We alcoholics can also work Step Four from a non-self-help, let-God-change-our-brain perspective—which means that while we do the personal work (taking action in specific ways that AA literature suggests) we also ask God to work on us. And we trust that he does so.

That has been my Step Four experience. I let go, allowing God to transform me into a new person by his methods of changing the way I think (a practical, layman’s translation of Romans 12:2). That initial process spanned a two-year period in my life; a more mature process continues to this very day. Specifically, I worked steps one through four during my first months in AA, stayed sober, but got drunk on St. Patrick’s Day 1999. Again I tried the process, this time remaining sober for five months while working the fourth step, and again I drank—this time the night before I departed for Louisville and my first-ever experience with rehabs.

During both attempts, I withdrew from my first AA sponsor, Jack. I feared placing the process within God’s protection and care, so I worked alone on the steps. Both times I did Step Four as if working a crossword puzzle—alone, objective, detached, putting pen to paper—and each time I drank again. The popular self-help, change-our-lives approach only led me to relapses.

The third time, however, I worked steps one through four as part of a committed, fifteen-man step-study group. I shared with my AA sponsor, Jim, everything that I wrote or thought in the steps. My times with Jim were strictly confidential, one-on-one encounters. Nothing in AA literature endorses doing painful, spiritual work publicly in any type of group therapy, at AA meetings or in rehab.

The earnestness of my third attempt paralleled the intense work that I did, years earlier, with a first-rate analyst in Lexington. The only differences—at last in 2001, I remained abstinent, and I prayerfully asked God to work on me while I did my part. God did, and over time I realized that it worked. Grace sobers.

Now, before we turn to AA’s Fifth Step, let’s consider relapses….

Copyright © 2009 by Randall E. Greene

With today being a holiday, I thought it would be fitting to celebrate this piece of work who obviously has no idea exactly which holiday it is.

Oh heyyy, guy in red hat, I'm not giggling at YOU.

Nearly a month after Halloween and worse, more than four months before St. Patrick’s Day, Homeskillet rolls up on the Light Rail in (I’m guessing) his idea of an O.G. pimp hat that more resembles the Lucky Charms Mascot’s attire.

"Me wants to pimp yo' hos!"

Wait, no, Lucky the Leprechaun reminds me way to much of marshmallowy goodness and childhood. This guy reminded me more of this:

A little less "I'm going to give you a cavity," a little more "I'm going to watch you sleep tonight."

Add in his MC Hammer Pants and Flava Flav gold chain and I’m officially annoyed. Vanilla Ice had one hit and one hit ONLY for a reason.

On top of the ridiculous attire, this guys starts bobbing his head to his music (circa Eminem pre-rap battle in Eight Mile) and mouthing words so obnoxiously that I cannot help but watch and wonder.

I can only guess Vanilla Face is listening to:

A) Creed or

B) Nickelback

(I’m guessing Nickelback seeing as Creed has been kind enough to STFU for the last few years while Chad Kroger and his band mates who presumably live among his disgusting Canadian Jesus mullet can’t seem to stop churning out the audio vomit on a daily basis. But I digress…)

Either way, you FAIL, Slim Shady.

People of Mobile, Alabama, however, you WIN. I do believe I found your leprechaun.

Click Acorn...urgh...Leprechaun to Watch Video

Turns out it really was just a “crackhead dat got hold to da wrong stuff.”

Happy Railing (and Happy Thanksgiving,)

<3 lightrailgirl

There’s a million things for me to be thankful for today and everyday. I know I’m especially thankful for my parents, sister, boyfriend Scott and my numerous friends stateside and abroad, as well as the many people I’ve been able to re-connect with and get to know via Facebook and Twitter. The encouragement and support has been incredible, and I’m extremely grateful to have such awesome clients and a great circle of friends I consider my family! 

So to celebrate this wonderful day of thanks, I’ve been launching a very cool project that will go from now through March 31, 2010! Each time you book a family, child or couples session, $35 of each creative fee will go to the Children’s Therapy Center of the Quad Cities. The $35 is equivalent to one child receiving 15 minutes of therapy. This is part of a unique partnership I’ve had with this organization, which serves more than 100 children every year in providing speech, occupational, physical and feeding therapies for kids in Eastern Iowa and Western Illinois. 

Best of all, everyone who participates in this project – Celebrate Your Child 2010 Photo Charity – gets a complimentary 5×7 print and 10% off any large print (16×20 and larger). 

So start thinking ahead – Christmas, your birthday, family reunions, a new baby, Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day… Get a quality experience with images you’ll love for years and – at the same time – contribute to a worthy, top-notch organization that has been around in the community for more than 50 years! If you’ve always wanted custom lifestyle photography, this is THE perfect opportunity to do so. 

All you have to do is email me to schedule your session at shuva@accentphotographics.com, and I will provide you with more detailed information. Thanks and have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

So I figure it’s important to talk about one of the most universally celebrated holidays in America. If you’re Christian, you celebrate Christmas. If you’re Irish you celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day. If you’re a patriot you celebrate Veteran’s Day; and if you’re a liberal, Labor Day and Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.

But if you’re American you celebrate Thanksgiving. That includes immigrants to our country, legal and illegal both. What else were the original settlers, besides immigrants?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure that in this great panoply of ideas and opinions, this mixing bowl of faith and politics, some people don’t celebrate – if for no other reason than a lack of family to celebrate with.

But the vast majority, across lines of faith, politics, and personal philosophy, can come together over only one holiday in America, Thanksgiving. And that is why Thanksgiving is the best holiday of the lot.

But, my god, I can hear you say, how can you poor Americans spend an entire holiday on something so boring? I mean, what, people sat down and ate? That’s the reason for the holiday?

Yup.

And that’s also why it is made of win. Basically, Thanksgiving is so great precisely because it’s so bland. There’s nothing there, no message to interfere with gathering your friends and family around you,enjoying a big, happy meal, and giving out hugs/handshakes between dinner and dessert. It’s the last excuse extant for an extended family get-together that doesn’t have an aura of unpleasantness, either because Aunt Bob’s an atheist now and won’t come to Christma-Hanu-Kwanza-ka, or because Joe and Lenny can’t stop fighting whenever the political holidays come along.

(with any luck this is gonna post when it should, on Thanksgiving day. If it doesn’t, … well… there’s nothing I can do about it, sooo… ^^ )

HAPPY THANSKGIVING!!!

Montreal Transcript

19 March 1840

St Patrick’s Day

We gave in our last statement of the intended order or procession in which the Society proposed to move from Mr. McAuley’s Hotel, and we cannot be satisfied with simply stating that the processions took place, and with good effect.  We agree with our contemporary of the Messenger, that there is something in these annual festivals that come particularly home to the hearts and feelings of all who remember with affection their native land; and with hearts thus prepared and softened, it is no matter of surprise that the eloquent discourse of the Reverend Mr. Larkin made so deep an impression.  The first fruits of the attention which that Reverend gentleman comanded, were displayed in the collection so immediately raised, and which amounted to about 100 dollars.  The other good effects arising from the annual celebration of the festival were also conspicuously displayed.

To appreciate these we must follow the procession to the Nelson Hotel, where this numerous assemblage of the sons of Erin sat down to a sumptuous repast, and indulged in that social and unreserved intercourse, in which they so greatly and so properly delight.  Here was indeed a feast, for which, in its first and substantial form, they were indebted to the active and liberal exertions of Mr. McAuley; but here was also a feat of another and a higher order, the “feast of reason.”  Well has it been written “out of the fullness of the heart, the mouth speaketh.”  Every Irishman’s heart was full: and the consequences was several speeches, which by their nobleness of sentiment, expressed in-most eloquent language, reflect the greatest honor upon those who uttered them, and those who so cordially responded to their touching appeals.

It is impossible for us to be insensible to the extent of the power, and influence of the Irish portion of this community, or to the great card they have to play in swaying the future destinies of Canada; and it would be absurd to suppose that Irishmen are themselves unconscious of their position.  Giving them credit then for only common sense, and they are without boasting as shrewd a race of men as any in the wide world, an immense local importance attaches to the Saint Patrick’s Society- and it was truly edifying to perceive the LOYALTY, as well as the Union ad cordiality, which pervades Her Majesty’s Irish subjects in Canada.  If, as we have stated in the previous paragraph, there was a “feast of reason” – there was most assuredly, also “the flow of soul.”

The History of the Holiday

St. Patrick’s Day is celebrated on March 17, his religious feast day and the anniversary of his death in the fifth century. The Irish have observed this day as a religious holiday for over a thousand years.

On St. Patrick’s Day, which falls during the Christian season of Lent, Irish families would traditionally attend church in the morning and celebrate in the afternoon. Lenten prohibitions against the consumption of meat were waived and people would dance, drink, and feast—on the traditional meal of Irish bacon and cabbage.

The First Parade

The first St. Patrick’s Day parade took place not in Ireland, but in the United States. Irish soldiers serving in the English military marched through New York City on March 17, 1762. Along with their music, the parade helped the soldiers to reconnect with their Irish roots, as well as fellow Irishmen serving in the English army.

Over the next thirty-five years, Irish patriotism among American immigrants flourished, prompting the rise of so-called “Irish Aid” societies, like the Friendly Sons of Saint Patrick and the Hibernian Society. Each group would hold annual parades featuring bagpipes (which actually first became popular in the Scottish and British armies) and drums.

In 1848, several New York Irish aid societies decided to unite their parades to form one New York City St. Patrick’s Day Parade. Today, that parade is the world ’s oldest civilian parade and the largest in the United States, with over 150,000 participants.

Each year, nearly three million people line the one-and-a-half mile parade route to watch the procession, which takes more than five hours. Boston, Chicago, Philadelphia, and Savannah also celebrate the day with parades including between 10,000 to 20,000 participants.

No Irish Need Apply

Up until the mid-nineteenth century, most Irish immigrants in America were members of the Protestant middle class. When the Great Potato Famine hit Ireland in 1845, close to a million poor, uneducated, Catholic Irish began to pour into America to escape starvation. Despised for their religious beliefs and funny accents by the American Protestant majority, the immigrants had trouble finding even menial jobs. When Irish Americans in the country’s cities took to the streets on St. Patrick’s Day to celebrate their heritage, newspapers portrayed them in cartoons as drunk, violent monkeys.

However, the Irish soon began to realize that their great numbers endowed them with a political power that had yet to be exploited. They started to organize, and their voting block, known as the “green machine,” became an important swing vote for political hopefuls. Suddenly, annual St. Patrick’s Day parades became a show of strength for Irish Americans, as well as a must-attend event for a slew of political candidates. In 1948, President Truman attended New York City ’s St. Patrick’s Day parade, a proud moment for the many Irish whose ancestors had to fight stereotypes and racial prejudice to find acceptance in America.

Wearing of the Green Goes Global

Today, St. Patrick’s Day is celebrated by people of all backgrounds in the United States, Canada, and Australia. Although North America is home to the largest productions, St. Patrick’s Day has been celebrated in other locations far from Ireland, including Japan, Singapore, and Russia.

In modern-day Ireland, St. Patrick’s Day has traditionally been a religious occasion. In fact, up until the 1970s, Irish laws mandated that pubs be closed on March 17. Beginning in 1995, however, the Irish government began a national campaign to use St. Patrick’s Day as an opportunity to drive tourism and showcase Ireland to the rest of the world. Last year, close to one million people took part in Ireland ’s St. Patrick’s Festival in Dublin, a multi-day celebration featuring parades, concerts, outdoor theater productions, and fireworks shows.

The Chicago River

Chicago is also famous for a somewhat peculiar annual event: dyeing the Chicago River green. The tradition started in 1962, when city pollution-control workers used dyes to trace illegal sewage discharges and realized that the green dye might provide a unique way to celebrate the holiday. That year, they released 100 pounds of green vegetable dye into the river—enough to keep it green for a week!

Today, in order to minimize environmental damage, only forty pounds of dye are used, making the river green for only several hours. Although Chicago historians claim their city ’s idea for a river of green was original, some Savannah natives believe the idea originated in their town.

They point out that 1961, Savannah mayor Tom Woolley had plans for a green river, but due to rough water on March 17, the experiment didn ‘t work and Savannah never attempted to dye its river again.

Wednesday was Veterans Day, one of ten federal holidays.  Veterans Day has always been important to me.  Not so much because I am a veteran, but because of my father.  I can’t remember missing many phone calls to him on Veterans Day.  I have always been very proud of him and his service to our country.  I am proud of my service, my son’s service and the service of all of the men and women who have put themselves on the line for their country.  But I am particularly proud of my father.  I think he represented much of what serving your country is about, both in peace time and in times of war.  He served our country for over 45 years as both a soldier and a Department of Defense civilian.  A while back, I dedicated a post to him in the “Tao of John” my other blog.  I thought in honor of Veterans Day I would republish an excerpt from “The Parade”.

Colonel John J. Rice - Parade Ready

The year of the parade I think my father had just turned eighty years old.  He was going to be the Grand Marshall for the Manassas, Virginia St. Patrick’s Day parade.  Who better to serve in that role than a good Irishman and an old soldier like my father?

He was raised an Irish Catholic in a depression era New York City family, the son of a New York City fireman and a stern, disciplinarian mother.  He was a good athlete from his school days, as a football quarterback and track star at Fordham, and through most of his adult life for as long as he was able to play sports.  Although he had opportunities to play football and scholarships from a number of colleges, life would take him in another direction.  Family circumstances and the approach of World War II led him to a military career.

He served his country for over 33 years as a soldier, through three wars.  He went into France with the invasion force as part of the 101st Airborne and fought at Bastogne in the Battle of the Bulge, one of the toughest and most fabled battles of the war.  Later he would go to Korea to defend his country a second time.    

In addition to the Airborne wings he proudly wore, my father was decorated for valor and his service to our country over 20 times, including the Legion of Merit, Silver Star, Bronze Star, Army Commendation Medal, two Presidential Citations and the Purple Heart.  He entered the military as a private and rose to the rank of Colonel.  In 1978 he was inducted into the Army Engineer Hall of Fame. 

I wasn’t able to be there the day of the parade, but I spent a lot of time talking to my family and looking over the pictures of event.  It seemed to me to be a fitting cap on a long life of service to his country, to his family and to his friends.  It was obvious from both the pictures and the family stories that he enjoyed the attention he received that day and was pleased to be so honored, especially on St. Patrick’s Day.  It was one last time to put on his dress blue uniform, one last time to be a soldier for his country and one last time for his country to say thank you.

For Father’s day that year my wife and I put together a Father’s Day card including some family pictures and of course pictures from the parade and a poem.  This is the last stanza of that poem.

My Son Mike - Trustee of My Fathers Flag

So on this day that we save for our fathers

Remembering their lives and their deeds,

My father should know, in the parade that I march

He will always be riding the lead.

Side Bar

My father became a soldier in the days when young men wanted to be soldiers.  When I served my country that was not generally the case.  War is never a good thing and it can always be argued why and if we should ever be involved in any war.  Today young men and women have and continue to volunteer to serve and defend our country in the military.  We should never forget their sacrifice, their dedication to duty and the call they have answered to serve, and in some cases, sadly, die for their country.  It shouldn’t happen in this war or any war.  Next time you are traveling and see one of these soldiers in the airport, go and shake their hand and tell them you appreciate their service to our country.  I do it frequently and I am rewarded by their smiles and their appreciative comments for the thought.  You know, every soldier should have their own parade. I am glad my father had his.  

He would have one more parade at Arlington Cemetary in 2005.  Another fitting tribute to a soldier’s soldier.

But, you know there is more to be said…

We left flowers and gave a final toast to my father and the men of the 101st Airborne.

Over the past year I have had the opportunity to be reunited with the men of the “A” company of the 70^th Engineer Battalion (Combat) and with others who served during our time to be called to duty.  I didn’t have the honor to serve with all of them, and I haven’t had the chance to reconnect with all of the men I served with.  I hope I will over time.  Since being found and welcomed home by the men of “A” Company, I have revisited not only my memories of my service in Vietnam, but I have also refreshed my knowledge of that time in our country’s history as well as searched the web for research done about the war and the men and women who served there.  There are more than a few myths and many misconceptions about both the war and those who served in it. Perhaps at some point I will try to address some of them.  There is one thing I don’t need research to tell me.  Jose Narosky is quoted as saying “In war, there are no unwounded soldiers”.  I think there is no doubt to that.  All those who served then and who are serving now, gave and are giving the most important thing we as human beings have to give; themselves.  There is no greater gift.  I am proud to have been given the opportunity to serve my country, I am proud of those who served with me.  I am also proud of those whose sacrifice was to wait and keep the home fires burning, they also gave of themselves.  And you know, in case you are wondering, I would do it all again without hesitation.

Your comments are always welcome and your donations are always appreciated.

by John Gallagher

To the best of my knowledge my dear old Irish Dad never told a lie in his life.  However, he did employ wonderfully fractured truth, fancifully decorated in delightful deceit that profoundly transformed black into white and then Kelly green.  It was called blarney.

He explained it by saying blarney was originated by an angel named Sean to put God in a good mood after the Lord was angered by the transgressions of those two British people in the garden of Eden.

Himself filled me with wild stories from the time I was old enough to climb on his knee until I went off to college–where I found the profound conceit and stupidity that I was smarter and wiser than he.   After all, who could swallow his contention that it was an Irishman who invented the submarine, that more native-born Irishmen won the American Congressional medal of Honor than any other ethnic group, that St. Brenden the Navigator discovered the New World 287 years before Columbus, that the song “Dixie” –called the national anthem of the American South–was written by a native-born Irishman, that Irish Brigades fought for freedom in 13 other countries in addition to their own, and that the largest statue in Peru honors Irish legions who won freedom for the peasants.

Later in life I found out that these “stories” were indeed true, although his contention that the Irish discovered the wheel, atomic energy, the north pole, butter, nylon and Coca-Cola could not be verified.  In addition, his restructuring of history, I admit was, at best, faulty.  He claimed that Betsy Ross ran out of emerald cloth.  Otherwise the American Flag would have been red, white and green–which was more baloney than blarney.

But it wasn’t the tall tales that were short on facts that made the immigrant lad from County Leitrim a charming hero in his own house and community.  It was the truth he wove in the tapestry of his life, in parables uttered with a slight Irish brogue and, above all else, his gentle example every step of his life on his journey to God, a road less taken by those who followed him because it was often too difficult to follow, too easy to go with the flow, or easy to go along to get along in the society where morality is subjugated to monetary success.

If his love of the old sod was in his bones, American was in his heart, and St. Patrick’s Day was his Thanksgiving Day with an immigrant’s mindset and a Celt’s sense of appreciation.  America took him in, offered opportunity to prosper with hard work, provided the grass root chance to vote, protest, join a union, build a neighborhood, disagree with the establishment or media by writing a letter without fear, and be able to bond with those of other faiths and nationalities…even an Englishman if he choose–and he did.

Despite his passion for the freedom of all Ireland, to himself America, even when it was imperfect–more of a boiling pot than a melting pot–was the city On The Hill where his children and their children’s children might see and appreciate what was provided though they would never fully understand or recognize the sacrifices made for them.

He went to God 35 years ago.  The reason I never go to his grave is simply because he is not there.  But when I see an old man in the back pew of a darkened church working with the beads, he is there.  When I hear the distant rumble of a train, and see the face of an old locomotive engineer with a pipe decorating his face…it is he.  When there is the piercing shrill of pipes and the thunder of drums and the musical chant of “The Minstrel Boy” or “The Men of the West,” himself is alive and there is no reason to mourn.

To cherish the past and appreciate the present is the best bond of heritage.  There will be 132 parades in America honoring the Great Saint and the Irish, not merely the 11 in New Jersey and major urban areas, but also in places like Savannah, Georgia, Honolulu, Salt Lake City, Puerto Rico, and–God help us–Beverly Hills.  The grand old guy would smile in shy appreciation and a touch of amazement that other ethnic groups would share in celebration of a saint from a country so small it could fit in one county of Texas. 

Himself was something…and that’s no blarney.  He could not have cared less if your name ended in a ski, a vowel, or was prefaced by a Mc or an O’.  On this St. Patrick’s Day he would wish you this:

“May you  have the hindsight to know where you’ve been, the foresight to know where you’re going, and the insight to know when you’ve gone too far.”

From Himself and myself–Happy St. Patrick’s Day.

With a wow-a-palooza of new and restock product, including:

Cowboy Themed Products

Family Themed Products

St. Patrick’s Day Themed Products

When I was 22 years old I heard something that really resonated with who I am today.  “It’s tradition…And you don’t monkey with tradition!”  I won’t cite this reference because if you’re a fan of the popular late ’90s TV series you’re already laughing.  If it doesn’t click, that’s probably for the best.  But still, this is true.  You don’t monkey with tradition.

Even the smallest traditions I try to keep up today.  Greeting trick ‘r treaters.  One minute of silence.   And even sharing Valentines.  It’s tradition…and you don’t monkey with tradition! Holidays give you a reason to get off your keyster and keep something older than yourself or your family alive for another year.  These traditions are not only respected but are a terrific way to keep yourself happy.  Celebrating tradition can be life altering!  Think of a young nervous couple beneath the mistletoe.  It’s tradition…and you don’t monkey with tradition!

Another reason is that life is hard.  In the new technological world of deadlines and ungodly expectations we all could use something to celebrate from time to time.  Something older and bigger than ourselves.  Everyone should be celebrating the reasons we celebrate.  Even if that means grabbing a friend and some horror movies and curling up with some candy for a good scare on Halloween.

If you can’t think of one good reason to celebrate a holiday, you’re just not trying. If you sit in a cubicle, work a desk, work a computer, work a camera, work a hot dog stand, or any other type of work…then right there my friend, is reason to celebrate! It’s reason enough to pick up and holler WOOHOO to whatever holiday it is.  Life may not be as short as the quotes say, but it’s definitely not long enough to ignore a good rumpus.

So the next time a chance for you to celebrate rolls in, or a timely tradition marches on, grab a drink, make a toast and be with those you hold dear.  We need to celebrate the fact that there is a holiday happening, and it wants you to celebrate it!  When life asks you to dance, you don’t say no.

“Celebrate the happiness that friends are always giving, make every day a holiday and celebrate just living!”  Amanda Bradley

St. Patrick’s Day

Born and raised in New York, I’ve been privy to some pretty joyous celebrations. A city that never sleeps doesn’t mind closing down streets so that thousands of people can make merry.  New Yorkers don’t need much of a reason, and will honour holidays as popular as Thanksgiving and as obscure as the Greater New York Good Neighbour Parade.  Yet, there are some parades that seem to shake up the Big Apple by the sheer magnitude of people who attend.

This year’s St. Patrick’s Day parade in New York drew hundreds of thousands of merrymakers. This is how I remember the Big Apple during St. Patty’s. Day. People showed up for work wearing green no matter what cultural background they were from.  Employees of big firms would leave the warmth of their office buildings to hightail it down to St. Patrick’s Cathedral for a chat and some lunch with strangers.  There was food and merriment everywhere around the city.

So during my first year in London, as St. Patrick’s Day grew closer, I expected a celebration the likes of which Francis Scott Key himself would have had a loss for words.  Yet, when I first saw London’s version of St. Patrick’s Day, I thought that I had gotten the date wrong.   After all, isn’t Ireland right next door?  And aren’t more than 3 percent of 7.5 million Londoners of Irish descent, according to a 2001 census?

The celebration turned out to be a dismal disappointment.  If you were outside of the Trafalgar Square area, you probably would not have known that a celebration was taking place.   Strangely enough, London only officially began celebrating St. Patrick’s Day in 2002; another strange fact that I couldn’t get my head around.  Many of the people that I have met in London are from Ireland or have parents from Ireland.   Yet, the celebration here when compared to New York City is a small affair.  I actually became angry for Irish people everywhere.

This year, in Trafalgar Square and surrounding areas, about 30,00 people attended including Mayor Boris Johnson.  Yet, we are forced to wonder to what extent Johnson’s appearance was politically motivated.  He publicly dedicated the celebration to “peace” in order to honour a police constable and two fallen soldiers from Northern Ireland, who were killed in a bombing by the Continuity IRA.  This was after cutting £50,000 from the budget for the event.  In 2008, £150,000 was spent for St. Patrick’s Day when Ken Livingstone was in office.

While we can acknowledge the effort made by the city of London to honour Irish culture, many Irish people would agree that London could do much better.  They don’t seem to hesitate in celebrating all things British in their capital.  It is about time that the rest of the Londonites get their due.  Although, with personal bias, I can say that they will never party as lively as they do in New York City.

OM NOM NOM NOM

I shot this with a Canon 35mm that I got at a thrift store, used black and white film. Scanned then shopped to improve contrast.

Drink Up 2.0 just came out today! Drink Up is an iPhone drinking game with an Irish theme.  Originally I put it out right before St. Patrick’s Day to help people get into the spirit, but apparently drinking games are always in season.  This one is fun.  It’s like playing hot-potato with your phone.  You pass the phone as music plays, but when the music stops and the phone buzzes, whoever is holding the phone needs to complete a challenge.  The game shows a new challenge for each round until it goes through them all, then it mixes them up and goes through them again.

Drink Up 2.0 is much improved, since now you can edit the list of challenges.  The app originally was rejected because of “objectionable content” so we had to make the challenge list a bit more pg-13.  We fixed that by allowing you to remove challenges and add your own.  You can always reset to the defaults too.

Other updates are that it doesn’t take as long to buzz now.  We got feedback that people wanted to drink more, so there’s a shorter time between challenges, and we also edited the default list so that it has more “social” type challenges when multiple people have to drink.

We hope you like it!  Get it here:  itms://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewSoftware?id=306936069&mt=8&s=143441

You can also find it by searching for “drink up” or “kandyapps” in the App Store.

(There’s a “lite” version too for free if you want to try it out first – Drink Up Lite.)

And now, more of the Okay-For-Children, but Not-Safe-For-Teetotalers:

Big Rob had disappeared with the half crocked college lass he was slapping the charm on, and Zeenat got swept into the throng dancing in front of the stage, where Kartoom was currently beating a bloody path through “Yummy Yummy Yummy (I’ve Got Love in My Tummy).”  Doddy and Cherish were attempting to hoist Ashley over the heads of those jammed together blocking the bar, while Sarah and myself were still trying to shove JD through to the booze.  It was a slow moving, messy process, and I was going half out of my mind with thirst.

        People continued to stream in by the dozens, and soon lifting your bottle to your mouth would likely cause you to elbow someone in the face, back, or abdomen, were they very tall.  Despite smoking being temporarily banned in Scranton bars through the efforts of a bunch of douche high schoolers, a cloud of it still hung in the room and fogged the already dim, murky atmosphere.  Green fuzzy hats were tossed randomly in the air, and the Quiet Man Society attempted to sing “The Wild Colonial Boy” over Kartoom’s spirited dismantling of Toto’s “Africa.”  They too were marching later (The Quiet Man Society, not Toto) and had apparently decided to tie one on before the long trek of the parade route.

        Over the bar I spotted Ashley crowd surfing, Doddy and Cherish having lost their grip on her, and they all looked mighty parched.  I managed to fight my way forward and ordered a sextet of beers when the bartender came to me, and I promptly gathered the bottles up. 

        This ordeal being what it was, it was twenty after nine when I reached Sarah, leaning against a pole, exhausted.  JD was still fighting the good fight, but really wasn’t making any headway.  I had managed to get two of the seven beers back with me, the others stolen, dropped, flung, traded for beads, or dumped on the way.  We clinked them quickly and drank before anyone from our group spotted us.  That first beer of the day is always the best, isn’t it?  Even if it is 9:20 in the morning and everyone you’re with has a three hour head start. 

        My phone rang, but I didn’t hear it.  We were searching frantically for our group, which had spread throughout the joint.  I would randomly spot one of our group’s t-shirts, or see Ashley bob up in the crowd, as she continued getting tossed around like a buoy, but besides the girlfriend the only person I still had in view consistently was JD, still three feet from the bar, shouting violently for booze like he was on the floor of the stock market.

        I checked my phone for the time and saw the missed call.  Angie.  I felt bad, but knew even if I had answered I wouldn’t have been able to hear her.  I just hoped she’d find us, but didn’t know how the hell that would happen.  It was around now that I figured our time to leave was at hand.  This Tink’s was turning out to be colossal bullshit on all counts.  I shouted this into Sarah’s ear, but she only looked at me doubtfully, and gestured around, as though asking, with this one brief gesture:

“How do you figure we are going to get our friends together and get out of here?  Do you see them anywhere?  I sure don’t.  Ashley is still rising and falling like the tide, and I haven’t seen Zeenat since we came in.  JD’s thirsty and Big Rob might be dead!  How are we going to get back together and leave?  You’re an idiot.” 

       All in that gesture, swear to God.

        I waved away her lengthy concerns and gestured wildly until I got JD’s attention.  With that classic non-verbal shorthand, I pointed at the girlfriend, then to myself, and thumbed at the door.  He nodded, pointed to the bar (clearly indicated he was going to try and get a drink first), and then made a helicopter motion over his head.  This plainly stated that he would spread the word to our group that it was go time when he saw them.  I gave him a thumbs up, he returned it, and that was that.

       The girlfriend again gave me a look, which stated in general terms:

 ”Oh yeah?  You think that’ll work?  That’s ridiculous.  He won’t find everyone and we’ll be stuck on the sidewalk in front of this goddamn nightmare all day!  I think we should just pull the fire alarm.” 

I motioned to Sarah to take it easy, and she motioned back something along the lines of what very vulgar thing I should do to myself in the meantime.

       Sarah and I went outside and figured we’d wait for the group there.  I killed time asking everyone in line if they were or knew Tom Pagano, and Sarah tried to get drinks passed to her from inside the bar.  Neither of us was successful.

Finally!  Tink’s just might be receding in the rearview mirror!  Will all of our motley party regroup on the sidewalk?  Will Angie ever join up with the merry band of revelers and get a little toasted?  What are the odds of Tom Pagano turning up this fine Parade Day?  Only a breathalyzer can ignite the next account of Scranton and Parade Day, likely entitled, Forget Thy Father and Refuse Thy Smirnoff!

So it’s October, and logically, the time for a celebration of Oktoberfest. In my area the best celebrations happen in Kitchener-Waterloo, where the sausages sizzle and the beer flows like, well, beer. I was thinking about it this morning, what a great way to celebrate fall, getting drunk and eating sausages.

And then another thought came into my head, unbidden, as they usually do.

“But what about the Gays? Where do they celebrate Oktoberfest?”

You see, one thing I’ve noticed is that whenever there is a cultural gathering the Gay Contingent (for the sake of brevity I’ll call them the GC from now on) generally try to have a little section of the parade / festival / event / rodeo–whatever, dedicated to them.

I first saw this at a St. Patrick’s Day parade a few years ago. It wasn’t enough to be Irish, but the GC wanted a Queer Irish marching group (“We’re here! We’re Queer! We’re Irish”). I was a little puzzled, becaue the other groups weren’t promoting their sexual orientation while marching, they were promoting their Irishness.

The same kind of thing happened at Caribana this year, when the GC felt that too much attention was being given to the heteros via the graphic depictions of sexual activity exhibited during the parade dances. They did actually want more gay representation. So apparently it wasn’t a festival about being black, or Caribean, or just having fun, it too was about sexual orientation.

I wonder if, at the Pride parade, there was also infighting over whose float exhibited the most “Gay-ness”. Could it be that the lesbians weren’t being gay enough, because they were more like butch lumberjacks? “How can they be gay when they like girls?” is a question I’m sure was pondered in many a secluded drinking hole. I’m sure I’m mistaken in this last supposition, as among themselves, even the GC couldn’t stoop to saying things like “I’m gayer than you are!”

But then why, to return to my original question, had there been no brou-ha-ha over gay recognition at Oktoberfest?

Why had there been no lisping radio interview saying, “Ve are proud to be German Gays, and ve deserve to enjoy the sausage also.”

And then it hit me–Large drunk men in leather booty-shorts with feathered hats, slapping themselves on their legs which were sheathed in long white socks! That is Oktoberfest! The GC could never hope to upstage that! How could they possibly show up there and demand that the organizers provide them a soap box when–well, it would make no difference!

Prosit!!

(And before anyone starts sending me hatemail about being homophobic or German-phobic or any other phobic, don’t bother. My mind goes where it will and sometimes it spills out here in what may possibly be a vain attempt at humour. If you were offended, you probably should have stopped reading after the third paragraph.)

The first time I met Micky was on St. Patrick’s day.  I had been introduced to him very briefly a few days or maybe a week earlier at my friend James’ house. I can not remember exactly since I had been drinking heavily for a little over three weeks, but James was trustworthy and I wanted something to boost my booze and weed endurance for St. Patty’s. Micky was an Irish boy about my age. He was taller than me, gauged holes in his ears, riding a long-board down the street toward me with a 45mm film canister containing around ten Adderall pills. He held the canister straight out in front like a relay runner would. The memory of my my JV track coach calling out “Hand off! HAND OFF!” bounced around my head for a split second before I put my hand out to grab the canister. The hand off was successful and fluid, and he rode down the street a little ways longer before coming back for his money.  We had a generalized conversation for a minute or two. “Hey what’s up?” and “…oh yeah, I was at that party, you were shit-faced”. He bounced around like a five year old the entire time wearing a big jolly smile. I figured it was the sped-up effect of the drug but come to find out he was like this the majority of the time. He really had ADHD and he was selling his meds to make a quick buck.  He was not abusing his pharmaceuticals but he was dabbling in other substances of which I am not quite sure and have never asked about. I assume harder uppers and downers.

St. Patrick’s Day proved to be interesting. Blowing Aderall and drinking large amounts of beer all night. I was sharing the last of the pills with a high school buddy in the bathroom of a bar. We crushed up the last of the tiny pink pills and inhaled them. As soon as we finished two undercover investigators stormed through the door and put us against the wall. They shook us down entirely. They made us turn out our pockets, take off our coats, and thumbed through our wallets. They seemed too anxious. Like they thought that they were bringing down the biggest drug dealers in town. All they found was a capsule in the sink and a dollar rolled up on the piss soaked floor. They asked about them and sure we lied. They had no proof that we were the owners of such items, especially on St. Patrick’s Day in a packed dive bar in a college town.

Fun Trivia:

• Ireland:

“Bram Stoker was working as a civil servant in Dublin when he wrote ‘Dracula’ in 1897. The main character was based on an old pub lout named Drac O’La who was notorious for sneaking around the room sipping peoples’ beers when they weren’t looking.”

“Ballygally Castle in County Antrim, is allegedly one of the most haunted places in the country. Lady Isobel Shaw, whose husband built the castle in 1625, reportedly did not pay off her student loans, and the castle still receives mysterious harrassing phone calls to this day.”

“It was once popular in Ireland to pin sprigs of shamrocks on your coat on Saint Patrick’s Day in remembrance of his using shamrock leaves to illustrate the idea of the holy trinity. At the end of the day, one would ‘drown the shamrock’ by putting a few shamrocks into a glass and covering them with whiskey. Thus the saying ‘In Ireland, EVERY day is St. Patrick’s Day!’.”

“The national symbol of Ireland is the Celtic harp, not the shamrock. The harp is less popular, though, because it’s hard to find a glass big enough to drown one in.”

“Unlike the Scottish bagpipes, the Irish uilleann pipes do not have a pipe going directly to the mouth. However, there IS usually a straw going directly to a pint of Guinness, so sometimes it can be hard to tell.”

“An odd Irish birthday tradition is to lift the birthday child upside down and give his head a few gentle bumps on the floor for good luck. The number of bumps should allegedly correspond to the child’s age plus one. For adults, the bumps are replaced with whiskey shots and fistfights.”

“The original Guinness Brewery in Dublin has a 9,000 year lease on its property. Legend has it that when the lease expires, God will descend from heaven to punish the wicked of Ireland with eternal sobriety.” It’s humor. Yes, I know drunkenness is a sin.

“One of the most popular radio shows in rural Ireland is still the weekly broadcast of local obituaries, since people with thundering hangovers keep hoping to hear their names.”

• Q & A:

“When blaming Bush for the country’s problems no longer works, who will Obama blame next?”

Highlight to view: “The Jews.“

“On land, the number one risk of mauling comes from pit bulls. What’s the number one risk of mauling at sea?”

Highlight to view: “Pit bulls riding dolphins.“

“When Obama closes Gitmo, what does he plan to do with all the terrorists there?”

Highlight to view: “Make them respected professors in Chicago.“

“Koalas only eat eucalyptus leaves. If they can’t find any eucalyptus leaves, what do they eat?”

Highlight to view: “People’s faces.“

“Koalas only eat eucalyptus leaves. If they can’t find any eucalyptus leaves, what do they eat?”

Highlight to view: “Nothing. I just said that they only eat eucalyptus leaves. Stupid.“

• Horrible Pun:

“What do you call a portable version of Osama bin Laden’s hiding place?”

Highlight to view: “Pocket-stan.“

Heat, storms, plenty of wildlife and a really cool, small American city with a British feel. They love St Patrick’s day here, we saw a clock  counting down til the next one: random! Apparently they put green dye in all the fountains and the city goes nuts, wasn’t really expecting that sort of thing from a southern state. Plenty of characters here, Savannah is known for its quirky inhabitants; they fill up the gorgeous leafy squares, of which there are twenty one, giving the downtown area a unique, quaint, park type feel. We really enjoyed our time here; it was Shannons birthday so we partied! It is legal in Savannah to drink alcohol on the streets if it is in a plastic cup, which means you can take drinks from bar to bar. This equals messy times for sure.

The tent Shannon’s Mum bought us held up really well during the biggest thunderstorm I have ever seen, I didn’t think it was possible that so much water could come down from the sky. Then ten minutes later, glorious sunshine and back up to thirty five degrees again; see the bottom photo for the water evaporating after the storm.