Thursday, March 17, 2005

Well thank the gods and saints (like Patrick) for All Wheel Drive - that's AWD in common and motorhead parlance - as it was like so needed today whilst parking in one sub190 parking lot this morn. Left the car teetering at a 45 or so degree angle as I left it to go shoot Match Day, the day that 100+ med students find out their fate, where they'll be residencing their next five years. Much hugging, gripping of envelopes, cell phones whipped out to tell news to folks off in afar. And, as is Match Day tradition, not one single person ventured forth to cut or taste the dual sheetcakes emblazoned with Middling City U Med School medallions and such. Not one fork hit those plasticky and pastiched cakes.
Beth Dearest emailed me today from her temp gig to inquire just what in hell this Saint Patrick Day is about and who he was. To that I gleefully replied He rid the Emerald Isle of SNAKES. He lifted up his walking stick/shelalaigh/rod/staff/weapon, dressed head to toe in green satin, wearing a hat in the style that the popes would later pilfer like oso many things, and, with a mighty heave of the stick into the air uttered these words, in an ancient Gaelic dialect:
The snakes, it should be noted, were in actuality those who had not one tiny shred of Christianity, for they were heathens, hooligans and heretics.
And Saint Patrick, after his ridding, headed over to an ancient saloon and ordered up some fine mead and then some shots of scotch from a nearby isle.
And, centuries later, Irish-Americans took up the wearing of the green satin and the slurping of the mead and such and the brandishing of weapons and the wearing of stupid headgear.
Any more questions.

Questionable Love.

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