St. Patrick's Day 2010

I am part Irish and had long believed that my grandmother Helen emigrated from Ireland to the United States during the disastrous Irish Potato Famine. Imagine my surprise this past Sunday at discovering that the Irish Potato Famine actually occurred in 1845 and lasted for six years. Grandma Helen was born well after 1900. Now I am left to wonder what other family stories were derived completely from myth. In any case, I will continue to celebrate my Irish heritage the same way I do each year around this time: three days early, far from the madding crowds, and with plenty of Guinness at hand. St. Patrick's Day brings out the worst in people - just as Fourth of July, Super Bowl Sunday, and New Year's Eve do. I almost always stay home on each of those occasions to avoid the various consortia of drunk amateurs which will inevitably be trolling the city streets. Today, on St. Patrick's Day 2010, I am typing this and drinking coffee as throngs of people consume nasty green beer at various pubs and taverns all over Los Angeles. This past Sunday, however, was a different story. My friend Luisa and I donned our green underwear, went to an Irish pub and spent all afternoon and evening toasting St. Patty and listening to live music.

The day began exactly the same way as so many others before it. I awoke on Luisa's couch, unable to block out the sound of her making coffee and banging around her kitchen. I think she was even humming a cheerful tune. She and I had danced the night before and had not returned from work until well after midnight. Nonetheless, Luisa had arisen yet again before 7am. I struggled to a semi-upright position and silently lamented my decision to stay at her place. About ten minutes later the fog around my brain began to dissipate. Determined to shake off a slight hangover I decided to go running. Nothing like breaking a good sweat to help erase the indiscretions of the night before. After returning from an embarrassingly slow three mile walk/jog I showered and put on my festive, green, St. Patrick's Day panties. Luisa snapped a few pics of me as I dried my hair. I growled at her to wait until I had put on some makeup. She laughed at me, but then complied and did not pull the camera out again until we were driving to Venice. I go there once a week to pick up my mail. Fortunately an Irish pub named Brennan's sits about a mile down the road from my mailbox. We agreed that it would be the perfect destination for our St. Patrick's Day celebration..

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XO Tanya





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