Last night, for St. Patrick’s Day, my sister had a gig at the Ocean Mist (the shack-bar on the beach I mention often) singing 6 U2 songs with a friend of hers who is a guitar-player, and who runs the weekly open mike there. <\/p>\n
Jean’s a middle-school teacher but she has the heart and soul of Joan Jett.<\/p>\n
I ended up doing nothing for St. Patrick’s Day, as much of a travesty as that might seem. I had plans to go to Molly’s Shebeen, one of my favorite pubs in the city, and have some Guinness, some shepherd’s pie, and maybe even dance a jig. It’s happened before.<\/p>\n
But a couple of the friends backed out at last minute for various reasons – and so I just made my merry way home. Through the accumulating snow.<\/p>\n
I made dinner. I drank pink lemonade. I watched the snow fall. I felt hormonally emotional. I watched “Moonstruck” and laughed out loud. Haven’t seen it in years.<\/p>\n
“I see a wolf in every person I ever met … and I see a wolf in you.<\/i>”<\/p>\n
“Old man. You give those dogs one more plate of my food and I’ll kick you til you’re dead.”<\/p>\n
“I LOST MY HAND! I LOST MY HAND! I LOST MY HAND!”<\/p>\n
The entire spectacle of Vincent Gardenia. <\/p>\n
“Pop, I got news.”
\n“Let’s go into the kitchen.”<\/p>\n
I know this is completely not an exciting post, full of Irish revelry and whiskey-soaked craic and clattering lines of riverdancing children … but I can’t help it.<\/p>\n
Jean’s the rock-star of the family, in this moment. Wish I had been there.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Last night, for St. Patrick’s Day, my sister had a gig at the Ocean Mist (the shack-bar on the beach I mention often) singing 6 U2 songs with a friend of hers who is a guitar-player, and who runs the … Continue reading