisions blaring. Then I heard that voice.

To my horror I discovered that all three of the TV’s were tuned to HBO and the Whoopee Goldberg classic Sister Act. I’ve never actually seen the movie but I could only imagine that it was completely terrible and unfit for adult male viewers. There were a lot of people in the room cranking on the fitness machines so I felt too self-conscious to change the channel on any of the sets. I had a book to read so I thought I could just tune out the unpleasantness.

And then something odd happened, something wonderful. I started actually watching the movie, really watching it. It is truly a damn good film in every aspect. I was mesmerized by the acting and the terrific musical numbers. Two thumbs up for Sister Act. I decided then and there that immediately after I finished my work-out I would walk, hell, I would run to the video rental joint and pick-up Sister Act II. Sure, I loved Sister Act but I wanted more. A more eagerly anticipated sequel hasn’t been on the horizon since The Godfather. I’ve been humming the songs all day long.

April Fools. If you believed me let’s go watch Police Academy IV together. As I tried to tune out the movie I looked around the gym. I seriously thought that I had died because I have always imagined that the flight to hell would show this movie. Pre-flight on this trip would mean a cavity search by a Catholic preist. What would the in-flight meal be on the Hell shuttle? The nutritional equivalent to Sister Act wouldn’t be a small foil bag of peanuts but a small foil bag of peanut shells. I would imagine a very long holding pattern on that flight. You would be seated next to a woman with two screaming infants. A kid behind you kicks the seat the entire trip. The only thing to drink is warm white zinfandel.

I don't think that I like hell any more. It always sounded glamorous because all the hip people went there. A couple viewings of Sister Act and Jean Paul Sartre would have the cool kicked out of him. He would renounce his godless beliefs before the opening credits had ended.