Happy St. Patrick's Day

Top of the mornin and all that. My apologies for the unanounced hiatus. I've taken the week off to drill Charlie in the ways of the world. Today is St. Patrick's day, and Charlie and me are headed to Sine, an Irish bar in Pentagon Row, to watch some NCAA hoops and to drink some green beer. I've got the I-pod queud to House of Pain, a musical band of hooligan Irish immigrants best known for the song Jump Around, which is not only the title of the song, but is also the entirety of the lyrics. They also have a version of Danny Boy that you can actually listen to without crying.

I'll never think of another St. Pat's day without thinking of that glorious time when I had put in my 2 weeks notice at my old job in Minneapolis, and decided that Keiran's Irish bar might be a good quiet place to get some work done at about 2 in the afternoon. Nothing like being a lame duck at work! That ran a close second to the day I submitted my notice, and went promptly to the Block E movie theatres to experience the Will Ferrell movie - Old School - a classic in the genre.

T-ball last weekend was a big success. I got some strange looks from the other dads when I introduced myself as Buttermaker, and insisted that we call ourselves Chico's Bail Bonds, but the twins redeemed me in everyone's eyes with their stellar play. (At least until I had Billy pull a Kelly Leek and cover all of the positions in the field.) Turns out that there is a heavy Texas element on the team, with the head of a major Federal bureacracy as one of the dads, a Senate staffer, and a Chief of Staff for a Texas Representative - all Republicans, of course, and all know the Commander in Chief. Our team is even called the Texas Rangers - last year they apparently sucked - but with the addition of Bill and Joe they could go from worst to first. You see where all of this is leading, don't you? An invite for the champion Rangers to the White House, that's where.