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Smushed Boxen

Even though Anne and I are both mostly Irish, neither of us makes a big deal out of St. Patrick's Day. About all we did to commemorate the day was drink some decaf green tea. Do we know how to party or what! (I had my drinking binge last night at the Independence Brew Pub in the stimulating company of the Philadelphia Webloggers Meetup group. I had two brown ales for dinner and came home stinking of beer and cigarette smoke, but I had a great time.)

Anyway, smushed boxen. We were making dinner (pasta with bacon and peas tossed in ricotta), and Anne mentioned that she got the “smushed box” of pasta just for me. I usually make a point of buying the smushed box or the dented can on the theory that nobody will buy them, and they will just be thrown out. I mean, the items are always perfectly fine (except maybe things like potato chips). In a similar vein, I've also lost my taste for shiny and new and now often opt for something used. Maybe this is how antique collecting starts. Hmm.

Back to St. Patrick's Day, fine pictures of Philadelphia's parade here and here by Albert Yee.

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