OK, so I’m not drunk…yet. But it IS technically St. Patty’s day, the American/Australian answer to the Greek’s Baccanals. So let’s get drunk off of cheap, green beer and do things we’ll regret tomorrow. (see, I gotta start early, because hopefully, this time tomorrow, I WILL be drunk and doing things I regret. Heh.)
And I’ll even start with the first Irish pathos-tinged nugget: My mother always told me that you can’t be Irish without knowing the world will break your heart by the time you’re 30. Presumably this is wisdom she received from her grandfather. Rumor has it he couldn’t read in English, only Gaelic. Which sounds rather odd, because they weren’t teaching Gaelic in Irish schools around the turn of the century, were they? But that’s the rumor. And that’s the wisdom. I still have 9 years to go.
I raise my pint of Guinness to you, Grandma, and the rest of the Bartons!
And to you, Grandma, and the rest of the Hurleys!
And to you, actual Irish Dopers living in Ireland, who are sadly shaking your heads at the third-generation American who wouldn’t know the Auld Sod if he were clotted in the head with a leprechaun-sized chunk of it!
SwimmingRiddles, when I’m drinking my green beer in, oh, 6-1/2 hours when Eskimo Joe’s opens for it’s St. Paddy’s Day brunch, I’ll lift one for you and all us lads and lasses of Irish descent who, like LuxFiat"wouldn’t know the Auld Sod if he were clotted in the head with a leprechaun-sized chunk of it!"
