Intergalactic House of Paisley

I luxuriated in sleeping until 7 this morning, and staggered downstairs to take out the trash. It was nice out: cool, but not cold, couldn't see my breath. For a brief moment, I thought that we might get lucky. An hour later, I was roused from my paper reading and web surfing by a sound, as though every leprechaun, dwarf, pixie, nixie, Trixie, sprite, diet sprite, shitkicker, asskicker and Methodist (sorry, wrong movie) was emptying their bladders on the house from a great height. Yeah, it was raining. And about 10˚ colder, too. By 9a, we had jointly decided that the prospect of riding on the Harp and Shamrock float was becoming less and less appealing by the moment, and we stayed home. Bob Reeder, the star of the show, had already bailed when we called in our regrets (expensive guitars and electronics + rain and lightning = bad things, man).

About noon, we wandered down to the Vietnamese restaurant we usually go to for lunch on St. Patrick's Day and had a lovely repast. I tried a rice noodle and bbq pork soup, which was quite tasty (I think someone needs to open a Vietnamese restaurant called "The Pho Implacable," but that's just me). By the time we were done, the rain had picked up again, and we splashed our way to the Hy-Vee in Gladstone, where we acquired intake and outgo materials for the cats (food and litter), along with miscellaneous necessities. I picked up a six-pack of beers from the Weston Brewing Co. Weston is a little town northwest of KC, home to the McCormick Distilling Co. and O'Malley's Irish Pub. The product at hand is their "Pack-O-Craic," featuring two bottles each of their Festival Ale (an "Irish Style Brown"), I.S.B. (Irish Style Bitter) and Emerald Lager. The Festival had a sour-ish aftertaste, though it abated over the course of the glass, and the I.S.B. was solid, if unspectacular. I'll try the lager tomorrow, probably.

I had put a corned beef in the crockpot this morning, and we had it for dinner with roasted fingerling potatoes and cabbage for the ladies. Om nom nom. While it was disappointing not to participate in the parade, it was a good day overall. Especially since I didn't have to go to work.

Via Crooked Timber.





Faith and Gomorrah, but doesn't that bring a tear to the eye, and a certain bouyancy to the gorge.

Rohanna and I have just returned from the Snake Saturday Parade in North Kansas City (or possibly Kansas City, North; they have some naming issues on the other side of the river [no, the other river]). It was snowing when I got up this morning, but all the precipitation had ceased by the time we got to the float. An hour of helping with the final prep kept the 35˚ temp at bay. At 11a, the firetruck and float rolled out, and we waved and hollered at the reasonably decent-sized crowd. One oddity was a guy walking down the sidewalk, with a 7' cross over his shoulder. Not dressed as Jesus or anything, just walking along. I was tempted to yell "You're a week early!" but refrained.

The other strangeness came after the parade. We drove back down to the staging area, only to have to wait as the rest of the parade participants set out on their trek. At one point, I looked up at the cross street where the people were emerging to see a large vehicle with "Jesus Is Our Hole in One" painted on the side pull out, towing a float for a Methodist church. I mentioned this to Bob Reeder, who laughed and said, Jesus Is Our Hole in One? Which one?"

And now, with a tummy full of scratch-made hot cocoa (thanks Rohanna!) and Connemara Irish whisky (thanks Elaine!), it's time for a nap. We'll be back at it on Monday, downtown. C'mon out, it'll be fun! And warmer, maybe even 50˚!