Tomorrow we're going south to Grandma's little stucco in the desert where Jack's brother and sisters will converge for the great Day After St. Patrick's Day Guinness-and-Corned-Beef Paint-Peeling Fart Hoedown and B.Y.O.B. potluck bingo brawl, from which I'm sure will emerge one or two stories worth recounting here, and maybe even a picture of someone ashing their cigarette into a pot of cabbage while inspecting the barrel of a World War II service revolver. (One can only hope.) I may be able to brighten the proceedings with a cheerful recounting of monkey's enlightening true history of the Jell-O shamrock to a soundtrack of Rum, Sodomy & the Lash, but probably the most I can hope for is another argument about casting Eugene O'Neill's life story using everyone on Jack's side of the family. And Jack always ends up being Edmund.
I am bringing my ancient laptop and rusty modem along, but if it all gets tossed into the swimming pool you should at least know that the usual Fuss will be back next Wednesday or so.