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Everyday holidays
In my opinion
by Tyler Graf | Opinion editor
PUBLISHED ON 3/19/07 IN Commentary
According to popular lore, St. Patrick drove all the snakes from Ireland. He also apparently raised the dead. Now, 1,600 years later, every March 17, we drink copious amounts of green beer and vomit copious amounts of green puke. This is ostensibly to celebrate the great snake-hatin', corpse-raisin' St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland.
To be honest, I despise St. Patrick's Day. It is amateur hour - a day when throngs of loud cretins pour into the streets to drink Guinness and whiskey. Why? Because the calendar told them to.
When I want to drink, I drink. I don't need a special day. But when you go out on St. Patrick's Day - or Cinco de Mayo, or New Year's - you bump greasy shoulders with people who, from the looks of things, have never seen a bar in their lives, with the possible exception of their multiple viewings of Girls Gone Wild. They act accordingly.
Wearing a green plastic bowler hat and a shirt that says "Kiss me I'm Irish" does not, in fact, make you Irish; it makes you an asshole. I suppose I do not fully understand the Irish Pride movement either - it baffles me, frankly. I'm a quarter Finnish, but I don't wear a shirt that says "Flog me in a sauna, I'm Finnish." And this isn't because I'm ashamed of Finland. Actually, I'm rather proud of its major exports: insanity and alcoholism (a close third being Nokia).
Last year, for the first time, I broke down and went out on St. Patrick's Day, but it was a slightly different situation because it was Paris. I was visiting a friend in the Netherlands for 10 days and we decided to drive to Paris for St. Patrick's Day weekend. Yes, they celebrate St. Patrick's Day in Paris in much the same way we do in the states (by drinking heavily), but if the bar we frequented was any indication, then far more cigarettes are involved. Amateur hour does not recognize international boundaries.
Later that night, unable to find boarding, my friend and I slept in our car. I felt like a real Irish person!
To be honest, I despise St. Patrick's Day. It is amateur hour - a day when throngs of loud cretins pour into the streets to drink Guinness and whiskey. Why? Because the calendar told them to.
When I want to drink, I drink. I don't need a special day. But when you go out on St. Patrick's Day - or Cinco de Mayo, or New Year's - you bump greasy shoulders with people who, from the looks of things, have never seen a bar in their lives, with the possible exception of their multiple viewings of Girls Gone Wild. They act accordingly.
Wearing a green plastic bowler hat and a shirt that says "Kiss me I'm Irish" does not, in fact, make you Irish; it makes you an asshole. I suppose I do not fully understand the Irish Pride movement either - it baffles me, frankly. I'm a quarter Finnish, but I don't wear a shirt that says "Flog me in a sauna, I'm Finnish." And this isn't because I'm ashamed of Finland. Actually, I'm rather proud of its major exports: insanity and alcoholism (a close third being Nokia).
Last year, for the first time, I broke down and went out on St. Patrick's Day, but it was a slightly different situation because it was Paris. I was visiting a friend in the Netherlands for 10 days and we decided to drive to Paris for St. Patrick's Day weekend. Yes, they celebrate St. Patrick's Day in Paris in much the same way we do in the states (by drinking heavily), but if the bar we frequented was any indication, then far more cigarettes are involved. Amateur hour does not recognize international boundaries.
Later that night, unable to find boarding, my friend and I slept in our car. I felt like a real Irish person!
Viewing Comments 1 - 2 of 2
Scott Austin
posted 3/20/07 @ 6:39 AM PST
Always the sharp shooter, Tyler. Well done.
Scott
mark
posted 3/24/07 @ 8:17 AM PST
Hilarious really, and I'm half Irish (and one fifth Scotch) according to my parents.
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