Luck of the Irish

Mar 17, 2005

It’s Spring Break week in Chapel Hill, and the large, wet snowflakes that fell during my first hours of work had me pining for Megan’s Bay Beach on St. Thomas or Waimanalo Beach or the black sand beach just down the hill from my Liro hammock. I’m meant to be a beach bum, I just know it. I read the two-volume Sherlock Holmes stories over a month at Megan’s Bay during a college Chrismas break. Those were the days.

So, anyway, back to North Carolina on St. Patrick’s Day, where I’m speeding down the highway (Thomas Friedman correctly nagging me to slow down and improve my Honda’s fuel efficiency) with the radio cranking Windfall by Son Volt and me loudly singing along, remembering the days of swinging in my hammock listening to mixed tapes that Dan Rourke sent to entertain me during my Peace Corps service. (Previously mentioned here.) Those were dynamite mixes, and I doubt my iPod Shuffle will ever come close to giving me so much listening pleasure.

Anton Zuiker

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