Raise a pint, lads and lasses

I think there's a wee bit o' the Irish blood runnin' through me veins. Or it might be Scottish. Or it could be both. I'm a proud mutt and will take anyone who'll claim me.

The fun thing about St. Patrick's Day (or "Shamrocks Day" as they call it at my kid's oh-so-politically-correct preschool, where they don't celebrate holidays for fear of offending) is that everybody gets to be Irish for a day. The fun Irish -- bagpipes and kilts and limericks and Guinness and U2 and (swoon) Colin Farrell. Not the Potato Famine or mad bombers from the IRA or the seriously unfortunate University of Notre Dame.

And if you really want to have some fun today, don't wear green. *Winkwink*

To get you in the spirit of the occasion, I stole some verse from the Web and will share it with you. "May your blessings outnumber the shamrocks that grow, and may trouble avoid you wherever you go!"

There once was an old man of Esser,
Whose knowledge grew lesser and lesser,
It at last grew so small
He knew nothing at all,
And now he's a college professor.

There once was a lady, Ilene,
Who lived on distilled kerosene,
But she started absorbin'
A new hydrocarbon
and since then she'd never benzene

There once was a young man of Trinity
Who found ye root infinity.
But ye digits
Gave him infinite fidgits,
So he dropped math and took up divinity.

There was a young lady one fall
Who wore a newspaper dress to a ball.
The dress caught fire
And burned her entire
Front page, sporting section and all.