1. Friday, March 18, 2011

    dear st pogues day 

    they say libras should look out during march the month of pisces because the freakiness of the month may affect  libras’ sensitive balance.

    but either astrologys a bunch of crap or something but i always have a great time on st patricks day which happens in the month of p and last night i got so, i mean, enjoyed myself so much that i forgot to send general pitt the photos i promised.

    lets go back to thursday morning. 6am. my phone bleeps due to a text message. now i could ignore such a sound because nowadays it could be anything: spam, twitter dm, my mom txting me pictures of flowers. and on the other hand it could be an emergency about the content or performance of any of our 40+ blogs, including this personal one.

    so i get out of bed to the alarm clock upon which said phone is being charged in and i see its our hunky canadian amigo wishing me a Happy St. Pogues Day. what a good man. we dont txt often but when its done its always a delightful surprise.

    then work was insane as it often is. i got to eat outside at the farmers market with a handful of excellent coworkers.

    when i got home chris my old pal was waiting for me to get there so i could loan him my lil leica, then we had some of the most delicious tacos youve ever tasted.

    as soon as he bailed i got a txt from young ali miller who said she was on her way over to rage with me on hollywood blvd to celebrate a saint i still dont know anything about even though im a million years old and grew up outside the decidedly irish city of chicago.

    im grateful to say that although hollywood (and the times) was decked out beautifully in green no one was talking about the accomplishments and miracles of the day’s namesake.  but guiness, jameson, and baileys were injested. and several cabs were tipped generously for arriving exactly when our minds willed them to.

    i woke with a giant smile on my face and iron maiden playing on the computer.

    and this lone picture on my iphone, mr pitt.