A religious holiday co-opted by confused alcoholic foreigners. Even more confused? The Irish, as they watch Americans celebrate it.
Ah, St Paddy’s Day. A bunch of non-Irish-folk paint themselves green, get viciously drunk and slur about some non-existent Irish ancestors. I lived in Boston for 15 years, and I never saw a sillier sight than drunk sixth-generation Bostonians weeping with nostalgia for a country they’ve neither visited, nor can actually find on a map.
A religious holiday co-opted by confused alcoholic foreigners. But why has it been co-opted by Americans? All St Saint Patrick did was chase away snakes, not produce any oil.
drops mic, moonwalks off stage
I'm not saying that St. Patricks Day is a conspiracy perpetrated by Irish brewing countries in league with a cartel of manufacturers of green food coloring. No wait a minute, that IS what I'm trying to say. Sorry, there's something about this holiday that gets me all muddled. It might possibly be the alcohol speaking. Look, I'm very good at research.
Like everyone else here, I like to live according to the whims and moral sensibilities of the dead. Countless times I've paused before eating a bun and wondered what St. Gabriel would have to say about its scarcity of raisins. St. Gabriel is the patron saint of communicators (but still the Vatican communicates via smoke signals?!). St. Patrick? I think he hated snakes or something
400 years ago Boston was a drop-off point for a religious sect who frowned upon the entire concept of pleasure. But nowadays Bostonians all swear they're from Ireland. I was pretty skeptical they had any Irish ancestry at all until presented with the irrefutable evidence of green socks on St. Patricks Day. Thank God. I thought they were all mad...
It makes me sad that many people don't take St Patrick's Day seriously. Some will prance about in fatuous green socks, mention some highly unlikely Irish ancestor and then consider their obligations to the thing met. Not me. I'm a messenger. From God, probably. And if I don't explain this holiday then millions will be spending Saturday drunk for no reason at all. So here we go ...
It's re-hash Wednesday and St Patrick's Day is nigh, meaning that fifth-generation Americans will suddenly announce they've been Irish all this time and go out to Samuel Becket readings or stay in to argue passionately about which among Joyce, Heaney and Yeats provided the world with the most literary description of the potato. See? That was one sentence. It's called brevity, Joyce.
I'm in Boston and that means I'm obliged to get falling-down-drunk with friends on St Patrick's Day. Ireland's nationalist movement needs a good, alcoholic kick once a year, and if I have to wake up in a pool of someone else's vomit, so be it. I'll do anything for a good cause. Oh, today's card? Sorry Irish people.
On re-hash Wednesday I like to post an older wrongcard, and today's is one for St. Patrick's Day. A couple of my mates will be going 'ouch' right now but I have a bottle of Makers Mark on standby to send them singing into the land of forgiveness. I know, right?