Sunday, October 21, 2012

Is Nothing Sacred Anymore?

So, I spotted a story about the Pope (el Papa, if you are from S. Florida) naming seven new saints.  Apparently this move was to spark interest in certain groups around the world.  I don't know.  They finally have a native American saint--not sure what tribe.  Probably had high cheek bones like the Massachusetts politician.  My info could be bad, but I detected a hint of PC pandering in this big saint fest.
Maybe it was Pocahontas who got tagged for sainthood.  That would make sense.

I'm thinking the Church has been infiltrated by the people who run the Nobel Committee---especially those responsible for awarding the peace prize.  If they start canonizing jihadists we'll know the church has finally jumped the shark.

Don't think this guy made the cut, nor his alter ego over his shoulder there.  Like many holy men, he freaks me out and I wouldn't want him in my car or house.  I think he's holding a molotov cocktail which he's about to light and throw.  Now, you don't see the Pope doing that.  Give credit where it is due.

I did not see myself on his list.  Even my mother was not on the list and everyone knows she was a saint.  My ex-wife didn't make it, but that is probably less surprising than it should be. Somehow, I'm just not buying it.  The people who invent things like air conditioning or toilet paper are never recognized by the Church, any church, and they have done more to alleviate pain and suffering than all the holy persons I've ever met, or about whom I've read or heard.

Those were just two examples of helpful inventions and things that make life better, not the only ones.  If you've ever had a migraine headache and happened to be lucky enough that the prescribed pills worked, I can tell you that, at that moment, the inventor of those pills was holier in your aching eyes than any pope or mullah or rabbi or saint.

Could my bad attitude and irreverence result in Benny appearing like this, floating around in my room giving me the stink eye?  I hope not.  Now I won't be able to sleep--I'll be too scared.  Always getting into trouble.

This is why I will probably never be admitted into the priesthood, and it is unlikely that I will ever be named Pope.



There are a number of Bs in the San Diego area; OB, PB, IB, and maybe even more I can't recall.   In North Carolina OB means Outer Banks, and it is one splendid coastal area, maybe my favorite ever.

Here, OB means Ocean Beach.  It is a bit congested and tight as far as driving, but it is a cool beach.  Then there is Pacific Beach nearby which seems to attract drunk lunatics who stab each other under bizarre circumstances like while being run over or riding bikes and skateboards.

IB stands for Imperial Beach, which is the furthest south you can go without crossing the line into Mexico.  Tijuana is just south of this beach.  IB is the one where I'd have a place on the ocean if I could.

Some time ago I visited a relative of my friend, Sally, there.  Right on the beach, it was a memorable place and great times.  Sally lives a long way off so that all changed a bit.  However, I was invited to a party in IB this weekend.  Another case in which playing harmonica got me on the list.  The people wanted some music players so I guess I got lumped in with a few others.

This couple recently scored a condo which is on the same street as Sally's people but about half a mile north.  Their place is also ocean front but in a condo building, as opposed to a quad-plex like the Sally folk.  They are on the first floor with a large patio.  You walk off the patio and you are on the beach.

I said it before, IB is the best kept secret in SoCal.  I think you could enjoy ocean front there more than in LaJolla or many of the better known places.

Anyway, it was a nice gathering, and we had a great time in the living room playing music.   Three guitars, and more singers, and my own bad self.  I'm always impressed with people who seem in tune with one another and appear to find hosting a group so natural and easy.  It was a very comfortable evening.  I didn't manage to pick up any chicks, though, but it could yield results in the future.
this photo robbed from the intertube webs was taken very close to the party condo. Sally's people are to the left on the other side of the pier a ways. Pic doesn't do the place justice, but then I don't want to encourage riffraff to come settle there anyway.

I'm kind of sick of being the lone ranger.  Even so, if I don't fit, I can't pretend just for fear of being alone. Perhaps I need to work on being a bit more flexible and eligible.

It was not the type of evening which made me feel awkward or lonely though.  It has just begun to bother me some.  There is some indication of interest in some quarters but I don't quite feel what I'd like, so back at square one I guess.

Still, how cool is it to be playing music with nice people, in a plush crib, looking out at the best breaking waves you could ask for?  The water is a bit cool at this point for going in without a wet suit. That is the biggest drawback to this coast.  But the sound and feel of IB is tough to beat anywhere.

It felt all the better because I had been there before and knew something of the place.  Maybe IB has not seen the last of me.

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Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
Like spring on a summer's day


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