| night and day like the beat, beat, beat of the tom tom |
| Making The Irish Cry Is Like Shooting Rats In A Barrel. 06.18.01 Anyway, that's what I heard from one of the stages at the Irish Fair over the weekend. Well, maybe so, but for once it wasn't the mournful songs making people weep. It was the damn heat. For some reason this year the fair was in the Valley. Why do people live there? Can anyone explain this to me? In any case, in spite of the unrelenting sun it was a grand old time, as evidenced by this photograph of Jasmine, Christia, Mr. Terry Casey, who was sweet enough to pull Christia and me onstage because of our "Irish dancing" (read: creative faking-- well, Christia took lessons as a kid; I, er, didn't.) while he and his band the Fenians were playing, and yours truly. My hottie husband was behind the viewfinder. My younger brother, who refuses to wear sunscreen in the hopes that the Mexican side of our gene pool will come to his rescue (ha!) had left the premises and was fighting a nasty case of sunstroke on the jampacked 405. |
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| ...with me brogue and me blarney... |
| Inexplicably, I was approached various times throughout that day by toddlers. They just kept lurching up to me and staring. Very strange. I got a little paranoid, I'll admit-- am I exuding some kind of freaky Mommyesque pheromone? In other news (and to counteract that Mother Earth business), here is further proof that I'm secretly a 15-year-old boy: I can't wait for Friday! Because that's when "The Fast and The Furious" is released! Muscle cars galore! Bring it on! |