Today is St. Patrick's day, unsurprisingly. I will get to listen to people at work trot out their vaguely racist jokes about the drunk Irish without pause or reflection. It is all true, of course, the stereotypes of roaming drunken Americans of partial (or less) Irish descent. Heritage from any other northern-ish European country will also suffice, as long as they know someone who was once Catholic along the way. I know, I am one of them, though I will not be roaming or drinking today. It is also my wife's birthday, and I must work. So we will go to dinner after work, hopefully. It will save me from a day of roaming, of offering up my wit and wisdom loudly across many crowded bars, of staggering in open daylight from doorway to doorway, of giving myself over to drink and song, my mouth watering for a fresh pint of lager once more.....
These pictures have nothing to do with St. Patrick, that I know of. They were taken at Notre Dame when my wife and I were there last year. I was looking through old pictures last night, reminiscing, a dangerous pastime I know, though more-so today than last night.
Oh, alcohol and memory are working part-time to condemn me.
Raise high the gates of restriction.....
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