Maewyn Succat

As far back as I care to remember, St. Patrick's day has been a viable excuse to do horrible damage to yourself and the immediate world around you. It's a day when it's acceptable, even expected, that a grown man wake up with a drink, dress like a fool, and parade through the streets switching between acts of belligerence and brotherly love. I mean, give the Irish any excuse and they'll do that normally, but on the day when "Everyone's Irish," things are taken to a new level. 

One of my greatest fears in life, living in New York City, is when St. Patrick's Day falls on a Saturday. The Bridge and Tunnel crowd is enormous, and exponentially more obnoxious. And I don't normally have some ripe beef with the B&T peoples, hey, NYC is for everyone. But on this un-holiest of days, that crowd is looking for trouble, and my city becomes a giant porcelain bowl to them. I often wonder when I see these lot of grown men and women, urinating on walls, vomiting in gutters, fighting with and screaming bloody murder at passerby's, if their proud of their actions the next day. Is it a conquest to be bragged about? "I had 16 shots of Jamo, pissed on 3 cars, puked in a green plastic hat, and kicked the shit out of a dwarf." Is it something they'd want their children (or hypothetical children) to learn about in the future? After all, we live in the age of information and documentation. There's pictures of everything.  

As I've said before, I have very little faith in people. I'm never shocked by what I see on St. Patrick's Day, but I'm always perturbed. How do we get to this point? Sadly, I'd be a hypocrite if I said I myself have not acted in this manner (I never hit a dwarf fo the record though). Maybe St. Patrick's Day brings some deep seeded animal out of our subconscious. Maybe we're all just looking for an excuse to act like we're in High School again. What I can tell you with a strong degree of certainty, is that when Maewyn Succat took his Christian name of Patricius, and went about spreading the good lord's word, he had absolutely no idea of what his actions would cause hundreds of years later. 

The Irish have a reputation for drinking. I'm pretty sure everyone is aware of that. No, I'm not stereotyping, I'm simply stating what's been said and seen many times over, and that which I've personally witnessed. In no way am I passing judgement. I'm just saying, hey, the Irish are drinkers. Give them their own worldwide holiday, and what exactly did you think was going to happen? First, they declare that everyone's Irish on this one day, that way it's acceptable for and expected that everyone get shitfaced. Ok. Then, we're going to have everyone dress in green, and wear the same crazy hats, and decals, and beads, to further enhance the spirit of "togetherness," and make it impossible for figures of authority to single any one person out. Check. We'll make the drinks half-priced, so people feel obligated to drink even more, and we'll blast music of the homeland to promote a nostalgic feeling, and eventually rile people up. 

Around 7pm, stragglers start to fade, and only the most hardcore are left out by around 9 or 10pm. Those are the people you steer clear of. If you're on the same side of the street, cross. If you can't, for gods sake don't make eye contact. If undecipherables are slung your way, do not react. Head down, one foot in front of the other, until you've made it to a brightly lit area where there are other sober-esque people. If you're a woman, don't travel alone. If you're a guy, don't let women travel alone. Treat it as a wartime like scenario. Marshall law is in effect, and you're out on the streets after curfew. The idea is to remain out of sight, and to make it to the safety of indoors as fast as possible. 

Another piece of advice: stay the hell away from that parade. If you can even call it that. It's more like a mob. Torches and pitchforks are the only things missing, the attitude is certainly there. Blood will spill. That thing will swallow you whole and never even know it. If you can view it from a high vantage point (i.e. and apartment building or office), then you can really see the debauchery. Razed land is all that's left once the mob has passed through. Now granted, I may be exaggerating a bit as I often tend to do, but that should not lessen the point. Some may call me old, or boring, or a pussy, or things far worse... but that matters little to me. Because come Sunday and Monday, I'll hear about all the casualties from my most trusted source for midtown news, "Roger," the Dunkin Donuts cashier (you know he gets one of those Americanized name tags because god forbid we actually learn foreign peoples real names). He's got his finger on the pulse of the city these days, and finds humor (much as I do) in the misfortunes of people who do stupid things.

So, when you're out on St. Patrick's Day this year, just keep your wits about you as best you can. From time to time, pause, and drink a seltzer (just ask the bar tender to put a lime in it and hold the straw. You're retarded friends will still think you're slugging vodka soda's and you won't lose any of your street cred). Have some lunch, food will not hurt you, it will only extend you're ability to drink well into the night. I recommend an Irish favorite, Corned Beef and cabbage. It's the one time of year I'll actually order it from the deli. The secrets in the mustard though, you have to have a good mustard to accompany that questionably colored meat. And above all people, remember, you're not all Irish, and when you wake up on Sunday, the cosmos will have moved on from this madness. The question is, will you be physically able to? Maybe I sound like the Grinch That Stole Irish Day, but somebody's gotta question the book on this one. 

Much love to the Irish (hey, I've got a tickle of it in me too), and stay classy out there people.