Look, I hate to be the guy who rains on everyone's parade. No, wait. I love being that guy. But seriously, though, in re: proposed Ireland/New Years nexus of power/knowledge, I may need to be counted out. Not because I don't want to go, or because I hate and fear kissing men on the mouth. On the contrary, because I am already committed to one costly international trip in aught-six. So I'm horribly jealous, as well as saddened that I probably won't be joining you. Because frankly, this isn't very funny, you know. I'm hung over. My knees are killing me. If you were gonna pull this shit, you could've at least said you were from the Yankees.