After a month visiting my family in Thailand I returned to New York in 2011. On March 17 I extended invitations to a drinking Craic around the East Village for St. Patrick's Day.
"I’m back. Happy St. Patrick’s Day," I anounced at the 169 Bar. To most od my friends, however my good friend Jocko Weyland, skateboarder/urbanologist, had begged off joining us with the following words.
"Thanks for the invitation. I’m honored, but I want to hibernate a bit and stay away from the sauce. Too much sauce in Tucson!"
My response was swift, because hibernating during the high holy holiday of hibernian inebreations was a heresy and I told Jocko, "Go dtachta na péisteoga do thóin bheagmhaitheasach."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"May the worms choke your worthless butt. But no worries. Tuesday evening I had a practice run in the East Village and I woke in a coma yesterday."
"Too much sauce."
"Too much everything."
Tonight is St. Padraic Eve. I'm beer-hungry.
Drinking with two comrades-in-arms.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day to ye all.
No comments:
Post a Comment