lest i speak too soon...

i think st. patrick's is finally over here in chicago.
after at least four seperate holidays, my street is returning to normalcy (meaning the drunks bag it up around 2am, instead of starting at 9am and ending at 5am). since the holiday fell on a friday, there were several excuses for green felt (and green vom-o) to explode all over our sidewalks. the south side parade is always on the weekend proceeding the holiday, and the northside's shamrock shuffle (a bar crawl) was the weekend proceeding as well. so for four days, our neighborhood has been a wreck. it's a trade off for living in a fun place, but wow.

before a daytime (buyout) show at csz last weekend, rance and i walked to walgreens to get snacks and chat. we saw a dude in the parking lot, laid out after hours of afternoon drinking, passed out on one of those island mulchbeds. i'mfinei'mfine, he said, and four people hovered around him dialing the police. his friend who had obviously abandoned him for the glory that is KFC staggered outside with a bucket of chicken, and mulchman immediately perked at the idea of chicken leg eatin' in a parking lot.

we laughed and walked on back to the theatre, only to be halted by yelps from above. directly four stories up, on the roof of a newly built condo, were two dudes holding a beer bong in the sky. below them, one story down, was the recipient of the treats in said bong, standing on the balcony underneath. STPATRICKSSSSS! he yelled, and we woo-ed back, then wondered how this guy's innards hadn't imploded and he hadn't dropped three stories after guzzling a tube of 23 beers.

make it stop.