when Irish dudes are yelling

Today is St. Patrick’s Day, that lovely day when I get to celebrate being Irish by getting wasted and yelling about stuff.

If you know me then you know that this is the way I celebrate pretty much anything (you got the gum off your shoe? Let’s drink!  You found that stapler you lost? Let’s drink!) but today is different.

It’s separate from all my other drinking escapades (love that Janet Jackson song) because today is the one day when I am expected to yell about stuff.

In the last two weeks I’ve met some bloggers for the first time and afterward, on both occasions, I came away with a distinct feeling that maybe I should warn people about how loud I get when I drink.

It’s not like any of those people were offended or anything.  But I sense that people don’t really get that when I rant on this blog, it is because I rant like that in real life.  Just ask Ari, J.P. and my friend Dave, whose first memory of meeting me at work is having me yell about how they were planning to remake Robocop.

What can I say?  I have this unique ability to yell about pretty much anything, and that, one could say, is the Irish in me coming out.

If I had to list my top ten favorite Things To Do, yelling about stuff and drinking would definitely be in there.  It might even crack the top five.

Today, on St. Patrick’s Day, these two activities will not only be acceptable tonight after work, they will be welcomed with open arms. Hell, I’ll probably even sing/yell that one Irish song, Danny Boy.

Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling!  From glen to glen and other stuff too!

God I love that song.

so good it hurts

The problem with being a blogger is trying to convince people that you don’t suck.

Really.

I don’t like telling people I even have a blog.

In person that is.

Through the magical world of computer communication I tell everyone, because I don’t have to actually look them in their Judging Eyes when I tell them.

When someone lets loose that I do have a blog, and I can’t avoid the confrontation through witty comments like, “Blog? Blog? Who’s a silly frog?” they typically have one of two reactions.

Either they feign interest to try and be nice: “Oh! That’s cool! I’ll have to check it out. Now let me tell you about this carpet I saw the other day.” This person, convinced that they’ve done a Good Thing, forgets that they never actually ask for the address of my “cool” blog.

The second reaction can be best be described as Utter Panic. This person doesn’t know how to deal with the notion that they think my blog probably sucks, thus them telling me something that they think will help: “Well, you really should think about going back to school.”

Overall, it’s a shitty experience.

Once the word is out though, there’s no turning back, so I must then try and convince People Who Are More Successful Than Me that my blog will one day lead me to fame and riches beyond my wildest dreams.

Or at least a new sweater.

The problem is that people think just because I don’t have my name attached to something they recognize – like Gawker (call me!) – I can’t possibly be a good writer.

Well, dammit, I am a good writer. At least that’s what my Mom tells me. And she’s pretty much always right.

And this is a good blog.

The only reason I’m not rich and famous from it is because I kinda forgot that I like to write until I wasted thousands of dollars on a degree I don’t use, got bogged down in a job in that field for awhile and maybe not too many people read it.

So really, when you think about it, this blog is the Best Thing Ever.

Aside from Robocop and chocolate covered pretzels.

That’s some tough competition.