In Flagrante Devomito
I usually try to post to BFS on Sundays, but I thought that I would try something different and instead spent the day throwing up. I also dabbled a bit in a headache, body aches, and the chills, just to see what that might be like. As Russ would say, “Good times.”

Lest anyone think that my condition was in anyway Irish related . . .

Erin Go Blahhhhh
Since momma had up and left us*, a pukey daughter and diarrhea son forced us to miss the St. Pat’s Day Parade, one of my favorite occasions of civic frivolity. I spent my Saturday offering comfort and care, and cleaning up one hellacious mess when the diarrhea son didn’t ride in to Porcelain Station on time.

By the way, “Pukey Daughter/ Diarrhea Son” is the name of the next single being released off my latest album, Daddy’s Got a Wet Wipe.

Shoo and the SJ-R have posted photos for vicarious parade watching. I didn’t take any pictures of our weekend. It’s probably for the best.

*Tammy was catering on Saturday. She did come eventually come back home.

Rebel Without a Coat
My Sunday column this month is on teenagers who refuse to wear winter coats. I speculate wildly on their strange behavior, right after conceding that there may be a reasonable explanation. And wouldn’t you know it, there is one.

Josh, a recent high school grad, sent me an email explaining that the half-lockers they are assigned simply aren’t big enough to hold books, bags, AND a winter coat:

There’s no point in taking a large, bulky coat to wear for 12 minutes while waiting for the bus, and the 3 minutes it takes to get in the house from the bus —(because, honestly, ~15 minutes is the most you’re going to be needing this coat throughout the entire day), when there’s nowhere to put the thing. Locker space is becoming more and more limited as schools get more and more crowded.

So there you have it.

Their Colors, Their Honour, Their Colors, Their All
The Bowery Boys versus the Dead Rabbits. The Hatfields versus the McCoys. The Corleones versus the Tattaglias. The Crips versus the Bloods.

The history of gang warfare in this country is deep and disturbing, marked by brutal turf battles, illegal trade, and senseless carnage.

And now, joining the list of notorious warring factions, we have the Red Hats versus the Blue Thongs.

For years, the estrogen-empowered, garishly-dressed Reds Hats have ruled the underworld unchallenged, trafficking in all kinds of illicit arts and crafts while bullying their way through MCL buffet lines all over the country and into Canada.

Now, reports are surfacing of another group of supposed “fun seeking” females, the Blue Thongs. I’ve read excerpts of their manifesto and these young margarita-swilling marauders make no attempt to hide their disdain for their elderly sisters. Look for this to get ugly real soon.

Have Mercy
We didn’t get out to hear any live music this weekend, what with the digestive upheavals and all, but I did recently make my way over to CNET’s music site and downloaded a few free cuts by Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins. I’m becoming quite fond of Ms. Lewis; she’s always making these unexpected twists and turns with her lyrical phrasings that make her songs sound slightly odd, in an interesting kind of way. I’m particularly taken by the song, The Big Guns, performed here on the Letterman program: