That would have made one hell of a billboard, don't you think?The look is serious, deliberate, almost like I'm about to make some profound statement on the origins of the universe, or reveal the recipe for Coney Island Texas Wiener sauce. (I don't have it, don't ask.)
But, hey, and faith and begorrah, the big parade is tomorrow, and those wieners will be in huge demand as folks carb up on marvelous National Bakery rolls filled with short Gutheinz weenies, mustard, onions, and sauce.
In that order, too - roll, dog(split of course), mustard, onions, sauce. Got that? Memorize it, OK?
Good.
I committed it to memory years ago, back when I worked right up the street on Adams Avenue. At least three days a week, I'd walk through the door, one that that had a very busy American railroad running damned near on top of the building, and order two for lunch. That's all you had to say,
"Two, please."One, two, three, seven, nine, it didn't matter. Just give the man the count and he'd make 'em, wrap 'em, and you were good to go. On the right is the original location; somewhat beneath it, the present location. Why there are two is still a mystery to me. I'd once heard a family feud was involved. That story could be bogus. I'm staying out of family politics, their Texas Wiener is all that matters. Frankly, the best in the land, the absolute best, there is The Coney Island Texas Wiener, then there is everyone else's. Gourmet Magazine once tried to bribe the Karampalis family into giving them the recipe for the sauce. These tough and independent Greek Orthodox people told Gourmet to go stick their knuckles in someone else's baklava.
Standing, waiting for my order, I once heard a dufus, clearly uninitiated, order a salad at The Coney Island Texas Lunch. The
place fell silent. It was that silence that could have preceded loud laughter, but I guess the crowd at the counter, and back in the booths that were all but five feet away, were too embarrassed for the young man.A salad indeed.
The pleasant and hard-working Greek gentleman behind the counter quietly and politely responded, "Uhh, we, uhhh, we don't have salads." Come to think of it, I might have turned a bit red in a show of sympathy for this fellow's blunder. And, sonofagun, that man is still around Scranton. I see his picture in the paper now and again. Nice guy, I assume. He shall remain nameless, for a transgression upon The Coney Island Texas Lunch is a transgression upon Scranton and her multitudinous traditions, magnificent idiosyncrasies, and fine peculiarities.
Parade weekend is no time for transgressions against Scranton.
I have no recollection of why, when, or where that picture way up top was taken...nor do I recall by whom.
It's got several years on it, which is obvious; my beard isn't completely gray. Now, it is, and has been for at least five years. The tie is still in use. A good guess would be that the picture was done for something my former employer was going to do in the way of a promotion but never actually got around to doing. There's a lot of that in the broadcasting business. You get used to it. Opportunities missed are opportunities lost.
The big thing is that I need some reason to pop in here with a post. It's been awhile. Some would say few are the thoughts which have passed my mind that have gone unspoken. Those some might be right.
Let's go back to that word, begorrah.
Seems the word is like so many others such as jeepers, gosh, golly, jiminy, cripes, crikey, etc. Those are all words that we humans made up so that we could use the deity's name without actually saying it.
Begorrah essentially means "By God."
Do we actually know God's name? Some of this planet's larger religions and other organizations claim that they do, but that God's name is unspeakable, also unprintable. On different levels, I can understand that. Whatever your position on it is, we don't much think or talk about it; we simply call God God, not much wondering if the Supreme Architect of The Universe has an actual name.
I was once chastised for saying God on the air. I can tell you without equivocation that my use of it was in the proper context, and it was not used in vain. Still, someone who must have a better relationship than me with God knew I'd been a bad boy, so he called to scold me. I don't suffer scolding easily. Equally so, my capacity to suffer fools is tiny. To state the obvious, that conversation didn't go well.
I so dislike those who know God better than the rest of us.With St. Patrick's Day approaching(and do remember it is on March 17th every single year, not on parade day), I'll ask forgiveness for breaking one of my own rules. That rule would be, "Never annoy friends and family with pointless forwards, or worse yet, forwarded forwards, of any kind." Sticking to that rule is important to me. This time around, though, a rare exception. I honestly believe you'll like this.
Should you have a Guinness, Harp, or Murphy's at hand, maybe a Paddy's or a Jameson's, bottoms up, take a sip, love life. I wish you nothing but abundant good luck, and of course, God's great blessings.
It may take a minute to load, depending on your pipe speed, but I think it's worth it. Don't look for a laugh. A tear, maybe, just maybe.
http://www.e-water.net/viewflash.php?flash=irishblessing_en
