![Farewell Pillsbury… Part 2: Just Kidding. (Insert embarrassed smile here!)]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 29, 2010 | Confessed Confidentially, I Think There's a Point, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
Well bugger… again… Soooo you know when lose something. There is a standard process that you experience. I think it’s the 7 or 8 steps for handling loss. Yes, 7 or 8, the eighth step may or may not happen. It’s always a toss up really. It just turns out that in my case, this time, I did get to experience all 8 steps.
The process breaks down as such:
- Vague unsettling: This feeling is initial feeling that something isn’t quite right, but you can’t exactly put your finger on what it is.
- Subtle realization: This step is when you begin realizing that what something you had seen a few days ago might not be where you thought it was.
- Specific local searching: This step is when you perform a very thorough search in the area you last thought you saw the missing item.
- Panicked searching: This step involves rampant random searching where you stop looking where you know the missing item was a day or so ago and begin searching in irrational and random locations. Locations like under the car seat, then in the bathroom, then under your bed, and then in your freezer. And between each new odd search spot you go back to the original location you remember the item being and search that entire room again, you know, just in case. My “just in case” rationale was that my notebook entered a time warp and if I kept going back at random intervals it might suddenly reappear.
- Grumpy pouting: This is when you realize what losing the item means to you, both emotionally and, in my case, literaturally. Long fits of profanity, both loud and whispered are commonly associated with this step.
- Slow paced random searching: This is after the panic passes and then for the next day or so you still randomly look around and keep your eyes open for the missing item, but it’s not going to disrupt your day or cause you to miss sitting down and enjoying an episode of The Big Bang Theory or The IT Crowd. Note: The time warp ideology still applies so you do still continue to look where you last saw in it, you know… just in case.
- Acceptance: This is the step where you blog to everyone that you lost your notebook, but it’s ok because such is life and on a groovy note, you get to go shopping for a new notebook.
And then in my case (yes, you nailed it Cathy) there is the one more step:
- I call it the “What the… SonofaBi… YEAH! Hehe, opps… Just kidding everyone.” step.
It was in my backpack the whole time! And I looked there at least five… teen times. You know that Pac-man book hiding fluke that happens to humans all over the world on a regular basis so it’s really not that much of a fluke, but we all call it a fluke anyway? Yeah, that’s what happened. I have a green notebook in backpack that is slightly larger than the Pillsbury Doughboy notebook. Well, the Pillsbury notebook got flipped around and ended up sliding up into the green notebook. So every time I looked in the backpack I could only see the green notebook. I never pulled the green notebook out of my backpack, but this was because there was not second notebook to be seen on either side of it.
Yeah, so opps. I guess I could feel a little silly for dedicating Friday’s post to the loss of my little notebook, but I really see no point. It just makes me laugh more than anything. Besides I take comfort knowing that it’s something that everyone has done. It’s one of those random common experiences that bring us together as a species that no one really thinks about as an experience that brings us all together. Or to put it a little more plainly it’s one of those, “Hey look! I’m just like you.” experiences.
So thanks for the support you gave when I had lost my notebook forever. And thanks for laughing at… I mean with me now that it has been returned. (I’m still not ruling out that some random time warp had something to do with it though.)
Any of you care to share your “It’s lost forever… opps… found it!” story?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: lost and found.
![Farewell Pillsbury… Part 2: Just Kidding. (Insert embarrassed smile here!)]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 25, 2010 | Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement, Reviewed and Recommended
Yes ninjafying, it is the ancient email etiquette art of making the email addresses disappear from an email you forward to a pack, group, clan, horde, legion, or nation of people. There is a plague that is sweeping the internet. It has been around as long as there has been a Forward option in your email. You know how it is, you are sitting at your computer minding your own business, checking movies times, reading blogs, or ordering something from Amazon, eBay, TigerDirect, NewEgg… shopping in general and you decide to check your email. As you open your in box you see the name of that one friend that 19 times out of 20 has sent you something with FW: in the subject line.
The FW: prefix is an amazing thing. It automatically identifies the email as something meant to be funny, or chain letteresque, or some type of political propaganda, or faith promoting story… in short something that someone liked enough to send on to you. More importantly though, FW: is an identifier for an email that can more often than not be deleted without you having to even look at.
I have two friends (yes, Ryan and Kelly I am talking about you) that I adore who are my FW: email culprits. I think everyone who has an email account has at least one of these friends. Fortunately for me, these friends send predominantly funnies. 
Things that have made them laugh that they want to share with me. So I always opt out of the insta-delete and will open up the email to take a look. Sometimes it’s brilliant and gets me laughing. Other times… well, its attempt at humor is remnant of Eddie Murphy. He might have been funny twenty years ago, but he’s sure not funny now, although for the record that song he did with Michael Jackson will never stop being funny, especially because it was never meant to be.
So for the FW: emails I don’t enjoy, off to the virtual trash can they go. It’s not that I want these friends to stop sending me things that make them smile and laugh. I always appreciate that they want to share these things with me. No, the problem I have and the plague I am talking about the lack of people using the BCC function when forwarding these mass forwarded emails. To be fair though, they probably don’t even know about this function and what it does. I know I didn’t until about a year ago.
The thing that always makes me cringe, whether the FW: email is funny or not, is the endless access to all the random email addresses that appear in the FW: email, and knowing that my email address is now part of this parade of a potential fountain of virtual spam. Think I’m kidding? Look at the last FW: (or Fwd:) email you received and count all the email addresses that are present. In the last one I received there were 78 total email addresses. That means there are 76 strangers (excluding myself and the friend that sent the email) email address I now have access to. Plus, if it keeps getting passed to others that means that there are now 100’s of strangers out there that now have access to my email address. And all it takes is one of them to be the type of person that would give all those address to some spam site for some cash and… well yeah, that’s all it takes.
All of a sudden I’m getting 30 to 100 spam emails every day for things like Meds from Canada, Credit Card Applications, All natural male enhancement free trials, going back to school, buying a new car, spam, spam, spam, spam… and I don’t mean that in a Monty Python kind of way. I know this might seem a little odd coming from someone what has his email address displayed on his blog so that everyone on the internet who wants it can find it, but I also know there are a number of reader, friends, and family who don’t want 100s or even 1000s of strangers having access to their email.
This is an easy fix, people just need to be made aware of it. So today’s blog is a public service announcement. Please send this all of your FW: email friends. Hell, just cut and paste this next little bit if you don’t want to send the whole thing, I don’t care. We need to let the people that are doing all of the forwarding to know about this. The key is that we learn and practice a little email etiquette, with the hope that is will help cut down some of the spam that attacks us on a regular basis.
If you get a FW: email and you enjoy it enough to forward it to others please follow these simple steps after you click on the Forward button, link, option, etc:
- Delete all of the emails displayed in main body of the email.
- Click on the Show Cc & Bcc link if the Bcc field is not already available to you.
- Enter all the email address you want to forward the email to in the Bcc field.
- Click on the Send button, link, option, etc.
Bcc stands for Blind Carbon Copy and what this means is that no one’s email address will appear in the email, except for the sender (you) and the person opening the email. It’s a brilliant little feature. If you forward the email to twenty different friends, each one of them will get the email and will only see your and their email address.
I know, today’s Smirk is not so much Smirkful as it is useful. It’s a good thing to know though, and it’s the polite way to forward an email to more than one person. It looks better and it adds a personal touch, because it looks like you sent the email just to them instead of them and 50 other people.
What are your thoughts?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: Bcc, spam email, email etiquette, and Whatzupwitu.
![Farewell Pillsbury… Part 2: Just Kidding. (Insert embarrassed smile here!)]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 24, 2010 | Confessed Confidentially, I Think There's a Point, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, When I Was a Kid
There are a few things that I have been quite good at most of my life. Not necessarily due to practice, but due to the exact opposite of that. Being pasty and on the verge of bio-luminescence when the lights go down due to my lack of exposure with the sun on a regular basis is one of those things I have excelled at most my life. It’s true I usually had to put on sunglasses just to take a shower. Ok not really, but I did think about it once or twice.
While growing up in rural Wyoming, which for the record is the only type of Wyoming there is, there were a number of peers of the farming persuasion who, much like the people of San Francisco, would be outside without their shirts on catching some rays at the first sign of any actually sunshine. It’s true. I spend a summer in San Francisco and the second the sun comes out, people start appearing all over outside. They are in swimming suits laying down on any open spot of grass they can find, catching some sunshine and working on their laptops. This usually lasts about 10 to 30 minutes tops and then as the sun ducks behind the local clouds everyone puts their cloths back on and go back inside to their desks. You do get use to this, but the first time you experience this phenomenon, it does give the first time viewer a “what the f…unny randomness just happened” moment of contemplation.
All that being said I’ve never been big of my inclusion of the “run around shirtless” genre of social activities. When the sun is involved my shirtless activity has almost always resulted in me becoming the same hue of a thirteen year old boy on his first date who has just accidentally farted loudly sitting next to his date while sneezing softly into a napkin. That is a very special kind of red that take years to recover from, and I believe requires you to never see that date ever again. The sun has a way of ensuring my skin remains that color for a pain filled week or two.
With that, let’s jump back a few years. In 7th grade, I did what your average 7th grade boy does when the opportunity arises. I tried out for sports. My father had been a basketball hero when he was a lad and at 13 there is a desired emulation that often happens where you think that if you should try doing what your father did then he was your age. The desired outcome consisted of him being proud of you and you being proud that he was proud. So I tried out for the team. It was open to anyone that wanted to give it a go, and a go I gave.
Tryouts consisted of played a few rounds of basketball while the coach watched you play. After watching you play for a total of maybe 10 minutes, the coach would tell you to get off the court so someone else could give trying out a go. At the end of the day, before you would rush to catch the bus home, you would check the roster to see if you had made the team. Yeah, I never made the team, but there were a few reasons for this.
Reason 1
Difficulty concentrating on the game. I think I would have been a little more clearheaded had I not been on the team required to be “skins.” Instead of giving us different colored tops we could put on over your shirts we would play shirts vs. skins, or shirtless, or half nude… awkwardly breezy comes to mind as well. Being on the skin team meant that I was you run up and down a basketball court half naked. The uncomfortable awkwardness came from knowing that the cute girls I fancied were in the bleachers watching all of the boys trying out for the team.
This translated to the cute girls looking at my goofy assed clumsy 13 year old body. I felt like a piece of meat on parade. But I wasn’t a piece of prime rib, or t-bone, or Alaskan Salmon, or even a marinated chicken breast. No, I felt like a slice of that prepackaged bologna with those weird different colored specks of gum drops, or whatever the hell those things were. Ok so it was sliced pickle and pimento loaf, but as a kid, it was gummy bear bologna and it was creepy. I mean sure, it was always fascinating to look at for about 10 seconds. Then it’s eeriness becomes too much and you leave it there in the cooler, scaring small children that wanted regular bologna and ended up grabbing the gummy bologna instead by accident.
This meant that I spent most of the 10 minutes trying to hide my half nakedness behind the other kids. This failed for a few reasons, but mainly because I was the tallest kid on the court and I was about the same color as the florescent lights in the ceiling.
Reason 2
I suppose the main and most obvious reason was that I just wasn’t any good at the game. I mean I wanted to be. But when it take four tries for you to make a basked while standing right next to it and you keep getting your own rebounds because you are taller than the others around you, it’s a little obvious where your skill level lies. I did enjoyed playing the game outside with my friends for the three months out of the year that it was warm enough to play basketball outside. Although this consisted mostly of playing HORSE or PIG, or other games that required us to be polite and take turns and not get in each other’s face. When it came to skill in the game, I was about as useful as mop at a sneezing competition… actually that would be quite useful. No, how about a mop IN a sneezing competition. Yeah, that analogy works much better.
Reason 3
There was something else that happened during those 10 minutes of play. It was the realization that I didn’t want to play basketball. There is something so incredibly dreary about the sportsmanship you experience on the court, field, ice, or whatever. There are some people that are amazing sportsmanshipy kinds of sportsmen. Win or lose they are about the game first and foremost. If they win, grand. If they don’t, at least it was a good game. My experience is that this is a rare breed of sportsmen, women… people. In my tiny experience in playing sports and watching sports, what I noticed about sportsmanship is that is that 9 times out of 10 there isn’t much, if any.
People turn into mean angry frumpy little bitches… and I was no different. I didn’t like getting angry at people for stealing the ball away from me, or for blocking my shot. Nor did I enjoy having people get angry at me when I did the same thing to them. I didn’t agree with the coach congratulating me with a “good foul” cheer when I’d do something to negatively affect another player. At 13 I saw sports responsible for causing more damage than good. So, I banned me from them. I think I tried again in 8th grade just to make sure. Turns out I was sure, and I haven’t looked back since.
I’ve have dabbled a bit here and there over the years. I played soccer for two summers and I played late night volley ball on tennis courts. I also became mildly competent at pool my first year in college and could endure a volley or two of ping pong with someone who actually played ping pong. I even got an A in my bowling class. If you do love sports, well done! I say go with it, enjoy it as much as you can as long and you can. I’ll even politely listen while you talk about it. Just know that I couldn’t care less. As for me, all in all I’m Zen sporting reject. I reject them and they reject me, and ever since we came to that understanding, we’ve gotten along just great.
What are your sporting stories?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: pasty white guy, youth basketball, pickle and pimento loaf, and poor sportsmanship.
![Farewell Pillsbury… Part 2: Just Kidding. (Insert embarrassed smile here!)]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 23, 2010 | I Think There's a Point, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Something I Know Nothing About, When I Was a Kid, Working Observations
I want to start off by saying I do not like scary movies. Suspense films? Sure, I can do those. What I am referring to are films of the horror genre, namely the slasher, serial killer, psychopath, lots of blood and gore type of films. For the record, there has been the occasional film that gets me to invite them over for a sit down and while we spend 90 to 120 minutes together. You know, things like Shaun of the Dead, Zombieland, The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra, and, um… Ghost I guess.
When I was young I remember trying to watch the classics like Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween, and the camp site one… oh yeah, Friday the 13th. The problem was I just couldn’t get into them. It was even a scary movie that gave me had my first nightmare. Granted, I was 7 and the film was Abbott and Costello meet Frankenstein. The wolf man in the film scared the hell out of me. In my dream the wolf man kept trying to catch my mom and eat her. I woke up in tears and ran to my parent’s room to make sure she was in bed and ok. Just to be on the safe side I even spent the rest of the night in bed with my folks… damn you Abbot and Costello and your evil wolf man.
I did make ample my efforts in my teens and early twenties to watch and enjoy horror films. I got the watch part down, but I never got to the enjoy part. It just wasn’t a good fit. So I stopped trying to get to the enjoyment phase of the films and moved on the films I would enjoy. I still have a number of friends and a lot of co-workers that are have much love, devotion, and adoration to the genre that is the horror film. I have one friend that is so dedicated to the cause that almost his tattoo collection consists of creatures from the horror film genus.
He loves the gore and goo and splatter of red paint being thrown against walls. He also has an ever growing list of the best horror movie kills. I know one of his top ten kills was is from the 2005 release of House of Wax. It has two levels of satisfaction for him. The first was the simple gore factor involved in how the person was inhumed in the film. The second part of his appreciation comes from the fact that it was Paris Hilton who was the one meeting her demise.
I was originally not aware of this, but after hours of horror movie conversation I’ve learned that there are actually a number of factors involved for the horror minded to enjoy a horror film. Here is what I have picked up so far:
- Rule 1. The film must be rated R. This reassures the fan that the film maker was willing to cater to the classic staples that make a horror flick a horror flick. This equates to graphic deaths scenes, lots of blood, and ample and consistent use of colorful metaphors, i.e. profanity, oh and a scene or two of your standard 10 to 21 year old nakedness.
- Rule 2. The film must cater to the classic staples that make a horror flick a horror flick, namely graphic deaths, lots of blood, and ample and consistent use of colorful metaphors, and a scene or two of nakedness. I know this may seem a bit redundant, but for the record we are talking about horror films here and if there is one thing you can count on when it comes to horror films its redundancy. Think I’m kidding? Well then answer me this one little trivia question… How many Friday the 13th films are there? I don’t know either, but I imagine it’s somewhere in the 20s, with plans to make more.
- Side note: Interestingly enough to the devout horror fan the “lots of blood” factor only seems to add to the comedy level of these types of film. It was explained to me that, “A lot of blood makes it funny because it’s so obvious that it’s fake. For myself, a lot of blood only grosses me out and wants to make me close my eyes.
- Rule 3. The killer needs to be masked or have a deformed or scarred face… or both. I think this has to do with the “what does this crazy person look like” factor that keeps the viewer entranced throughout the film in hopes that the killer loses their mask at some point and you get a view of the crazy hiding behind the mask.
With all of that now explained, you can begin to understand my befuddlement when I walked into my office one morning to find my co-worker and office mate a touch grumbled because of a horror movie he had watched that weekend. The first thing he told me is that he had watched one of the scariest movies he’d seen in some time. 
Not sure what to do with the sudden lull in conversation I congratulated him. It seemed like the proper response to someone who was such an advocate of horror. I figure if someone that dedicated to watching scary movies can find something that scares them that would be a bit like that Charlie giving the everlasting gobstopper back to Willy Wonka, or Picasso painting something that wasn’t blue.
According to my own imagination, Picasso’s blue phase was a result of purchasing a year’s supply of paint from eBay and didn’t read closely enough to realize that the supply of paint only consisted of blue and white paint. This realization put Picasso into a deep depression, which he did paint his way though. Still, it wasn’t until he actually sold a blue painting that he was able to finally purchase a different colored paint and bring a little color and joy into his life. Yeah, I know. I really should have become an art history professor.
As it turned out my friend was bothered because the movie which had sucked him in and freaked him out was rated PG-13. To the devote horror fan a PG-13 horror movie is actually cinema blasphemy. The only feeling I can think of that would compare to this is that moment when you realize that all of your fame and hit songs as a recording artist are a result of 10 to 13 year old girls being in love with you. And in another year or two they will be burning everything they own that has your picture on it because of the immense embarrassment they will suffer at the realization that they were so into you. That’s right New Kids on the Block, I’m talking to you. You might want to call Miley Cyrus and tell her what to expect.
Yeah it was weird. For something so trivial it was kind of a big deal to the lad. He even admitted that had they changed nothing about the film and just given it an R rating he would have felt much better about the whole thing. The movie was 1408, and in a sentence, the film about a writer staying in an evil hotel room for the night. That’s really all I can give you about the film. Have I seen it? No. Will I? No. Do I recommend it to others? No idea. Does it have John Cusack in it? Yes, so that’s cool. And a bonus for all you Cusack fans… that like scary movies. I only bring it up because I did find it rather amusing that my friend, who is a horror movie aficionado and a zombie movie connoisseur, would be bother by being scared by a PG-13 movie. I tried to help by telling him if he really wanted a scary movie, try watching any of those Land Before Time cartoons. G rating aside, they are horrific.
I did offer to buy my friend a beer in hopes that it would help him feel better. It seemed to work. He had a Homer moment where he started smiling and then under his breath said, “Mmmmmm… beer.” It’s nice to have friends that are easy to shop for and who are always willing to improve their mood at the prospect of a free beer. And from what I’ve heard, beer makes almost every movie better.
Any thoughts on today’s Smirkiness?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: watching horror movies, Abbott and Costello meet Frankenstein, rated r, Willy Wonka, and beer.
![Farewell Pillsbury… Part 2: Just Kidding. (Insert embarrassed smile here!)]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 20, 2010 | I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, Nearly News, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement
One thing about the news and its loss of ethics and inability to report any actual news is that you occasionally get a story that puts the fu back in funny… no, that’s not right. It puts the ew back in news… no, that’s not it either. Regardless of whatever gets put wherever, there are some headlines that just put a smile on your face. Case and point:
Christians Urged to Boycott Glenn Beck
Now for those of you who may not know, Glenn Beck is a pundit, which one would hope means someone who is good at puns. Turns out it just mean he’s a news opinionist, or simply put, he’s someone who attempts to pass off personal opinion as solid news facts. It’s amazing how misguided people can become when they rely on something they randomly hear and fail to do any personal research of their own to verify or dismiss something as news or fact.
According to the article Glenn told Christians to leave their churches if they heard any preaching about social or economic justice because, he claimed, those were slogans affiliated with Nazism and Communism.
The article goes on to explain that Glenn is a convert to the LDS faith (a Mormon) and that, “Even Mormon scholars in Mr. Beck’s own church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, said in interviews that Mr. Beck seemed ignorant of just how central social justice teaching was to Mormonism.”
First off, this is not a jab at anyone’s faith or religion. No, this is a jab at a stupid man that apparently has no idea about some of the key teachings of his faith and religion. At least that’s my opinion on the matter. Now I’ll admit I’m not a fan of Glenn. He is the Snidely Whiplash to my Dudley Do-Right, the Audrey II to my Seymour, or the Smokey to my Bandit. And I admit that I do get a little smile on my face when I see a man like Glenn open his mouth and insert his fist… foot… elbow… whatever really, or all at the same time. I’m not that picky. I figure as long as you can’t understand what he’s saying it’s a win for everyone.
For a radio personality turned Fox News poster child, he is good at what he does. He works at it too. He rehearses both dialogue and emotion so that he can give a more powerful presentation to his viewers. He even makes sure that he can cry on queue. That is a man who is dedicated to giving people their money’s worth.
In fact when Glenn first started crying on the news there was another pundit that took up the slack and addresses the whole situation in the only way he knows how, by mocking it. Mr. Stephen Colbert shared his opinion on this whole topic on his very own made up news show. I couldn’t find the video by itself so you’ll need to use this link to go to the article that has the video in it. It thought it was pretty funny. If you enjoy Colbert, it’s definitely worth the viewing.
I’m sure I could keep going off on the subject, but the simple fact that I’ve devoted even one Smirk talking about this man has may me feel all dirty inside… and not in the good way. I’d like to close with one main soapboxed item, and that is… help others.
Contrary to Mr. Beck’s perspective on the matter, helping others and feeding the poor and hungry does not make you a Communist or a Nazi. Also, I think it equally important to point out that helping others and feeding the poor and hungry doesn’t define you as a Pagan, Buddhist, Christian, Pastafarian, or any other belief structure label. What it does define you as is a good and decent person.
Well, thanks for humoring me. I’m getting off my soapbox now. Although, I’d like to go on record with Christian leaders around the US and recommend to all of you to boycott Glenn Beck. I do think the world’s quality of life will improve if we do.
Any thoughts on the topic?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: news and soapbox.
![Farewell Pillsbury… Part 2: Just Kidding. (Insert embarrassed smile here!)]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 17, 2010 | Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Working Observations
It wasn’t until I was in college, the second time, that I made my first real Irish friend. I mean “Irish” Irish not some Irish mutt, which is made up when somewhere along the family tree there is a small branch or neighboring shrub associated to the tree. This equates to the individual being 1/28 Irish or something like that. This friend, let’s call her Jen, because, well, that’s her name, even though she always insisted that everyone call her Irish. So Jen and I use to always get in discussions about being Irish. Her stand was that because she was Irish she was better than everyone else. I took up the opposing view telling her, “Naut Uh!”
To which she would retort, “Does too.”
And then I would follow that up with the always reliable and irrefutable, “Does not.”
We would keep this up for a good three to five minutes, and then would be asked to pipe down by our teacher, threatening that they would take away our recess if we kept it up.
My perspective at the time is that national pride meant elitism. I thought, at the time, when you start expressing pride you begin segregating others. The goal of unity and people coming together would always go away when people would start advertising that people not of their heritage were lesser people. I use to blame the heritage for this segregation. Turns out it has nothing to do with heritage, but more to do with whether you’re a complete and total prat or not. I mean jerks are everywhere. It has nothing to do with where they come from. It’s a personality type that tries to make others feel inferior. It has nothing to do with where you or your ancestors are from. Usually, I think it’s just a matter of how you were raised.
I’ve been doing a little study on St. Patrick’s Day, turns out it started out as a Catholic holiday. Initially it was a one-day break during Lent, which included consuming a fair amount of alcohol. It wasn’t until the 1600s that the Catholic Church put it on their calendar to be an officially observed holy day.
Something I didn’t know is that on two separate occasions the Catholic Church changed the day of St. Patrick’s Day. Once in 1940, they moved it to April 3rd, to avoid having it with Palm Sunday, and again in 2008, when they moved it to March 15th because the 17th was during Holy Week. For the record though, the rest of the world still celebrated it on the 17th.
One of the things I get a kick out of in regards to St. Patrick’s Day is that it is much more inclusive than once thought. Sure, initially it was for St. Patrick the patron saint of Ireland, but it’s evolved a bit over the 1000 years it’s been around. It’s true, the Irish have observed March 17th as a religious holiday for over 1000 years now… at least that’s what the History Channel told me. Personally, I’m going to trust the History Channel on this one. But today, St. Patrick’s Day has become a sort of an “everyone gets to be Irish if they want to be” day. On March 17th no one cares if you are Irish or not. You can even claim to be an honorary Irish on the 17th and everyone is pretty much fine with it, as long as you are wearing green and/or have a green colored beverage in a pint sized glass.
It’s also amazing to me how many people I have met that are not Irish in any way, but can claim Irish rights and heritage simply by being born on March 17th. Surprisingly, I’ve never met anyone who disagrees with this practice either. It’s really the only day I can think of that offers participators a choice of nationality. The day has sort of taken on its very own mythology in that regard. Personally, I think it’s kind of groovy.
That being said, there is one more thing I need to share, which I really could not pass up. It’s about what happened at work today, which on a plus note did not take place in the lavatory. It is about today’s division wide potluck. On occasion the department I work in and its sibling department plan an occasional potluck for the month’s token holiday. Meaning yes, we had a potluck planned for St. Patrick’s Day.
I even made sure that my donation to the pot luck was the color green. The thing is, it was guacamole green because I had signed up to bring guacamole to the potluck… the potluck was a nacho and taco bar. Yes, my work had a taco bar to commemorate St. Patrick’s Day. Isn’t that kind of like celebrating Thanksgiving with sushi, or New Years with just water, or, I don’t know, maybe St. Patrick’s Day with tacos? Even though the gesture was appreciated, I think it sort of missed the point. But in the event of a free lunch I’ve learned that people don’t really care if the food and holiday match. What really matters is that it’s free.
To make up for it I think we’re having Tai food tonight for dinner… don’t worry I’ll get some green food coloring to make it legit. Hey, Angela is craving Tai food and when that happens, even on St. Patrick’s Day, my job is to enjoy dinner with my wife. I’m neither Catholic nor Irish so I pretty sure that karmically I’m still good.
So Happy Irish-if-you-want-to-be Day to you all. I hope it’s been grand. Cheers.
What are your thoughts?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: St. Patrick’s Day, taco bar, jerk, History Channel, and good karma.
Well bugger… again… Soooo you know when lose something. There is a standard process that you experience. I think it’s the 7 or 8 steps for handling loss. Yes, 7 or 8, the eighth step may or may not happen. It’s always a toss up really. It just turns out that in my case, this time, I did get to experience all 8 steps.
Yeah, so opps. I guess I could feel a little silly for dedicating Friday’s post to the loss of my little notebook, but I really see no point. It just makes me laugh more than anything. Besides I take comfort knowing that it’s something that everyone has done. It’s one of those random common experiences that bring us together as a species that no one really thinks about as an experience that brings us all together. Or to put it a little more plainly it’s one of those, “Hey look! I’m just like you.” experiences.
