Listening to: The Guily Pleasure disks I received in the mail today
Before your tiny petards are hoisted with a heft heretofore heard only at the business end of Bill O'Reilly's falafel, bigosh and begora, I'm Irish m'self, proud of it, too, so much that I refuse to avail myself to trimming the shamrocks from my ears, nose, and eyebrows (oh, those wild, middle-aged Irish eyebrows). Likewise, I refuse to join in on the festivities tonight, obviously preferring to do this and share my space with a couple of books.
No, it's not some committment to a higher principle; despite my Irish Catholicism, I haven't forsaken meat today (nor ever), much less corned beef and cabbage. If Fr. Feeney asks, I gave up sacrifice for Lent. Frankly, after Mardi Gras, I kind of lost my taste for mixing it up with the great unwashed during a designated "party night" ("amateur night" as my drunken Irish grandfather called them), drunken frat-boy types looking for a fight, dirt bags, sleaze bags, ho bags, all getting a bag on and none of them the least bit entertaining. I've been paid insufficiently to babysit shitwits who can't handle their booze and I see no reason to pay good money to hang out with those morons.
I have two good books and THIS to occupy me. As far as I can see, there's no good reason to step out and see what needs to get whacked. I certaily don't need that.