If you are about to start quoting Yeats, Joyce, Seamus Heaney, and AE, I don’t want to hear it. If you are inhaling in preparation for a dissertation on the famine and mistreatment of economic refugees by Boston Progressives in the last century, I don’t want to hear it. Last, if you are an citizen of the Republic of Ireland, I don’t want to hear from you.
I’ve passed through the gauntlet of Irish-American self-hatred and I’m here to tell you that I’m having more fun now.
St. Patrick’s Day is evolving into our best holiday. It comes at a great time of year. I’m not sure why. Maybe it is because of global warming. The polar vortex is about to break. Thanks to daylight savings, a brighter day is just around the corner. It’s our post-modern solstice. The middle of March is a good time of year AND THEY GAVE IT TO THE IRISH.
Come on. It’s funny. No gifts. Some Mardi-Gras appropriation. Everyone looks bad in green.
It’s the only time during the year when “Irish” rises to the top of the search term list on Pornhub.
I’ve marched in the St. Patrick’s Day parade in New York City. I’ve watched it from the curb. I’ve watched it on television. My only real memory of the parade is hearing the announcers on TV say “It’s a great day for the Irish” about a thousand times during the broadcast. Well, it’s true.
It’s a Great Day for the Irish
Whatever the fuck that means.
Here are my favorite jokes to tell on St. Patrick’s Day:
An Irishman walks into a bar with a pig under his arm. The bartender asks, “Where did you get that?” The pig says “I won him in a raffle.”
An Irishman was staggering home with a small bottle in his back pocket when he took a bad fall and landed heavily on the pavement. Struggling to his feet he felt something wet running down his leg. “Please God,” he said, “let it be blood.”
Here is my favorite Irish related video:
I’m also fond of this one:
Happy St. Patrick’s Day.