the young student-laddy on reception downstairs came into work this morning dressed like this (complete with lucky charms suit). every time i walk past him, i can't help wondering if he can be really comfortable. and then i feel uncomfortable for him as he says "top of the morning" to all and sundry who happen past his station. including the cadre of south africans we have here right now for a research trip. ("we give you insight into zulu cultural tradition, and you give us this?")campus is crawling with these creatures. a sea of green off to lectures, recitation, and then to the bar. perhaps its my colonial (potato-hating?) heritage, but i don't get it... (and i have it on authority that my irish ex-pat counterparts don't quite get it either. especially the "let's turn the rivers green" part: "jayzus, what 're they thinkin'?").
i also happen to know that i can expect to be feted by a whole array of "shamrock/paddy art" when i pick up my boy from preschool tonight, and there will be much green glitter and tissue paper festooning the floor of the car for a few months to come.
UPDATE: Uhm, how about your three-yr old coming home with an utterly green painted face,
"honey, you look like the hulk!"
"NO, no, NO! I am a LEPRECHAUN."
"a hulk-leprechaun?"
"NOOOO, just a leprechuaaaaaan.
but on the other hand, if it gives me an excuse to get drunk of my ass on guiness and jamesons tonight, or to do green jello shots, I'M IN.
So, top of the mornin', afternoooon, and evenin' to ya all"
p.s. don't get me wrong, i fucking love ireland. and potatoes. and cabbage. (but not Enya).
6 comments:
Oh, man. Do you think there's any other point to St. Patrick's day than getting drunk?
I guess--dressing like an idiot maybe?
It's kind of careened out of control, this holiday. Am I just remembering wrong or did it used to be minor and unobtrusive?
half-blunk drogging tonight... not on jamieson's, but that's a heck of an idea.
Here's an irish joke fer ya:
Paddy's off to a meeting and can't find a parking spot. He promises the Lord that if He can deliver a good parking space, Paddy will give up the drink and attend mass every week without fail.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a space appears.
Paddy looks up and says,
"nevermind, I found one!"
For what it's worth, in New York it's St Pat's is for caucasian non-Irish to celebrate beer. Generally culminating in pools of green vomit peppering fifth avenue. It's a good day to stay out of midtown.
Just like every other holiday, it's a chance for us Americans to rape and bastardize the sacred traditions of other cultures in order to devise new, novel occasions upon which to 1) wear ridiculous costumes and accoutrements and 2) get plastered!
*hic*
aaah! well, as you know, the brits have never colonized and sucked the very life-blood out of many many cultural traditions--hence the confusion;-)
now looking into how to turn the easter bunny into a creature who comes and gives eggs in exchange for pacifiers (yup, we got that addiction going on in our house).
I didn't do anything Irish. How lame am I? I am a fan of their tattoo designs and their beer. I'm with you on enya. But beer. Beer.
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