Last week was St. Patrick's Day, which is quite an event for the people of New York (except for the gay Irish who aren't allowed to play with the other parade people). My office is on 5th Avenue, so this year I had the pleasure of the parade taking place right outside my door. At one point I went around the corner to the drug store, and it took 25 minutes there and back. There was a big pool of spilled beer right in front of the door to my building, with a bunch of drunk frat boys doing stuff like jumping up in the air and bumping their torsos together. People told me that the police had really started cracking down on public drinking on St. Patrick's day, but the shenanigans I just described were happening right in front of a group of cops, so who knows.
The day before I had been at a department store downtown across from the WTC site. In front of me in line there was a group of drunk Irish people. They were involved in some sort of gentle row with the sales clerk over the use of a coupon. Apparently they weren't able to use $5 worth of the coupon right then. They left after far too long, and I asked the clerk what was going on. She said "they're Irish and they're already drunk. I swear, these people can't wait until March 17 to start drinking." I was nodding my silent understanding when one of the drunk Irish people walked up to me and handed me the $5 coupon that she wasn't able to use. So I saved $5 off my purchase. Then I felt bad for agreeing with the clerk that they were drunk & obnoxious. That's what I call the Luck o' the Irish!
PS: Now I'm watching a Discovery channel program about people with Prader-Willi syndrome, a rare disorder that makes people eat uncontrollably. They have to live their entire lives under constant supervision or else they will literally eat until they die. And when you don't let them eat, they fly into these hideous rages.
I think I might have Prader-Willi syndrome. And now my relationship with George is taking on a whole new meaning.