I blame it all on Pope Gelasius I.  He’s the one that started this whacky holiday.  I jest, of course.  Valentine’s Day is a grand holiday for those that have someone and a torrid day of shite for the rest of us that or either too high and mighty or too damaged to be of any use to anyone.  If you really think about it, the day is crappy for most folks.  People that are married or in a relationship go out and spend money they don’t have in order to impress upon their loved one that they love them.

The whole commercialisation of Valentine’s Day makes me sick, but I’ll admit that it is nice to come home to a cooked meal.  That’s all I need to feel special.  I believe that I can write a poem far superior to anything poor blokes can buy in a store.  Mind you, not all guys can do that.  But, they can, if they try, come up with something better than what they can buy.  And ladies, if you can’t cook, put on a little something special.  We men are easily impressed by little to no clothing!

May I prevail upon the lot of you to dig deep into your hearts this year and do something special for your significant other?  The northern hemisphere world is still in an economic crisis, so do yourself and me a feckin’ favour, don’t spend money you don’t have.  Pretentiousness and narcissistic attitudes are the reason we are in this mess.  Stop it now.  The best thing we can all do is learn from our past mistakes and do our best not to make them again. 

To me, at least, the most important aspect of St. Valentine’s Day is to tell that special person in our lives how we truly feel about them without holding back.  It is better to be honest than not.  But, if you think she’s fat, don’t say it!  Especially on Valentine’s Day! 

There are men and women out there that have given up on ever finding anyone.  My advice is to never give up and never surrender.  I’ve been kicked, beat with a pocket book (primary days.  I deserved it.), slapped, kneed, whacked across the nose (Welsh chick.  I was legless, but I’m quite sure I didn’t say anything to deserve a whack across the bridge of my nose.), and used.  I’m as crazy about women now as I was in my youth. 

Sometimes we have to make that nervous first step, but if we don’t, we’ll never know what would’ve happened.  My grandfather used to say that the things we don’t do are as important as the things we do.  It took me years to figure that one out.   

To all the men out there:

Stop grunting and pointing.  You wife/girlfriend is not your momma or your maid.  Stop treating her like a piece of property and be glad someone loves your sorry arse.  Listen to their overly narrative stories even though you find them horrendously boring.

To all the women out there:

Stop bitchin’ and moaning.  Sure, your man is a piece of shite.  Well, you picked him.  Deal with what you’ve got and try to make the best of it.  If you care for your man, get involved in the things that he likes to do and he might just do the same. 

I realise this is an oddly formed post, but in my own defence, I am hopped up on cold medicine.  I’m going to bugger off to count some drunken sheep.  I hope you all have a very Happy Valentine’s Day.

I leave you with something that keeps me busy on days like these.  Mind you, this is not my bug, but I do love the sound. 

Related Post

• A flash of broken Mirrors (6)
• Scarlet Yarn (6)
• Dust off Yer Boots (2)
• HealthCare in America (4)
• Relationship Faults (4)

“I don’t care if a guy has money”, says she, a scarlet temptress..

A friend and I laughed so hard we almost spilled our booze.  The atmosphere transformed from one of laughter to one of insanity not long after that.

A person can observe more of the good and bad bits of humanity in an hour at a party than they can in a week on the streets.  I attended a huge party this past weekend, celebrating Memorial Day.  I laughed more in an hour than I probably have in a month.  Watching people fall down in a drunken stupor is quite hilarious.  I am old enough and wise enough to know my limits.

Parties evolve in layers.  The first layer is one of welcoming each other to the party, finding the secret stash of booze and food.  The second layer is one of happiness and hilarity when everyone starts loosening up and telling stories from the past.  The third is one of hilarity and telling secrets that should not be told.  The forth is a layer of watching the lightweights pass out in their own vomit and laughing about it.  The fifth is one of seriousness and solidarity, when people really show their true colours.

I spent most of the evening talking to different people, trying to catch up on who was doing who.  One woman with blonde hair glistening in the moonlight caught my eye as she approached the house from the dock sitting so elegantly in the still water.

“Please excuse my hair…It’s a mess”, she said with an enormous smile, as she bundled it into a ponytail.

“You look great anytime, girl”, I said while grinning from ear to ear.  (Mind you, in the Southern US, we call a woman a girl until she’s old and wrinkled.)

She giggled and tried to cover her smile.

“I’m in my “”I don’t give a damn, I’m at the lake”” outfit”, I laughingly muttered whilst pointing at my torn denims and T-shirt.

She laughed again.

As I was about to say something quite cunning, Scarlet (That’s what I’ll call her.) poked me in the back.

“Hey, it’s your turn for shots, JD”, Scarlet said, as she weaved her drunken way back up the path.

“IS she…?”

“No, she’s dating a friend of mine”, I muttered with a bit of a jocular tone.

“Good thing it’s not you, she looks bossy”, said she with a big smile.

“Are you here with…?”

“I’m flying solo tonight, (Name withheld out of respect.)”, I said with a bigger smile.

About the time I was going to ask her if she wanted a drink, a few blokes came up from the dock.

One of them playfully grabbed her by the arm, and asked, “Who is this?”

“This is JD…We’ve known each other for ages”, she muttered with a bit of trepidation.

“Well, I better get up there before Scarlet comes back and drags me back”, I mumbled whilst making my way back up the path.

I turned around and she gave me that “save me from these idiots” look, but I was angry that she came with someone else so I continued up to the party.  We crossed glances a few more times before she left with the idiots to go to yet another party.

A mate of mine kept pushing Scarlet to do more shots.  I caught him throwing good Grey Goose into a flower pot while she wasn’t looking.  I knew what he was up to, but I’d never do anything like that.  Of course, I have values and morals that keep me from doing a lot of things.  As much as I hate them sometimes, they do keep me out of trouble and out of the emergency room.

As the night grew longer, Scarlet slurred more and began saying things that a woman of any age should not say.  I was not sober but far from drunk, so I did my best to keep her from doing something she’d regret.  I went outside and told my friend, her boyfriend, that he needed to take her upstairs before she did something stupid.  He enquired as to what we be so stupid.  I didn’t have to say anything, nor would I.  He went in and a few minutes later she was barfing and finally went to sleep.  The ambiance was far from tranquil as I perused the yard, poking passed out people, trying to get them to go inside.

I sat in the darkness at the waters edge, enjoying the sweet sound of peace and the occasional splash of a bass breaking the waters still surface.  I went to my beloved car and scribed two poems.  Eventually, I passed out in the Beetle.

The next morning, I awoke to a crisp sunrise and people snoring.  When Scarlet finally got up, I didn’t get a thank you, but I didn’t expect one.  People rarely remember the stupid shite they do when they are legless.  Sometimes I get sick and tired of being everyone’s big brother, but it does have its rewards.

It is not my intention to imply upon the reader that parties are bad or that drinking is bad.  I had a blast and will do it again.  But, there are some undertones that could use some discussion.  I wish I could go into more detail about Scarlet and the other woman, but I do not betray peoples trust.  And, no crimes were committed thanks to yours truly.  Watch how much you drink and keep those you care about close to you.  And, for the love of God, if you are crazy about someone, let them know.  They may feel the same way.  At least you’ll know one way or the other.  Learn from me, a rover, and I’ll learn from you.

Related Post

• Valentinus Play (2)
• Dust off Yer Boots (2)
• A flash of broken Mirrors (6)
• Two Weeks Late (8)
• Parade Shot (2)

In this massive episode laced with craic, Brian F., K8 the Gr8, Grandad, Dr. Don, and myself hash out everything about nothing.  K8 and Grandad savour their Curry while Brian collides with the law.  We discuss the pork industry and the hysteria that is H1N1.  Brian bitches about the cold and Dr. Don and myself reminisce about radioactive snowcream from a bygone era.  We ramble on about a main street trampling and deer whistles.  Do they attract or detract?

Later, we learn the meaning of deer jerky along with every other kind of jerky.  Christmas and wee sprrogs are mentioned as well as court dates.  I wonder about my future wanderings through Ireland with nothing but a backpack, a camera, and a smile to keep me company.  We debate whether Indian food is slimming or fattening.  Saint Patrick’s Day and the roaring Celtic Tiger are uttered.

In the final bit of the show, we discuss electric pipes, podcasting microphones, the best version of Windows, celebrities, the media, camel toes, metro-techies, and much much more.  Please tune in for the next instalment.

Download it Now:  Dust of Yer Boots

Being that I’m a country boy (can’t escape it no matter where I go), I decided to add this hilarious song about a chap that wins the lotto.  It’s called “Toes”.  That’s relevant to Boots, right? 

Related Post

• “American” (9)
• Long Weekend (2)
• Numbers Game (7)
• Kilos of Craic: Rock out with a Stout (2)
• Episode 20 (0)

Wednesday afternoon I was in city centre doing a quick walkabout to stretch my legs.  As I sauntered past the white collar littered promenade at lunchtime, a crowd of suits sped past me.  One of them pushed me and my camera gear up against a brick building facade.

Normally, I would have brushed him off as an eejit and went on my way.  But, I had something eating at my gut, so this little incident sent me slightly over the edge.  I have nothing against people in suits.  I have a lot of suits.  I enjoy looking professional, but being that I’m a country boy, I am much more comfortable in denims and a t-shirt.

“What is your problem?” 

He turned around, looked at me, whispered something to a cohort, laughed, and continued on his way.

Just the mere mannerisms and holier than though attitude infuriated me further, so I bit my bottom lip and lectured, “Between me and my family, we pay over a ****** ******* dollars to this state alone every year, so as long as I’m following the laws and mores  of our wee society, I’ll walk where, when, and how I want…I’d be more careful of who I knock over, if I were you”.

“Oh Yeah?”  He enquired whilst cockily crossing his arms and snickering with his twenty something pals.

“Yeah”, I boldly stated.

“Who’s your father then, tough guy?”

““*** Davis.”

“The *** Davis?”

“The one and only”, I answered whilst sighing.

“You’re kidding me, right?”  He jokingly asked whilst destroying a piece of gum.

“No.”

“*** Davis has no son…he has three girls.  I know him.  My firm, *********, does work for him”, he laughingly hollered as a crowd gathered.

“He has six children, whether you know it or not”, I muttered while turning to walk away.

“If I were you, I’d be more careful about lying to make yourself feel big", the chump yelled whilst pushing his comrades forward.

The English lady from the coffee house that I was standing in front of patted me on the back and told me not to mind him.  I had a café noir fuelled walk and went home.

Later that night, I was sitting here at my desk fuming about what the bloke said.  As hard as it was to swallow, it was almost the truth.  I had not talked to him in months.  We had a wee bit of a falling out over a wee money issue.  I had called his phone on numerous occasions and left messages trying to rectify the situation, but to no avail.

I went to the kitchen cupboards to fetch some Earl Grey and there peering out of the dark recess was a brand new bottle of a precious beverage from Ireland.  I grabbed one of my grandfathers favourite glasses and the green bottle.  Humour flowed from a TV show I rarely miss loosely based on the FDNY as well as the bottle. 

A crack of thunder rattled the windows, as I searched the darkness for the incoming light show.  The rain had lightly been pelting against the office window all night.  While trying to grab a ciggy and a light, I stumbled a bit not realising how much I had consumed.

I stood at the back door and gazed out into the blackness of the garden.  While smoking that one ciggy, a thought popped into my bevvied head.  So, I grabbed my keys and phone and headed out the door. 

I ran from one wet street to another until I approached the main thoroughfare.  Soaked from head to toe, I stopped and gawped at the quarter moon peering through a gap in the heavy mist.  I gazed at the moon, while standing on that sidewalk, enquiring as to why things are the way they are.  Then, a suburban whizzed by covering me in road muck.

So, I decided to run to the 24hr bistro, encountering heavy raindrop laden puddles, like broken mirrors illuminated by lightning strikes along my path.  When I got to the bistro, one of the waitresses that I know offered me a towel to dry off and brought me a cup of coffee.  She asked if I was alright, and of course, I said I was fine.  She knew better because I never show up in the middle of the night.  She told me to call Red, an off and on again petite amie.

12:30AM  Ring…ring…ring…ring

“Hello”, she whispered.

“Hey”, I hollered in a half inebriated manner.

“What time is it?”  She pleaded as the ruffling of covers and feathers could be heard over the phone.

“It’s 12:30.  I’m at the bistro.  I need you to pick me up so we can talk.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?”  She enquired with a bit of disdain in her tone.

“No.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Only slightly”, I uttered whilst trying not to laugh.

Click

I reasoned that she was mad at me for waking her up, so I finished my coffee.  The kind waitress offered to call me a cab, but I benignantly refused.  I took my time walking home.  The thunderous storm had passed and a murkiness thick enough to cut through with one’s body had settled in its place. 

It was around 1:30 in the morning, when I turned onto my street.  I sneakingly walked past the other houses, hoping not to wake my ever alert grandmother that lives two houses down. 

By the time I approached my front yard, the audaciousness and silliness had wavered.  I discovered a glint of something on my front stoop.  Scared, I drew closer.  A figure came into view through the vapours.  I got closer and realised it was…

It was her.  She walked up to me shivering, her countenance filled with rage and worry.

Slap

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again”, she whispered in my ear.

I had never been prouder than at that moment.  It was not my intention to worry her or anyone else, but it was nice to know that she cares.

For Her:

Freckles is a savage word.

How about dapples of lust,

Honey sisters,

Blunders of the Sun,

Love in lace,

Damsel’s shivers,

Silent baubles,

Caramel kisses,

Blotch of arcs,

Or a serene flock?

To Pops:  Happy Fathers Day, dude!  You’ll always be my pops, and I hope to make you proud one day.  A little bit of time is all I’m asking for.

P.S.:  Drinking and smoking are not things that I condone or would suggest that anyone start.  I don’t have an addictive personality, so I can get away with the occasional drink or gasper.

P.P.S.:  Most of us have father issues in one form or another.  Our fathers are our fathers no matter what.  Tis best to love them, because we never know when we or them may not wake up one morning. 

Honour thy Father and thy Mother.

Related Post

• Valentinus Play (2)
• Return to Green 2009 (4)
• Pet Peeve (9)
• Redlight Antics (6)
• Hey barkeep, tell us the story. (2)

Tap…tap…tap

Whack…whack…whack…

Bang…bang

“This better be good at…4AM”, I yelled whilst wiping the muck from my eyes.

“Who the f*ck is it?”  I demanded, as I treaded across the frigid oak floors towards the back door.

“It’s Dr. Don.”

I unlocked the door and swung it open in anger of be awoken.

“What are you doing here this time of the morning?”  I pleaded while rubbing my dreary head and heading to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

After putting the water on to boil, I realised that he was sporting a green t-shirt with a big shamrock on it.

“Shite”, I exclaimed whilst running to my bedroom.

“Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, dude”, he said, as he looked through the cupboards for something to snack on.

I grabbed my camera gear and supplies and headed out the door a few minutes later.  We got on the main highway about 4:30AM.  It’s quite fun to drive early in the morning.  The roads were empty at that time of dawning, so I could use two lanes if I so desired. 

Just as we started making good time, it started misting rain.  I turned on the windshield wipers to alleviate the haze overtaking my view.  The drivers side wiper started acting erratic, veering way off its predetermined course, so I turned them off and back on.  It fell over and hung precariously off the drivers side of the windshield.

“This is not a good omen”, I cogitated whilst looking for a place to pull over in the pitch blackness of an empty road.

We pulled into a rest area and inspected the damage.  We couldn’t help but laugh, when we discovered that the gears in the wiper motor were stripped.

“I hope the rain stops”, I laughingly muttered whilst getting back in the truck.

“Ah, throw a string on it and yank it every time it starts to mist”, Dr. Don muttered, as he stared into the vacuous rest area.

Luckily, the rain clouds dissipated and we continued down I-385 S.  Once we got on I-26 East, the driving was a breeze.  I put the truck in cruise control mode and relaxed a bit.  Dr. Don freaked out a bit, when I pretended to be asleep and let the vehicle veer closer to the concrete median. 

After breakfast somewhere near Columbia, SC, Dr. Don went to sleep and I sliced about a half hour off the trip by speeding.  When I saw the Savannah River in the distance, I turned up the radio to wake him.  We arrived about an hour before the parade.  People of all colours, shapes, and sizes were painted in green.  The one’s that weren’t covered themselves with a lovely green beer.  It wasn’t Guinness, but eh?

After fighting through a crowd of a half million people, I finally found a spot to take pictures.  I normally hop from place to place to get different perspectives, but because there was a mass of people and I was trying to stay within seeing distance of Dr. Don, I stayed in one spot the entire time. 

It was an all out celebration of Craic.  Some whacky and legless college guys ran out into the parade street and high fived everyone while screaming, "Éirinn go Brách".  Others would run up and yell, “Irish, yeah”.  It was a party on wheels. 

I watched bands march by from about thirty US states, including:  Georgia, Wyoming, Florida, New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, Tennessee, and Delaware to name a few.  Heck, there was even a bagpipe band from Edinburgh, Scotland. 

An African-American woman with a hellish attitude and seven kids tried to root me out of my spot.  I didn’t mind the kids getting a decent spot, but when she tried to push me out of the way, I got irate and decided to leave before saying something and causing a riot. 

Dr. Don was arguing with her husband, so I grabbed him out of the crowd and walked away.

“On the one day when American’s with Irish ancestry can celebrate their heritage, someone has to start some shite”, I muttered, as we walked away.

“She was just dreaming that Obama was in the parade and had to get a closer spot, being that he’s Irish and all.”

“Yer not Irish, unless yer born in Ireland”, I muttered, as we walked into a quaint little cigar shop.

“Does the north count?”

I laughed and we picked out some proper cigars.  We sat by the river and watched babes in short shorts and skin tight T’s compete in a wet t-shirt contest. 

We hung around for about another hour talking junk to the fairer sex.  One woman thought I worked for a paper, so I went with it.  

I hadn’t been down there since I was knee high to a grasshopper, so it was nice to go back even for a day.  When we returned to the truck, we decided to take a wee side trip to Charleston, S.C..  It is older than Savannah and even more picturesque.  The city was formed in 1670 and was once the fifth larges city in the United States. The first shots of the Civil War were fired there as well.  So, it is truly a historic playground.  One of my ancestors, a Mr. McManaman (can’t remember his first name at present) from County May, died there during the Civil War. 

We hopped on I-95-S  and sped away from Georgia.  I stayed behind a big rig that was speeding, so we made good time.  We crossed the massive Cooper River Bridge around 4:30PM.  It is the largest cable-stayed bridge in the Western Hemisphere.  And, people say we’re a bunch of hicks in South Carolina!?

I took a few shots of the coast and the Cooper River.  We walked through battery park.  The architecture of the plantation houses and mansions is awe inspiriting. 

After observing the rich women (A person has to be well off to reside in auld Charleston.)  jogging through the park, we treaded down some side streets.  The streets are very narrow, so I was not surprised when a lady in a minivan ripped a mirror off the side of a painters van.  The painter ran out into the street discovering his drivers side mirror laying shattered on the paving stones.  The nice lady returned and apologised to the gentleman. 

“dun’t w’rry ‘bout it ma’am…these types ah t’ings happ’n down ‘ere”, he muttered as the lady helped him pick up the mirror shards.

She offered her insurance information and her number, but he wouldn’t take it.  After she left, he got all of his things together and proceeded to leave.  As he pulled away, the rear bumper fell off.  He parked, got out, rubbed his head, and yelled, “Shit’”. 

Dr. Don and myself got a good laugh out of this and headed back up the road.  When we arrived at his house, my hands were stuck to the steering wheel, and I was unable to bend my arms. 

“So, how long is it gonna take you to get this on the blog?”

“I’ll have it up by the time I pay dearest deeds to the moon before it fades away.”

“Yer full of shit…”

“Within a fortnight”, I mummbled whilst puffing on a cigar in the mountainous night air. 

Dr Don sighed and went in the house.

I drove a wee bit over 600 miles in a day not including all of the walking.  We had a blast!  I look forward to doing it again soon.  Although, next time I may have a chickidoo with me. 

Related Post

• Parade Shot (2)
• Happy belated St. Patrick’s Day and Happy Birthday to Me (6)
• Return to Green 2009 (4)
• Group Rantings (2)
• XXX – Walk this Way (10)

Right, I’ve been extremely busy upon my return home as you can imagine.  I edited about 75 photos Saturday evening.  I’ll finish the rest and have them uploaded by Sunday evening.  Thank you in advance for patiently waiting. 

Related Post

• Happy belated St. Patrick’s Day and Happy Birthday to Me (6)
• Two Weeks Late (8)
• Return to Green 2009 (4)
• Valentinus Play (2)
• Scarlet Yarn (6)

Half a million people, green beer, green river, shamrocks, beads and a parade equals one heck of a party.  I drove 600 miles roundtrip Tuesday to be at the Savannah, G.A. Saint Patrick’s Day Parade.  It’s the biggest parade south of Chicago, IL.  It was well worth the trip.

I’ll be back tomorrow evening to upload photos and do a proper post.  I’m exhausted!

Related Post

• Parade Shot (2)
• Two Weeks Late (8)
• Return to Green 2009 (4)
• Valentinus Play (2)
• Scarlet Yarn (6)

Many apologies for the lack of post this week.  My family had a bit of a crisis.  Everyone still has their fingers and toes so no worries.  Saturday will be a grand and somewhat green start to a brilliant weekend.

I’ll be at Return to Green distilling a days worth of events into fifty to a hundred memorable photos.  We are supposed to be blessed with a blue sky, bibulous smiles, and a green river.

This wee festival is my hometowns early celebration of Saint Patrick’s Day.

I’ll update the post with a proper description and pictures Saturday evening.

UPDATE:  I made a bit of a mess of things with the dates.  The festival is tomorrow, Sunday, the 8th day of the third month of 2009.  Ooopppssss.  

Related Post

• No Return to Green (2)
• Two Weeks Late (8)
• Parade Shot (2)
• Happy belated St. Patrick’s Day and Happy Birthday to Me (6)
• Group Rantings (2)