Whiskey and Sunday and Tears on Our Cheeks

Being part Irish (especially the liver part), I feel I may speak frankly about St. Patrick’s Day, and, to be frank, it’s pretty annoying. I take a bit of umbrage at the “everybody’s Irish on Saint Patty’s day” attitude that floats, unchecked, across the nation on March 17. It’s not as if we’re spending today honoring the accomplishments of great Irish Americans like Bill O’Reilly and Donovan McNabb. We are not taking a moment of silence at noon to remember the victims of The Great Famine, or more recently, The Troubles. Instead, we dress ourselves in Kelly Green v-neck sweaters and plastic bowlers, drink beer and pinch people.

Imagine for a moment we had a holiday called Chief Geronimo Day, wherein everyone ran around scalping each other, claiming tribal land for the building of garish casinos and drank cocktails made of methyl alcohol and Ocean Spray cranberry juice.

Being part Native American (especially the liver part), I feel I speak for all of us when I say that actually, that sounds sort of badass. A lot more badass than four leaf clovers and green beer anyway. I guess what I’m getting at is: Why can’t St. Patrick’s Day be cooler? To illustrate my point, I've posted the image above, which is a still from the movie “Leprechaun in the Hood.” Look at how fucking scary that leprechaun is. Plus he’s in the mythical “hood,” birthplace of hip hop, Dolemite and breakdancing. See what I mean? Why can’t actual leprechauns be more like this?

However you decide to spend the holiday—be it drinking beer at a bar with friends, at home with your family, or by yourself in the dark with your phone off because your sponsor won’t stop calling—try to keep your dignity about you. Try to spend it cool.

On a related note: It seems I will be attending the sold-out Pogues show at the Nokia Theater on Sunday. Provided Shane McGowan lives that long. I am beyond excited. Details to follow.