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    Ah, Saint Patrick's Day. I had forgotten all about you until I couldn't get into the subway station this morning due to the fact the police had dogs sniffing some sort of package down below. Finally, the fuzz opened the tape and allowed the mass of people that was now stretched out for over a block, into the station.

    Robert Smith sings about lime green and snakes.  Can you dig it?

    Every year, New York City turns into a parade of freaks on this day more so than any other day. There is, in fact, an official St. Patty's parade, but it spreads much further and wider than it's predetermined course. I want to like it, I want to be festive and I wish I liked beer, but I just don't. That said, I obviously didn't wear green today -- not exactly because I'm rebelling against the alcohol frenzied holiday, but because I forgot all about it. I've got nothing against green. I quite like it.