They say everyone’s Irish on St. Patty’s Day. Well, no - because that would be unfair to the real Irish - but the sentiment is that everyone enjoys a celebration and so, OK, we’re honorary People o’ Eire for a day.
The Mistress of Sarcasm, normally resident in Savannah, is on her way back from a spring break trip to Austin, Texas. She is happy to have avoided the Great Drunken Debauch that Savannah becomes on March 17. Normally the “Beautiful Lady with the Dirty Face,” Savannah this week is the “Beautiful Lady with the Dirty Face Who Is Throwing Up in the Alley and Taking Off Her Panties In Public So As To Wave Them About.” With all of the local citizenry getting all slaintè-eyed with strong drink, I’m happy that the Mistress is far away from home, for once.
As for me, my pants are a (dull) green today, and I consumed a green bagel at breakfast at the Local Bagel Emporium. That’s not all: Houston Steve was celebrating his second-place win in a raffle, and he graciously took a small fraction of his winnings and purchased breakfast for the Minyan Boyz, so there was Fish a-Plenty.
Pickled herring. Baked salmon. Nova Scotia smoked salmon. Smoked whitefish. Smoked sable.
I tell ya, it was a Fishy Orgy.
In closing, let me share an old Irish-Jewish song with you, my Esteemed Readers, and wish you a most happy St. Patrick’s Day, regardless of your ethnic origin, religious affiliation, skin color, or political leanings.
There’s a little bit of Ireland in a place called Palestine,
And how it ever got there is no concern of mine.
For they sprinkled it with bardust, just to make the barflies grow,
And if you’ll give me a piece of matzoh, I’ll be on the go!
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