I used to be a nut for St. Patrick's Day. Yeah, I was that guy, decked out in green at the bar clinging to a Guinness and belting out Rocky Road to Dublin. Today, not so much.
The holiday used to be a Church holiday in Ireland. It was a day to go to church and have a quiet pint in the local afterwards, shake some hands, kiss some babies. It's still not as big in Ireland as it is in North America. While I was living in Waterford, a local travel agency held a contest with the first prize being a trip for 2 to New York for St. Patrick's Day. Partly to take part in the party, part, no doubt, to get the hell away from all the Yanks that take over Dublin for the week.
Like Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day is a marketing story. It's about drunken Oirish frat boys spending millions on Guinness. The only day when it's acceptable to drink yourself stupid before noon. This to celebrate the culture of a country where alcohol has always been, and continues to be, a major social problem. The curse of the Irish to celebrate the country's patron Saint, the Irish certainly appreciate irony.
Nonetheless, I'm not a curmudgeon. I have nothing against fun. I'll stay home tonight, have a beer, maybe play a couple tunes on my flute. But don't let me keep you, gead out to your favourite boozer and enjoy your stout... just don't dye your beer green and if the band starts playing Danny Boy, get the hell out of there.
3 weeks ago