A New Hope

Message to my American Brethern and Sistern on Paddy's Day

First of all, Happy St Paddy's day. Before the Yanks got a hold of it, Paddy's day was mostly about going to Mass, and not a lot else. It needed some American razzmatazz. Without you, we would never have had fresh-faced, baton-twirling girls from the Midwest, marching down O'Connell Street in the pouring rain, while wearing impossibly tiny skirts, and managing to smile despite the frost bite. Of course, there is also the giant piss up that it has become. That, I believe, was imported from the streets of Manhattan, as was the parade idea. So, we owe you a big thank you. However, a couple of things - I am at pains to point out that I am not admonishing or lecturing you here, many of my favorite things (burritos, the electric guitar, to name just a couple), came from the U.S.'s need to borrow, improve, and make boat loads of cash from other cultures' traditions. In general, I wholeheartedly approve of this; however, there are two areas where you have fallen down. #1: we don't eat corned beef and cabbage. Ever. We do eat bacon (big, salty lump o' boiled ham), and cabbage (big lump o' cabbage with the arse boiled out of it). When I say we, I mean the collective we. Personally, I never eat bacon and cabbage because it tastes like old, boiled, salty sock. And I'm vegetarian. So, although you may like corn beef and cabbage, it ain't an Irish dish.

And #2 is the whole "Happy St Patty's Day" thing. I know Patrick has a "t" therein, however when abbreviated, we insert two "d's." We are awkward like that. Sorry for that, I realise it's not intuitive, but nevertheless when someone types "Happy St Patty's Day" to me, it makes me want to thump seven types of shite out of them, and that's not good, especially when they were only being nice.

There thats it. Happy Paddy's Day to you all.

Love, John.

P.S. Leave the Guinness alone. It can't be improved upon, and it only comes in two colors, black and white (always simultaneously), never green.

Shootin' Pool

American Racial History By a Four Year Old

“Maya, guess who's coming over next Wednesday?” asked Tash. We have a babysitter named Rachel who Maya adores - she will frequently ask us when we are going out next so Rachel can come over.

“Her name begins with R, rrrrrrrrrrrr,” enunciated Tash, hoping that Maya would guess correctly.

This was greeted with a blank look.

“R .A., rrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaay…”

“Ray Charles?!” shouted Maya excitedly.

“Ray Charles?” guffawed Tash looking me. I was doubled over laughing.

“Who is Ray Charles, Maya?” I asked after I had recovered.

“He was a Black American, and he was blind when he was a boy, so he had to buy sunglasses when he grew up,” she explained patiently. “Oh, and he played piano.”

“How do you know this?”

“We learned it during Black American Month” *

“What other African Americans do you know?”

“The Supremes,” she stated confidently.”And Colin** Powell. But I think he’s white not black.”

“Do you know famous people from any other races,” I probed, “maybe Asian-Americans?”

“Yes, Martin Luther King, but he’s dead, he was shotted (yes, shotted) by the white people because they didn’t like him.”

*African American History Month is celebrated in February.
** pronounced C-ah-lin not C-oh-lin

Tide Log

I took this just before Christmas, while we were out at Crissy Field taking a family photo for our Christmas card.

Bubble Monsters