St. Pat's follow-up.
It was a pretty decent St. Pat's day, however the tale begins yesterday when I met up with Ken outside the sporting goods store that we usually meet up at. He was wearing is World War Two German Feldmutze hat. It's just a kind of fatigue cap that the German army and Swiss army was issued. It bore no insignia of any kind but he made the thing from scratch looking at pictures of originals on the web. He's awesome like that. I want one. After meeting up at the garden we made our way down to the Cooper Union vacinity and on our way we stopped in a fashion shop that Ken's friend owned and operated. She specializes in original woman's clothing fromt he late 19th and early 20th century. Some of the clothes as well as the women's hat's evoked thoughts of The Great Gatsby. The 20's stuff that is. We soon arrived at Mcsorley's ale house which is probably the oldest pub in NYC. Mcsorley's looks virtually the same as it did when it was founded over a hundred years ago, wooden floors covered in sawdust probably to absorb the ale that's spilled regularly. It's a place with real character. You smell the ale soaked wood from the bar when you walk in. You can even warm up you hands by the small cast iron coal stove that's blazing. The tables are old and carved with peoples names. So are the walls, which are also decorated with an array of relics and items of Mcsorley-history. The old bartender was as Irish as they come, complete with accent and a sense of grand Irish wit. "Excuse me ladies but your in the way," he says to Ken and I while carrying hand fulls of ale mugs. "Yea, very funny" Ken snapped back. We were seated at a table and started in on our ale. The place was packed with fireman from all over the country. It was a man's night and a jovial atmosphere. Laughter, hooting, hollering,shouting, it was great. The group we were sitting with came all the way from L.A. They said they march in N.Y.C. every year and each year their group grows with the legends they bring back. Whoever said that firemen were part of a brotherhood wasn't kidding. Good men. Heck they could be among the best of men. After McSorley's we rode the train up to Ken's house in the Bronx. We got some beer at the Bodega across the street and a half of chicken from a restuarant in the neighborhood. We bullshitted for most of the night, watched movies, and played drums. Today we went downtown to the parade site. It was extremely crowded and so we decided to hit a microbrewery for some great beer. We also visited several music stores. We soaked in the city which is never lacking for weirdness. I wonder how can so many New Yorkers be so fashion conscious and elite when they're just little fish in a gigantic sea. I think it stems from mankinds desire to be noticed and to be admired. To outdo the next person is insanity when theres so many that are all so...dapper. The people such as myself from N.J and the rest of the country stand out pretty easily. Ken was headed to a drum clinic put on by the drummer of Journey and I was headed home so we parted ways after sharing a can of sardine in Union Square park.