You know what will be the most ironic part of tomorrow? Loathe the American celebration of Saint Patrick's Day though I do, I always make a point of wearing my St. Paddy's Day boxers. You can all go to blazes, but in my own little way I'll participate, too.

There's a solid, if thin, layer of snow on the ground. I'm happy.

Fat Buddy
This afternoon, I believe it was on Talk of the Nation, I heard a discussion of the Ad Council/HUD's new series of commercials encouraging the citizenry to take better care of themselves. Some fat guano-brain called in to say that he wasn't to blame for his obesity, that it's all the fault of his genes and societal pressures. As a fat bastard, I found that argument incredibly offensive. Obviously, I have a gentic predisposition to flabbiness, but maybe if I got off my arse, ran a few miles a day, and cut back on the pop I wouldn't be quite so unbelievably fat. Same for tons of fun, the idiotic caller. I was so irritated by fatty's comments that I bought lunch at McDonald's to reinforce my personal responsibility for my obesity. Hmmmmm, Big Mac.