I've got a lot of mixed emotions and feelings about St. Patrick's Day. On the one hand I'm glad we've set aside a day to honor the country where my mother's people came from because I identify with that side of the family waaaaay more than I do with my father's side. On the other hand I hate that most people celebrate the day like this douchebag:
Would it be okay celebrate MLK day by dressing in baggy clothes and wearing lots of bling bling or to dress up in outrageous pimp outfits? Is it fine to dress in a wife beater t shirt and shiny vinyl sweat pants and act like Tony Soprano on Columbus day? Nope. Then why is it permissible to get shit faced and act like an ass on the day that is supposed to honor the contributions of the Irish to this country?
Well, okay we may have brought it on ourselves what with our entertainment Irish American role models, case in point, that skeevy asshole Dennis Leary. Oy vey, I may have to start claiming my German heritage if that misogynist prick Leary says another stupid thing that brings shame and dishonor on all of us Irish Americans. And there's Shane McGowan lead "singer" of the Pogues. True, he's not an Irish American but he's close. And don't get me started on Bono, Enya, and all the Irish singers who do the never ending PBS fund drive specials.
Celebrating the Irish experience in America shouldn't begin and end with watching
Darby O'Gill and the Little People,
The Quiet Man, and stuffing gobs of corned beef, cabbage, and potatoes in your pie hole while you suck down Guinness after Guinness. It should begin with you watching that great movie about
Bloody Sunday that starred
James Nesbitt, finding a pedophile priest and punching him in the nads, and then running some guns to the Provisional IRA outpost nearest to you.
Now, you'll have to excuse me I have to run, my potatoes are boiling over, I need another shot of Irish whiskey, and my god damned U2's Greatest Hits CD is skipping. Oh the feckin' humanity. I curse my rotten Irish luck!
If I'm posting this late 1960's picture of me and my family, then that must mean it's Christmas day. If you celebrate Christmas, then I hope you had or are having a good one, no matter how you celebrate it. If you don't then I hope you have a great day doing what you do. 
...young super hot Jane Fonda,
Starsky and Hutch,
classical beauty Gina Mckee,
increasingly dystopian Canadian writer Margret Atwood,
the snow pile,
Hey, come here...I wanna show you something.
It's okay, I won't bite. C'mon. Come closer.
Okay...you ready? 
That little blond kid sporting what looks like a Christmas morning chubby in his underwear is me. That's my sister Linda behind me and that's our Mom next to her. On the floor is my sister Sandy and next to her is my older brother Charlie and my Dad. My brother Karl was behind the camera and that's why he wasn't in the photo. The picture was taken around 1968 or 1969 I think. Even though we lived in the projects and were poor as church mice we always made out like bandits on Christmas morning. I loved getting up before the sun came up and running down stairs to see what Santa had brought us and watching every one open presents.
