Neil Barclay: Amateur Catholic

Every light-hearted group needs a Peter Grimes or a Gradgrind. I also wear funny long hats and dine with late rabbits (late in terms of time, not death).

I'm the sort who crawls (sic) out of bed in what is MY morning (3 PM) and stares at the nearest picture and says "Go ahead! Make my day!" Lost a lot of pictures that way.

They thought THAT was a bad day at Black Rock? Had I been there when Wojtyla rode through, the Tracy experience would have been a Monday School picnic in comparison.

He didn't ride through? Damn!

The picnic I mentioned was a lot more fun. You had to play hooky and bring beer.

Bio note:
I went through the sieve of the Novus Ordure (sic) to become a Catholic at the age of 50. That lasted five years, when I looked up from my seat on the "lector's" bench and saw the altar bimbo. Then I realized none of us were really Catholics. Next stop was a Maronite Rite. Distilled through the alembic of that Eastern set of tubes and vials I felt much more real – nearly full malt. Then somebody called a bishop started ordering the priest to add "whoopie" to the lectionary, where I was also a "lector", and certain females began invading the sanctuary, and by then I'd discovered a SSPX Mass (just twice a month) where I live (Salt Lake City), so have attended that ever since.

Now I'm informed that I'll need a conditional Confirmation. A Bishop comes here about once every ten years. Hey, I'm 68+ so I should live so long!

I'm terribly good lookin', though: see my gorgeous picture on gulagzek.blogspot.com – I'm the one under the hat. That's a real snake skin, by the way, which ought to tell you something.

Sign me up, pardner.

Welcome to the B-Team, Neil.