Sorry people for not posting. I was sick on Sunday and had something special going on yesterday, which I'll tell you about shortly. In the meantime I was happy to be reminded by The Captain of this ditty I first heard as a kid.
When the pub was closed for the night,
A wee brown mouse crept out of his hole
And sat in the pale moonlight
He lapped up the frothy brew from the floor
Then back on his haunches sat,
And all night long you could hear him roar,
"Bring on the goddamned cat!"
It was an exciting St. Patrick's Day for me, but not for the usual reasons. For one, I was sober on St. Pat's for the first time since I was about 13. I hate to be too precise about my age (and not just because of vanity - your age is the number one piece of information hackers try to get) so let me simply say that was a good many stoned Saint Patrick's Days ago.
I may not have been doing any Saint Patrick's Day partying, but others certainly did. Someone anonymously sent me these photos from the infamous Blarney Blowout held at McMurphy's Tavern in Amherst. There apparently were a lot of lovely lasses there. I may be gay, but I'm still a man, and I can tell hot chicks when I see them.
Besides pretty, they also seemed like a fun-loving bunch. And they sure were serving tall ones!
This young lass appears to really enjoy, ahem, corned beef.
How heartwarming to see the college girls of Massachusetts keeping up the Irish ways!
Yesterday was Paul Kantner's birthday, he turned 66. Although Kanter is German, St. Paddy's is a perfectly appropriate birthday for one of our era's most notorious stoners. In tribute, let us listen to one of his most poetic compositions for the Jefferson Airplane.