turquoise is not green, alas.

Holy crap, this city loves St. Patrick's Day. On the drive/walk between the sushi place and my apartment, at 7pm, I saw:

• a pair of young long-locked gentlemen, one of whom copped a leprechaun accent and said "And a happy St. Paddy's day to you fine folks!" while doffing his hat in a practiced bow as he swept past. A google imagesearch for top of the mornin to ye yielded this fine fellow, who can stand in as a semi-accurate visual. Except the hat was a bowler and he was wearing a cape (?).
  
• a very angry-looking young lady in expensive 4 inch pumps and green and white wide-horizontal-striped tights, stalking down the street towards whatever faux-pub might stand to serve her green beer.
  
• a young lady smoking outside of Bob the Fish in American Apparel kelly green piped running hot pants and matching soccer socks: considerably less sexy than these pictures would imply. But who am I to judge? I'd just go for the cranberry/army, amirite?
  
• a herd of street-crossing pubgoers: anywhere else in this city stepping off the sidewalk is guaranteed to get you mowed down like a blade of uppity grass, but in my neighbourhood? The drunks rule with sloppy iron fists.
  
• a guy in a floppy Guinness hat, also drunk: I flipped him the bird because Guinness fucking sucks;
  
• a girl in a plastic green hat on her way out of the house (she bought this thing? she kept it all year and busted it out now? she's not going to keep it in her bag till she gets a few pints in her?);
  
• a staggeringly drunk girl in white cargo pants and a cut-off green linebacker top, toddling down the street with some guy, plastered while still in broad daylight. They stopped for a long moment on the street corner as we were turning into our place, and I had to say to Owen, "Keep your eyes on the road, I promise I'll tell you if she pukes."
  

In conclusion, everyone is drunk. High five, Calgary.

So, in news more relevant to the internet, I'm halfway through Watchmen and I just watched Brideshead Revisited, which tore my heart out and ripped it up and now my pulse-pounding lust for Matthew Goode as a various assortment of canon-gay or canon-willing-to-fake-gay-if-necessary characters ( is busting up my uterus something awful. )