18 March 2005
The plan last night was bar hopping. We couldn't decide which Saint Patrick's Day party to go to, but knew that the one at the Lube would be ending early to make room for Karaoke. So the plan was to pregame at Our Gang's to meet Tony, then head over to the Lube until they were done, and finish out the night at Chestnut Street Cafe. If Chestnut wasn't working for us we could always wander over to the Zoo.
The beginning of the plan went great. We all enjoyed the atmosphere and drink deals at Our Gang's and Tony got us some food and we were good and ready for the larger party downtown when we made our way out. We had all walked so we wouldn't have to deal with a designated driver, which was almost always me, so by the time we got to the Lube we were ready for more drinks and snacks. We'd been there maybe an hour when a woman about our age asked Mandy if she could sit with us while she waited for her friends to show up. Her name was Lori, and it came up as we were all talking that she was interested in mythology. I leaned into that a bit, and pretty soon the two of us were discussing the role of saints as a sort of modern pantheon and everyone else was tuning us out.
We talked for hours. The conversation drifted into the question of where one draws the line between folklore and mythology (I felt it was a matter of faith investment, she argued it had more to do with practical application) and the rise of neopaganism and the sudden appearance of ghosthunting shows and we decided to stay put when the rest of the group went to Chestnut because, after all, Lori couldn't leave yet. The karaoke started and we got to talking about our tastes in music and we each picked a song for the other to sing on the understanding we would find out what they were when we were called up. She liked the classics so I gave her a Beatles song; she picked Violent Femmes for me.
By the time we decided her friends weren't coming, we'd exchanged numbers and made arrangements to see each other again in a few days, after we'd recovered from St. Pat's. I walked her out to her cab and then wandered home. On the way I saw a pair of ravens that almost seemed like they were watching me. I yelled up to them that this had been the best St. Pat's I'd ever had, even if I had no idea where my friends were, and they cocked their heads as if listening but didn't seem terribly interested.
I could've sworn one of them was a little bit blue, but seeing as I passed out on my porch I can't honestly say I trust that part of the memory.
The blog of John Matteson.