Not Everything Green Is Good (Or: Why I Hate Saint Patrick’s Day)

Today is March 17th, 2010. Which means it’s Saint Patrick’s Day.

Big fucking whoop-de-do.

I’ve always hated this day. Seriously. Nothing against the Irish per say you know. On my mother’s side of the family, there’s English. As a child she grew up in Liverpool. Going further back into her background, she can trace it back further to Ireland and Scotland. You still won’t catch me wearing any green on March 17th, and I’ll tell you why.

As a naive New Yorker, I hate parades. I just really hate them. The last parade I truly enjoyed was in New Orleans for Mardi Gras, 1999. Yeah, I got a few beads from various parade floats, big whoop. However, I didn’t show any boobs. Got those cheap plastic things due to the color of my hair. Which was a shade of Vampire Red courtesy of Manic Panic hair-dye. Oh yeah, and my outfit which was a hybrid of Goth fetish mixed with an pink glittery Indian Saree. If my memory serves me correctly, might’ve worn a pair of platform boots with that outfit. Plus I was sporting Bettie Page bangs. Now that was nerve.

Back to parades. I hate parades in general. Stopped going to the Gay Pride ones a long time ago. Was slightly curious about going to see ticket tape parades whenever the Yankees won the World Series. Yet didn’t really bother to check the starting time. Made it to the Coney Island Mermaid parade only once. The next time I went, missed the Mermaid parade altogether, headed straight for the boardwalk. When I had worked at Macy’s, holiday season 1992, I decided to volunteer for the Thanksgiving day parade. Went to the upstairs office, signed a sheet. The only positions that were left were for filling up small balloons, or some crap like that. For this great honor of doing that chore, I had to be there at 5am. So I blew it off and slept in late. Later on after that gig ended, a “certificate” arrived in the mail. It was from Macy’s, thanking me for my service with the parade that Thanksgiving. Huh. (Sidenote: Afterwards, managed to get re-hired for Macy’s temp positions twice.)

However, I digress. Let’s focus on one of the most annoying parades ever, especially in New York City; The Saint Patrick’s Day parade. The parade in honor of the holiday I truly hate the most. Good old St. Patrick.

Bleh.

A bit of quick history about Saint Patrick. Supposedly he did exist. His birth could be traced to either 385 AD or 387 AD, and he died around 461 AD or 493 AD. At age 16 he was taken captive from Britain, and made to be a slave in Ireland for about six years. St. Patrick heard God whispering in his ear, and soon escaped. Now safe in Britain, this dude heard yet another voice from above, urging him to go back to Ireland as a missionary. So after many years in training, he went back to in the hopes of Christian conversion. Now this gets murky because the story of Saint Patrick tends to get exaggerated quite a bit. The person formerly known as Maewyn Succat is credited for converting most Irish folks. It was believed that most of the Irish was practicing a more nature-based spiritual belief system, similar to Paganism, and/or Celtic Druidism. Please keep in mind that further confusion is due to the fact that very little contemporary evidence about the original Druids exists. Particularly since their knowledge was passed on within an oral tradition.

So Patrick was made a hero cause supposedly he ‘drove the snakes out of Ireland.’ This is complete and utter bullshit. Ireland never had any snakes to begin with, and there’s scientific proof of this fact. So in regard to this, ‘driving the snakes out of Ireland’ is more of a metaphor of converting pagans into good God-fearing Christian sheep. In the Judeo-Christian mythos, snakes are looked upon as a symbol of evil and temptation. The best known example is probably that hussy Eve and how some nasty reptile tempted her in The Garden of Eden. Eve got down with Adam, and everything got all fucked up. Damn snake.

Which leads to one of the main reasons why I loathe this holiday. Basically this is just a celebration about how one religion trampled over another culture. Yay! Let’s drink to that!

If you’re still reading this blog post, you’re probably sensing my sarcasm steeping through. Very good! Here’s a Jameson shot for ya.

St. Patty’s Day started out as a Christian holy day, but it’s more renown as a secular celebration. The saint himself died on March 17th, hence, the feast known as St. Patrick’s Day. On this day of the 17th, they have parades. Saint Patrick Day parades. New York City, where I’m from, is known for the biggest parade to rule them all. Did I mention how much I hate parades?

Parades are supposed to be fun. No they are not. They’re annoying. Parades block up traffic, and makes it harder to arrive to work or school on time. Makes it hard to get around in general. Thanks to people coming in from the suburbs, subways, buses and streets are ten times more crowded than usual. More ugly people to look at. Ugh. Of course, since many of these parade spectators live in the suburbs, they take on this persona of “whatever happens in the city stays in the city.” Basically allowing themselves an excuse to act like the touristy morons that they truly are. Then there’s the alcohol. Add beer, get instant asshole.

Hey, I’m not knocking drinking. Not too proud to admit I’ve acted like a drunken fool many a time. At least though, I’ve done it with style. However, there is nothing more irritating than some bridge and tunnel jackass swilling in total drunken ignorance. In public.

While we’re at it, why don’t we all go ahead and wolf down corned beef and cabbage. Here’s another round of Guinness. Woohoo! Way to go, let’s continue to perpetrate annoying stereotypes. It’s okay, you’re Irish, you’re supposed to get drunk. Oh. Okay. Here’s a shot of Kilbeggan. Aww shoot, now you’re on the floor. Because you’re supposed to be rip-roaring drunk on St. Patty’s Day. Hey, what’s that accessory on your green sweatshirt? Oh, it’s puke. Now you’re beyond being a hangover martyr. Hope you die of alcohol poisoning you dipshit.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong of being proud of who you are, and your roots. I just think there’s better ways of celebrating your heritage. So read Yeats and James Joyce. Listen to Sinead O’ Connor, Stiff Little Fingers, The Pogues. Oh wait…The Pogues…bad example.

Singer Shane McGowan, formerly of The Pogues

Shane With No Teeth

Okay we get the point.

Thin Lizzy anyone? I’ll even take early U2. Just as long as its not Black 47 and that Riverdance crap. Please. Anything but that.

So on Saint Patrick’s Day, feed your friendly pet snake. Besides, Guinness may be nice, but Smithwick tastes much better.