It's been so long since I remember really hitting it up on St Patty's day. I have some vague memories of the past year but nothing really solid.



In Toronto, it was a cold St Patty's day and I had one a bright yellow jacket. We were waiting outside of the James Joyce, where else would you go on such a day? As we neared the front of the line people starting asking me how long the way was. After the second time I realized I was being mistaken for the bouncer. Seeing that the place was overrun already I started telling people that they should go away and try somewhere else, the Joyce was full tonight.



The bomber was packed as usual. The line at the campus pub usually starts at 11am that day and is relentless until the peak drinking times start in the evening. I was lucky that year, I had friends that let me in the back door or happened to be in the front of the line. The night is a blur as always leaving me only with a couple of memories. One, I had a really really green tongue. A sure sign that I an certifiable intoxicated. Two, I played ping pong between groups of friends and settled on sitting in the back at the grey bomber tables that have an overlay of black paint that must have been applied through netting. Three, we played inappropriate touching games. Four, I don't remember anything else.



With all that history, I was in a definite funk. I was outright craving green beer for reasons beyond my control or comprehension. I just did. I couldn't deny myself any longer so Rafi and I went on a quest down King St for green beer. There were lines at the two pubs we had in mind. Instead we took a detour off the beaten path to a trendy you may not be cool enough to be in here place. They had green beer. I was satisfied. It was good. But it became even better when we learned that it was forbidden green beer. We had mistakenly been served it and now everyone in the place looked at out pints with envy. We were Gods among the retro-ultra-hip-cool-never-speak-our-name people.