It’s parade time again in New Orleans. Later today it’s the Irish Channel St. Patrick’s Day parade and, more importantly, my friends Greg and Christy’s annual party. It’s one of my favorite days of the year. I have been known to overindulge even though I have no Irish blood whatsoever. I am, however, quite proficient at blarney and bullshit. Dr. A is 1/4th Irish, so that will have to do.

One of the oddities of this parade is that they throw vegetables: carrots, cabbages, and onions. Christy insists that we catch enough to go with the corned beef brisket that we have for supper. It’s a grand time even if it looks nothing like the Cruikshank image above, except for the chap drinking from the bottle. It’s almost worthy of a John Ford movie only without the spanking. We save that for Krewe du Vieux:

Note: I wrote this post before a big ass storm was due to arrive and dump buckets of rain on us. There’s a possibility that the parade will be cancelled and, even worse, I might lose power and internet access. Finishing the week’s post on Thursday seemed like the sensible thing to do even though I usually direct my feet to the silly side of the street.

Non-Breaking News: It’s Friday morning and we still haven’t lost power, but more rain is a comin’. We’ve even resorted to securing some store-bought as opposed to parade-caught cabbages. There’s a first time for everything. Back to the Saturday post:

The Gret Stet’s budget process continues to slog along as legislative GOPers blame the newly elected Democratic Governor for all our woes. Where have we seen this movie before? It is, alas, a lege full of pols that David Vitter helped elect so it’s only surprising as opposed to shocking. At least the Tigers will play football this fall. Hard times call for bread and circuses, after all. Where is Tiberius when you need him?

I try not to re-use artists when selecting theme songs for this feature. I’ve already used Saint Dominic’s Preview but it’s hard to beat Irish Heartbeat by Van the Man. It was the title track of his 1988 collaboration with the Chieftains and that’s where we begin this particular beguine:

Here’s a 2015 version with Mark Knopfler along for the ride:

Back in the day, Dr. A had a friend who was convinced that Knopfler’s band name was, in fact, his name. Our attempts to convince her otherwise were futile. Since she had a rather thick Puerto Rican accent, we started calling him Mr. Dire Estraits. I am not making this up and if I were, I wouldn’t tell you until *after* the break.

Continue reading “Saturday Odds & Sods: Irish Heartbeat”