I’m sort of ambivalent about my ambivalence toward St. Patrick’s Day. On the one hand, it’s obviously fucking stupid. On the other, it’s really fucking stupid, so it’s kind of hard to strike the right balance of feigned superiority that I’m known by literally tens of people for. But anything that brings together the holy trinity of List ridiculousness: Religion, Nationalism and Getting Wasted, Dude! altogether in one spectacular shit show is ripe for scorn. When you add in other reliable List-worthy staples like Boston, the Irish, Irish-Americans, parades, having fun, doing stuff, and being sociable with other people, well, it deserves a special rung of its own in List hell. The only way it could be worse is if it was a day where everyone pretended really hard right in your face to be Italian.
I think we can all agree that no matter how bad St. Patrick’s Day is, at least we dodged a bullet on that one.
The reason it doesn’t bother me too much though is because, as a reasonable person, I don’t even really know that it exists. I don’t go to Southie to watch the parade. I don’t go to watch any parade for that matter. I’d rather see a column of stormtroopers marching down the street to my front door with burning torches and laser shields than be subjected to that particular drunken brand of artistry that comprises everything contemptible about ethnic pride and displays of military prowess. (Marching bands are kind of cool though, just saying.)
And unlike every other night of the year I will make the reasonable decision to avoid bars tonight. Why? Because I am not a fucking moron. Also I don’t like standing in lines, being around ridiculous people, or taking part in forced displays of camaraderie. I don’t like watching people puke, get in fights and singing old timey Irish folk songs either. If I wanted to take part in any of that shit I wouldn’t have quit going to AA meetings with your sister.
So, I don’t know. Go celebrate it if you want. It’s your stupid life. But do me a favor, every couple hours or so, in between spilling sips of green water-colored beer piss on your green Cosby sweater, think about this: St. Patrick wasn’t even Irish. Dude was born in Roman Briton. Also there were never any snakes in Ireland. Also taxes are due in a couple weeks and we’re all going to die some day, most likely in pain and alone.
Anyway, have fun having fun. See you tomorrow for the post-game wrap up. I wanna hear all about it.