Welcome to the most important holiday of the year – St. Patrick’s Day. There used to be a time when I really got into it (not the Irish part, so much, but the heavy drinking that took advantage of both of my major ethnic heritages – Irish and German), but, alas, like all holidays it seems to mean very little to me now. I mean, I’m at work today (and, even worse, tomorrow), for one thing. Plus I just can’t hammer ’em down the way I once used to (just don’t look at the official definitions of “binge drinking” and “heavy drinking” because they’re what I would consider taking it easy – I shudder to think how they’d have defined my college years). So I’m sitting here all alone wearing a green shirt in my suffocating windowless office.

Alone, because the person I work with had to have emergency surgery over the weekend, and will probably be out for at least the rest of this week (if he comes back tomorrow, he’s a fool – when you have a legitimate excuse to play hooky, go for it).

Not that I really mind having the office to myself, but it means if something bad happens, everybody will be looking at me. Plus this puts me on-call for the third week in a row (which kinda sucks, because even if you don’t get a call, you’re kind of waiting for something terrible to happen, and hope you can deal with it).

If all that wasn’t bad enough, just as my latest keg of beer was getting really good, I killed it last night. I really need to be more patient with this stuff and let it age longer before I tap it.

Plus, while I have two batches fermenting in the basement right now, they won’t be ready for at least three weeks – and I really out to hold off for six. I did have the foresight to pick up a few the other day, but it’s just not the same.

Oh well, sucks to be me, I guess.

Have a happy, and safe, St. Patrick’s Day out there.