Things I know about nine pound hammers:
1. They're a little too heavy for my size.
2. They killed John Henry, but they ain't gonna kill me.
3. There ain't one in this town that can ring like mine.
The St. Patrick's Day party is going to be...difficult. Why? Because a lot of people are coming, and because I have a huge amount of cooking to do, and because there's not much prep work I can do, and because I will have to do a lot of it on the fly since we're coming straight from the parade back to my place for the party, and because I'll almost certainly be drunk by the time I even start cooking. But I'm not too worried. I look at it as a gauntlet to run, a personal challenge, my own little Iron Chef. People (hopefully) can survive on whatever lunch we get and snacks until dinner's ready (I'm optimistically thinking 8PM), and also, liquor in abundance means that everyone else will be as polluted as I am and won't notice my manic dervishing around in the kitchen. I'm actually looking forward to it...if I can make this work, I will be the fucking champ. (I am also making fucking champ.)