More blarney that people should be allowed to endure

The town I live in had its St. Patrick's Day Parade on the Saturday afterward, which actually was St. Joseph's Day this year. It's that kind of town.

A bar had a band playing called the Tossers, a Pogues like group of South Side Irish Old Style drinkers. Only the club they were are has its head up its ass and its Web site said they would be there immediately after the parade. Apparently immediately now means about 8 hours.

The funniest thing though was seeing St. Patrick himself heading out of a pub with a freind of mine, all micked out in his wool sweater and green shirt. Hmm, I thought. Maybe the saint visits places much like Nick does on Xmas.

That begs so many questions: Do you leave a corned beef dinner and a whiskey for him by the fireplace? Does he leave boiled potatoes for the bad kids in their Irish dancing shoes? Does he read Angela's Ashes aloud if you ask him? Does a team of leprechauns tote him about in a sled of some sort? Does he go into pet stores and drive out the boa constrictors? Do you hang shamrocks from a shruberry of some sort?

I should have stopped to ask. But my friend is sort of like Ricky Gervais' character in The Office, and I wasn't up for that kind of adventure, which is to say a sort of Celtic version of I Love Lucy. Plus, I usually wind up being the sober one who has
to baby-sit.

I went home and watched basketball instead.

And in the evening, I went to see Nicolas Cage's brother, Christopher Coppola, present his movie The Creature of the Sunny Side Up Trailer Park, to the friends of his producer.

The movie was shot in high definition video, so it looked great. It was was it claimed to be, a B-movie, drive-in style camp joint, no more, no less. It had a pulp, comic book quality about it.

Only thing was, the crowd was well-to-do suburban socialites, not collegiate hipsters all dressed up for a benefit.

That made it even funnier to me.

Coppola introduced his film, all decked out in leather pants, a mustard sport coat, and a do-rag. He split. They couldn't find him afterward.

It was that kind of Saturday.