Disclosure: This post contains some snark and some foul language.
I wish I could make St. Patty's Day fun for the kids. Every year I tell myself I will, but the truth is I really don't care much for the holiday. I know that the Irish don't even celebrate the way "those crazy Irish Americans" do. I'm all for a nice celebration with a fine wine, lovely bubbly and even a little beer every once in a while, but I'm completely lost when drinking 20 pints too many is a testament to a fine land where most of us Americans have never traveled to before.
I have yet to see what corned beef and cabbage, green leprechauns, pots of gold and too much beer have to do with the Patron Saint of Ireland. (To read about St. Patrick, Patron Saint of Ireland, click here.)
Patty Party Pooper you may call me. That's all well and fine. I'm all for a celebratory dinner of salmon and root vegetables, as written by my friend, the lovely Queen Bee Swain. I might even sip a fine pale ale with such a meal.
I have a lovely lime-colored J.McLaughlin cashmere cardigan hanging in my closet. I may wear it today. I'm all for luck. And I do love the color green. Maybe I will even make something green today... but that's the extent of it. I am pretty sure my near-loathing of this Irish holiday has nothing to do with my Irish and Anglican roots (St. Patrick, like my great great grandmother, was born in London) but more to do with my youth.
Every year on March 17th, New York City becomes a mecca for Drunken Irish Idiots on St. Patrick's Day. A true respectful Irishman would never behave the way these imbeciles do. It all starts with the world famous parade. And suddenly everyone is Irish. The big fat Lebanese girl, despite the fact that her shirt says Kiss Me I'm Irish, is not Irish. I can guarantee you that. Nor the Brazilian ... Nor the Hispanic ... the Italian ... the French. A stupid T-shirt does not an Irish make. Nor does inhaling all those stupid stouts. The only thing that will make you is drunk. And fat. And this country is too damn fat anyhow. (Did you hear about the New Jersey Mother trying to gain weight so she can weigh 1,000 pounds? Don't get me started on this!)
Next thing we know people or going to start munching those ridiculous turkey legs (a la Disneyland) and they'll be marching down Fifth and Madison and every street in between with drumsticks and beers. And we wonder why we are made fun of? Seriously, they do not do this in Ireland folks!
Let me tell you that coming home from school on St. Patrick's Day as a child was a chore. It was like a real-life game of Frogger. Instead of dodging cars and buses and logs, you'd have to dodge the Drunken Fools. The parade would long be over. The bagpipes, fifers and drummers, men clad in kilts had all left the streets. The only thing that remained were drunken assholes by the millions, or so it seemed. Stumbling in and out of bars and doorways. Pissing (they thought, semi-hidden) in front of you, flirting with you (Gross! Go Away!) and barfing at your feet. To make it worse I donned a Gordon-plaid-like kilt and dark green sweater as part of my uniform. There was no escape!
So forgive me for my snarky and not so favorable comments... but it is what it is.
And please know this. I have no disrespect for the wonderful, beautiful land that is Ireland and it's people. I have no disrespect for the wonderful Irish products and cuisine I have enjoyed over the years...I look for rainbows and four leaf clovers... I do believe in luck. Just not Leprechauns which kinda freak me out. And, for my good friends who are indeed Irish "Top o the Mornin' to you!" And to my friend Erin, I hope you go braless today!
As for me... my oldest boy is demanding we find some Shamrock Shakes. He's been wonderful lately so I will honor his wishes even though I'll be killing the environment with my big ol' SUV looking for them... If anyone in Fairfield County knows where I can get my hands on some Mickey D's Shamrock Shakes please let me know!
Meantime, I'm off to grab a bowl of Lucky Charms. I'm told they are magically delicious!
Keem Bay, Ireland
Photo,William Manning/CORBIS for National Geographic
I wish I could make St. Patty's Day fun for the kids. Every year I tell myself I will, but the truth is I really don't care much for the holiday. I know that the Irish don't even celebrate the way "those crazy Irish Americans" do. I'm all for a nice celebration with a fine wine, lovely bubbly and even a little beer every once in a while, but I'm completely lost when drinking 20 pints too many is a testament to a fine land where most of us Americans have never traveled to before.
I have yet to see what corned beef and cabbage, green leprechauns, pots of gold and too much beer have to do with the Patron Saint of Ireland. (To read about St. Patrick, Patron Saint of Ireland, click here.)
Patty Party Pooper you may call me. That's all well and fine. I'm all for a celebratory dinner of salmon and root vegetables, as written by my friend, the lovely Queen Bee Swain. I might even sip a fine pale ale with such a meal.
I have a lovely lime-colored J.McLaughlin cashmere cardigan hanging in my closet. I may wear it today. I'm all for luck. And I do love the color green. Maybe I will even make something green today... but that's the extent of it. I am pretty sure my near-loathing of this Irish holiday has nothing to do with my Irish and Anglican roots (St. Patrick, like my great great grandmother, was born in London) but more to do with my youth.
Every year on March 17th, New York City becomes a mecca for Drunken Irish Idiots on St. Patrick's Day. A true respectful Irishman would never behave the way these imbeciles do. It all starts with the world famous parade. And suddenly everyone is Irish. The big fat Lebanese girl, despite the fact that her shirt says Kiss Me I'm Irish, is not Irish. I can guarantee you that. Nor the Brazilian ... Nor the Hispanic ... the Italian ... the French. A stupid T-shirt does not an Irish make. Nor does inhaling all those stupid stouts. The only thing that will make you is drunk. And fat. And this country is too damn fat anyhow. (Did you hear about the New Jersey Mother trying to gain weight so she can weigh 1,000 pounds? Don't get me started on this!)
Next thing we know people or going to start munching those ridiculous turkey legs (a la Disneyland) and they'll be marching down Fifth and Madison and every street in between with drumsticks and beers. And we wonder why we are made fun of? Seriously, they do not do this in Ireland folks!
Let me tell you that coming home from school on St. Patrick's Day as a child was a chore. It was like a real-life game of Frogger. Instead of dodging cars and buses and logs, you'd have to dodge the Drunken Fools. The parade would long be over. The bagpipes, fifers and drummers, men clad in kilts had all left the streets. The only thing that remained were drunken assholes by the millions, or so it seemed. Stumbling in and out of bars and doorways. Pissing (they thought, semi-hidden) in front of you, flirting with you (Gross! Go Away!) and barfing at your feet. To make it worse I donned a Gordon-plaid-like kilt and dark green sweater as part of my uniform. There was no escape!
So forgive me for my snarky and not so favorable comments... but it is what it is.
And please know this. I have no disrespect for the wonderful, beautiful land that is Ireland and it's people. I have no disrespect for the wonderful Irish products and cuisine I have enjoyed over the years...I look for rainbows and four leaf clovers... I do believe in luck. Just not Leprechauns which kinda freak me out. And, for my good friends who are indeed Irish "Top o the Mornin' to you!" And to my friend Erin, I hope you go braless today!
As for me... my oldest boy is demanding we find some Shamrock Shakes. He's been wonderful lately so I will honor his wishes even though I'll be killing the environment with my big ol' SUV looking for them... If anyone in Fairfield County knows where I can get my hands on some Mickey D's Shamrock Shakes please let me know!
Meantime, I'm off to grab a bowl of Lucky Charms. I'm told they are magically delicious!