Argephontes
3/20/2003
Thinking about death, and how much it disturbs me how easy it is for some people to make the decision to kill.
I don't want to think about that. ¶ 3/20/2003 12:35:00 PM
I don't want to think about that. ¶ 3/20/2003 12:35:00 PM
3/17/2003
Happy St. Patty's Day…
My office-mate and friend, Patti O'VeryIrishLastName, and her husband Dan are real, bonafide Irish Catholics from Boston, and are very aware and proud of their heritage. They threw a St. Patrick's Day party on Saturday since Monday night is no time for working folk to stay up late drinking beer after beer after whiskey after beer... yeah.
They made corned beef and cabbage, and Irish soda bread, and it was quite good. However, they have a rule at their St. Patrick's Day parties. A rule that was changed at the last minute (damned Irish!), and NOT to my benefit, either. We were told (we being Ryan, Alicia and I) that everyone who came to the party had to either sing a song, tell a joke, or tell a story in order to be allowed to stay. We found some funny jokes (What's Irish and sits outside during the summer? Patio Furniture.), and we innocently walked into the dragon's (Leprechaun's?) lair assuming all would be ok.
We mingle, we eat, we drink. A good time is had... blah blah. And then everyone is called into the living room, and Dan announces that, since we were well fed and liquored, each of us was required to sing a (preferably Irish) song. No jokes. No stories. Song. In front of everyone. I'd had a few Killian's at this point, but not THAT many.
It should also be mentioned that everyone in attendance was older than us (mid-thirties vs. mid-twenties), which is ok, but still a little on the VERY noticeable side. Everyone except for the three of us were also, with the exception of Patti's parents, staunch academic types, mostly from the modern language department. So everyone joins in on traditional Irish songs, sung by Patti and Dan ( they printed out the lyrics so we could join in), and then others pipe up with traditional songs from whatever-language-they speak, or at one time, a round of the same song sung in three different languages. We were allowed to sing with a buddy. So when someone said, “Hey! That group on the couch. THEY should go next!” Alicia and I decided to sing together. Ryan, uh, mysteriously disappeared. Anyway. It was as though every song I had ever known suddenly removed itself from my head, and the absolute only thing I could think of to sing was “Bad Medicine.”
Yes, “Bad Medicine.”
And so, we sang a poor rendition of Bon Jovi, amidst horrified looks from the academic camp.
Later, I thought of a billion songs we could/should have sang instead, not the least of which was any number of Van Morrison songs (hello! Irish!). But no, I sang Bon Jovi.
We had a good time, though, despite my momentary embarrassment over my poor singing voice and oddly inappropriate choice of song (If Alicia told this story it would be different, because 1) She doesn’t get embarrassed about ANYTHING normal people get embarrassed about, and 2) She is of the opinion that Bon Jovi is appropriate for anything. But this is my telling, and not hers).
Also in attendance was my Not-British Professor of 2 years past, who believes himself to be quite cool with his pink gingham shirts, affected accent, and floppity Hugh Grant hair. We had a nice chat, about scamming out ways to make loads of money while doing nothing really at all (and I'm not sure his ideas were quite legal, either), and travel. I think he was one of those horrified by the Bon Jovi, but then, I'm horrified at his existence, so... eh.
All in all, it was fun. And definately worth missing the Leprechaun dancing on Beale Street. ¶ 3/17/2003 01:35:00 PM
My office-mate and friend, Patti O'VeryIrishLastName, and her husband Dan are real, bonafide Irish Catholics from Boston, and are very aware and proud of their heritage. They threw a St. Patrick's Day party on Saturday since Monday night is no time for working folk to stay up late drinking beer after beer after whiskey after beer... yeah.
They made corned beef and cabbage, and Irish soda bread, and it was quite good. However, they have a rule at their St. Patrick's Day parties. A rule that was changed at the last minute (damned Irish!), and NOT to my benefit, either. We were told (we being Ryan, Alicia and I) that everyone who came to the party had to either sing a song, tell a joke, or tell a story in order to be allowed to stay. We found some funny jokes (What's Irish and sits outside during the summer? Patio Furniture.), and we innocently walked into the dragon's (Leprechaun's?) lair assuming all would be ok.
We mingle, we eat, we drink. A good time is had... blah blah. And then everyone is called into the living room, and Dan announces that, since we were well fed and liquored, each of us was required to sing a (preferably Irish) song. No jokes. No stories. Song. In front of everyone. I'd had a few Killian's at this point, but not THAT many.
It should also be mentioned that everyone in attendance was older than us (mid-thirties vs. mid-twenties), which is ok, but still a little on the VERY noticeable side. Everyone except for the three of us were also, with the exception of Patti's parents, staunch academic types, mostly from the modern language department. So everyone joins in on traditional Irish songs, sung by Patti and Dan ( they printed out the lyrics so we could join in), and then others pipe up with traditional songs from whatever-language-they speak, or at one time, a round of the same song sung in three different languages. We were allowed to sing with a buddy. So when someone said, “Hey! That group on the couch. THEY should go next!” Alicia and I decided to sing together. Ryan, uh, mysteriously disappeared. Anyway. It was as though every song I had ever known suddenly removed itself from my head, and the absolute only thing I could think of to sing was “Bad Medicine.”
Yes, “Bad Medicine.”
And so, we sang a poor rendition of Bon Jovi, amidst horrified looks from the academic camp.
Later, I thought of a billion songs we could/should have sang instead, not the least of which was any number of Van Morrison songs (hello! Irish!). But no, I sang Bon Jovi.
We had a good time, though, despite my momentary embarrassment over my poor singing voice and oddly inappropriate choice of song (If Alicia told this story it would be different, because 1) She doesn’t get embarrassed about ANYTHING normal people get embarrassed about, and 2) She is of the opinion that Bon Jovi is appropriate for anything. But this is my telling, and not hers).
Also in attendance was my Not-British Professor of 2 years past, who believes himself to be quite cool with his pink gingham shirts, affected accent, and floppity Hugh Grant hair. We had a nice chat, about scamming out ways to make loads of money while doing nothing really at all (and I'm not sure his ideas were quite legal, either), and travel. I think he was one of those horrified by the Bon Jovi, but then, I'm horrified at his existence, so... eh.
All in all, it was fun. And definately worth missing the Leprechaun dancing on Beale Street. ¶ 3/17/2003 01:35:00 PM
