Never jump into a foxhole with a guy that is braver than you!   Remember, when the enemy is in range so are you.  Incoming fire has the right of way so don’t do anything stupid to draw fire; it irritates the people around you. 

Teamwork is essential; it gives the enemy someone else to shoot at.  Professionals are predictable; it is the amateurs that are dangerous.

The man that can remain cool and collected when everyone else is overcome by panic, just doesn’t know what in the hell is going on.

I spent last evening watching a couple of bewildering TV programs that seem directed at driving the public nuts. The first was something about Yellowstone Park evaporating into the greatest volcanic explosion ever encountered by man. Since I am among the senior citizens, the issue seems to be, will this damned thing explode before I do or not?

If Yellowstone evaporates first, what will that eruption do to the price of gasoline, or perhaps more importantly, what will that do to the price of Budweiser?

Prediction:  February 6th will be a night of either great joy or excruciating torment. It will be the Super Bowl of course and as good a reason as any to drop by for few drinks and great food.  It will also be the last of the good football games this season, which is simultaneously a reason for joy and depression.  Joy in anticipation of a good game and depression at the thought that we won’t see another good one until sometime in September.

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Call me Eddie. I know, I know, Edward is newly popular, what with vampires and all, but Edward is a tad pretentious, and besides, I’ve been charged with writing about an Irish bar, not some place in London, or some other outpost of culture and breeding. It still baffles everyone I know, how me, a son of the mountains of Appalachia, is the one writing about Irish pub culture, what with my four Irish nationals as partners. Surely one of the four, all who know their way around a pint of Guinness, should be the ones telling this story. I’ve never been to Ireland, and the closest I have ever been to anything Irish is some bar in Dallas, wearing a logo tee with the “kiss me I’m Irish” stamped on the front. It’s not exactly a resume that exudes confidence in knowledge of the “old sod”. “Eddie boyo, you’re the one with the computer, and besides, you’re the one that needs to learn about the Irish. You write”. Just like that, I am a writer.

Who knew picking out the seating for a patio could be so complicated. Margaret Meade would have had trouble with this job. It isn’t bad enough you have to pick out the style of furniture; that’s the easy part! Steel, wicker, plastic, wood, it really doesn’t matter, as any bid comes out to be the same price. The real problem comes in that you have to decide how the lay of the land the furniture resides. Pick out chairs too tall and too scattered, and the girls don’t like to sit on your patio. Pick out all couches with thick comfy seats too close, and the guys get goofy. Somewhere in between, you get the sweet spot that satisfies the battle of the sexes, and makes the girls happy to sit by the fire and talk about relationships, and makes boys happy to sit just outside the rail, quaffing a brew, watching the HD sports report and eyeing the gals. Throw in a preacher, and you soon have the recreation of the American nuclear family.