Of course, yesterday was St. Patrick's Day. I celebrate it weirdly. As someone who knows who the snakes were, I pretty well refuse to wear green.
Instead, I celebrate St Boondocks day. I wear my Boondock Saints T-shirt. Yesterday was another lovely celebration of Celtic heritage, sucking down Conway's Irish Ale and eating my wife's fantastic Bacon Potato stew. Massive yum factor, there.
Of course, being St Boondocks day, we had the annual watching of Boondock Saints, though we were cramped for time last night and only watched the second film. If you've never seen Boondock Saints, do so. It's brilliant storytelling with deep characters, hundreds of uses of the word "fuck" (something like 352 in the 1st film), and lots of gratuitous violence, with a healthy dose of Boston attitude. And some truly irreverent "guy" humor.
The downside of all that tradition observed yesterday, however, means my ass is dragging like a freaking boat anchor this morning. And there is no Jameson in my coffee. It's a cruel day.