Kick me, I'm Irish

To some people of Irish descent (here in the States, anyway), St. Patrick's Day means corned beef and cabbage and wearing something green.

To me, it means paranoia and a sore arm or leg.

I'm colorblind.

More importantly, my classmates found out that I was colorblind.

"Hey, you're not wearing green!"

"Ow!" I said, recoiling from the pinch. "I am too!"

A flurry of Am Nots and Are Toos got us a debriefing with our teacher, whom I thought would come to my aid.

Alas, she said that I was, in fact, not wearing anything green. Shortly after, my classmates were told that I had trouble telling green from red.

So the next year, when St. Patrick's Day came around again, I made sure I was wearing green.

"Hey, you're not wearing green!"

"Ow!" I said, rubbing my arm where I'd been socked. "I am too wearing green! I even asked this time!"

"How do you know?" Smack!

So yeah, St. Patrick's Day, not so much a happy holiday for me.

Plus, I hate corned beef and cabbage.

The degree of my St. Pat's celebration is limited to driving the snakes from Modesto and imbibing the occasional Shamrock Shake from McDonald's, should I stop at one where they actually know what the hell I'm talking about.

"A what?"

"Shamrock Shake. You know, it's mint-flavored. And green. For St. Patrick's Day."

"I don't think we have that kind of thing here. We have McFlurries."

"Uh, never mind."

"Thank you. I'll have your total at the first window."

This would've been remotely funny had I thought of it before the Oscars

"I wish I could quit you."

Superman or Green Lantern ain't got nothin' on me

This seems to be the kind of thing people who know me think I'd be jumping to do: "Who Wants to Be a Superhero?"

Truth be told, superhero was my first dream job. I have the perfect superhero name -- Sparkman.

Alas, I have two weaknesses standing in my way: a bad knee and about 25 extra pounds. Plus, I'd have to design and sew up a costume, and I don't think anyone wants to see that.

Maybe if this is successful, they'll do another one. Or maybe even "Who Wants to Be a Supervillain?"

That would give me a chance to find another excuse get in shape.

Just don't give away my secret identity, okay?

The Mane Problem 2: Electric Boogaloo

My friend Ken (who has just started a blog) took time from his obviously busy schedule to offer up some hairstyle suggestions. You be the judge:


Mr. T


Jean-Luc Picard


Just plain bald


Charlie Brown


Mr. Clean

Thanks, buddy. At least I didn't ride a unicycle to school.

The mane problem

I'm always complaining about my hair's endangered species status. I used to have a lot of hair, and it was thick. Now, not so much.

Lately, my wife has been suggesting that I just go all the way and shave my head completely. This is due mostly to the fact that one of the dreamy "American Idol" contestants has done the same thing.

That's great and all, but I don't think she's seeing the whole picture.

My wife, bless her heart, thinks I'll look like this:


And my mental picture of the same situation:


My two objections to shaving my head: I don't get out in the sun much and am consequently a bit pasty, and I need to lose a few pounds.

I mean really, if I shave my head now, all I need is a little chef's hat and people will start poking my belly and asking for fresh croissants.