Luck of the Irish, my ass. I was in such a hurry to get to work this morning so I could finish and file an appellate brief that screwed up my weekend, that I forgot my cell phone AND my wallet. Right now, they're sitting on my kitchen counter, waiting in vain for me to throw them into my murse. At least, that's where I hope they are. If I lost them on the way to work, I've got bigger problems.
Now it's lunchtime, I'm starving, and I have no cash or credit cards with which to purchase nutritional sustenance. So I'll have to shuffle around the office like a subway beggar, asking co-workers if they can spare some change. I think I have a tin cup lying around somewhere. This is totally annoying. You'd think I would've had better luck today, since I wore my green: bright green tie and a dress shirt with green and blue stripes, but no dice.
Having St. Patrick's Day on a Monday just feels wrong. You really can't celebrate the day in style (i.e., get seriously plastered on pints of Guinness) with four days left in the workweek. Then again, the model set goes out on Monday nights now, don't they? Or is Tuesday the "cool" night to hit the clubs? Who the hell knows? I don't hit the Pink Elephant and snort the cokes in the turlet stall, so you're talking to Clueless Joe here.
Anywho, my wallet angst notwithstanding, I'd be remiss if I didn't throw you a little Irish bone today, so here's a video of one of my favorite Irish bands, Black 47, singing Funky Ceili.
Yeah, it was cut off at the end, apropos of a Monday St. Paddy's Day, don't you think?
Okay, okay. The Pogues never let a Monday stop them from anything, the raucous bastards, so here's Rainy Night In SoHo (in its entirety):
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
2 comments:
I still say you were Irish on St. Patty's Day if for no other reason than being filled with such ire.
Some might say that I struck while the Eire was hot. Heh.
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