I know three people who have vowed to quit drinking from New Year’s Day to St. Patrick’s Day. And I don’t know many people. So if three out of the, let’s say, 16 people I know are making this mistake, how many others in town are doing the same crazy thing? It doesn’t make sense for two reasons. One is: What the hell are you going to do on Friday and Saturday night? Go to the gym? Stay in and watch “Ghost Whisperer”? Sit with your friends at the bar sipping a Shirley Temple? Be my designated driver?
The second reason concerns me the most. St. Patrick’s Day is the holiday of all holidays. I’ve been looking forward to March 17 since March 18. It’s a day not to be ruined by low tolerances. Only those with enough stamina can make it from sunrise to sunset with a Guinness not far from the hand. If you don’t drink for 106 days prior, how the hell are you going to be up to par?
But good luck to ya. Who am I to mess with your goals? More room at the bar for me!
Jukebox blues
When Left Field Lounge changed ownership last year, I was saddened by the loss of bartender Brian. With him went the reason to order a Devil Shot: hearing his eight-minute pre-spiel, before he set it on fire as you sucked the mysterious liquid through a straw. I’ll miss that. But I gave the place another chance. Last week, however, when I stepped foot in the small, friendly watering hole, I almost cried when I noticed the old-school jukebox was missing, replaced by one of those super-computer touch-screen piles of shit. I’m not sure I can ever go back.
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