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It is entirely coincidental that I bought potatoes today. Entirely.
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My Annual Paddy's Day PSA. I don't care what that guy with the awesome pointy hat said about moving it to the 15th to avoid colliding with whatever Catholic thing happens on the 17th this year.
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Found on MetaFilter, the correct answer to "how do I draw a shamrock on a head of Guinness?" is "Don't. It's a drink, not a canvas. " or words to that effect. Although props to the barman at Mr. Pickwick in Biel who, when told I didn't care for a shamrock on my pint, drew a pair of breasts instead.
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"A man who tried to enter the White House during the annual shamrock reception "... was left in once it was realised it was Our Bertie. (link, ok so I fibbed)
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If you really care, you can check my journal around this time last year for the St. Patrick's Day PSA. Don't forget to pass it around so I can read another dose of humourless bile in response to it.
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...but I'll vote for his Paddy's Day idea... (wait, is that the sound of a knee jerking I hear?) (and, of course, there's the fine, FINE collection of reasoned debate quoted here)
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So look, despite my annual PSA and what not I am generally not ill-disposed towards confused Am*r*c*n tourists looking for their ancestors and what not. But this evening in the pub, a local girl who is in fact Scottish was putting on a Texas accent and affecting a great deal of "I'm Irish" in order to put off some hapless drunken paddy. How I didn't fall off my barstool laughing I have no idea. Paddy O'Suitor was sufficiently drunk as to not notice when the accent dropped, either, causing further hilarity on my part.
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If you thought I was being curmudgeonly about Paddy's Day, check out the inimitable Mr. Ellis:
From: WarrenE@aol.com
Sender: badsignal-admin@lists.flirble.org
To: badsignal@lists.flirble.org
Subject: [BAD SIGNAL]I Don't Care If You Dye Your Pubes Green
Date: Fri, 17 Mar 2006 09:46:31 EST

baddy o'signal
WARREN ELLIS

The next person to wish me a
happy St Pat's Day will have their
ISP anonymously informed that
they download pictures of dogs
fucking babies. I've slept with Irish
girls and gotten drunk in Belfast,
which makes me more Irish than
99% of you -- and, whoops, here's
the clue train pulling up to the
station, and it says I'm not Irish
and neither are 99% of you so you
can stick St Pat's Day up your arse.

If you want to celebrate St Pat's
today, eat a raw potato, build a
house out of peat and get yourself
shot by an Englishman.

And guess what? If you were born
in America, you're not Irish, you're
fucking American. Deal with it.

(Though I still advise American
tourists in Europe to tell people
they're Canadian at all times.)

This was your Daily Truth. Please
return to your duties. Thank you.
Now that's curmudgeonly. Mr. Ellis, may you have the best of whiskeys today and every day.
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Just watching some of the parade coverage on TV; it's 4°C with windchill down to -1, occasional flurries of light snow, and there are a bunch of girls out on O'Connell street in genuine Brazillian samba outfits, i.e. those bits of shiny metal and cloth with the square footage of a postage stamp. They're claiming that all the moving around is keeping them warm, but seriously now.
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To celebrate the day that's in it, I slept late, watched a movie when I got up (Road Trip, which surprised me by not being a stinking pile of crap), and sort of wombled around the house doing little-to-nothing.
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"Parades spell St Patrick's Day misery for motorists" - That's an actual headline on the Irish Times breaking news at the moment.
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Happy St. Patrick's Day. Go have a beer.

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