1) Some rivers look better green
2) Beer of any color, agreed... ugh and
3)The following article made me ;D ;D ;D
Philly Burbs: Begorrah
By Bob Bankard
www.phillyburbs.com/pb-dyn/news/212-03172004-264871.html Welcome to Saint Patrick's Day. He's the guy who brought Christianity to Ireland and drove all the snakes out.
He's also the rotten bastard who steals my birthday party every year. People get plastered all through the 17th, and then when tomorrow comes 'round, they're all too hung over and broke to do me suitable honor.
Worra, worra, worra...
Still in all, it's only a matter of time until I displace him; seems to me the whole thing comes down to beer and the simple spreading of enlightenment, after all. We're essentially in the same business - I just haven't come up with a good shtick yet.
Pat's whole gig was the shamrock. The story goes that, stuck for an easy way of explaining the Holy Trinity, he plucked a piece of clover from the ground, said, "See this? Three leaves, one stem. There's your Holy Trinity, right there."
Thanks to that little mnemonic, people mangle "Too Ra Loo Ra Loo Ral" and vomit on their shoes for his birthday every year. That's about the kind of celebrity I'm shooting for.
Don't misunderstand me; having been blessed with more than a drop or two of old Eire in the blood (On me mither's soid), I get a kick out of the idea of St. Patty's Day. The Irish, in general, look upon it benevolently, and with more than a dollop of good humor. Of course, our humor is one of the things that makes us, frankly, one of the best races on the face of the planet.
Now, think on it for a minute. Drunks shamble down the street on the 17th, talking in mock accents that sound like a cross between Chief O'Hara and the "Lucky Charms" Leprechaun, and we smile indulgently. Try pulling a comic imitation like that in public during Black History Month, and see how far it gets you. The
lamp-post ceramic at the right is circa 2004, by the way. Goes to show ya - We're an easy-going people.
We're willing to play along; we'll let you think that " Danny Boy" and "Mother Macree" are Irish songs (
they're not), and we hardly ever subject you to the real stuff like "Coinleach Ghlas An Fhomhair," "Chuaigh Me Na Rosann," or the magnificent harp works of Turlough O'Carolan. It's far better music, but it's not sung in English so we don't bother you with it. We're an accomodating people.
We try not to crow, even though we have plenty to be proud of; Robbie Burns, Sam Beckett, Seamus Heaney, James Joyce, G.B. Shaw, John Swift and W.B. Yeats are just the top layer of cream from the top of our writers. Pierce Brosnan, Gabriel Byrne, Liam Neeson, Richard Harris, Peter O'Toole and Ken Branaugh are all ours, not to mention the two Maureens - O'Hara and Sullivan. If you're looking to play some Irish music today, but something that isn't... deedly-deedly, try some Van Morrison, Elvis Costello, U2, Boomtown Rats, Thin Lizzy, The Pogues or The Coors. We're a people in love with the arts, especially words.
We try not to whine, even though we have plenty to bitch about, too. We were enslaved by the Romans, we were enslaved by the English, we were treated like dirt in America, but in the end we shrugged it off. No hard feelings. Well, not much, anyway. You've come to like us. We always liked you. No sense in marring a good future with a bad past. We're a forgiving people.
Mostly.
Finally, we're an inclusive group. You go right ahead and wear green, and do the Lucky Charms accent - we love you for it, and you're all officially honorary Irishmen for the day. We're genuinely delighted that you've given a day to think upon us kindly.
Of course, I get gypped of a decent birthday, but hey - sometimes you have to take one for the team. Drink sensibly, drive carefully, and be good, kids. Beannachtam na Femle Padraig.
What shall I say about the Irish?
The utterly impractical, never predictable
Something irascible, quite inexplicable Irish.
Strange blend of shyness, pride and conceit,
And stubborn refusal to bow in defeat.
He's spoiling and ready to argue and fight,
Yet the smile of a child fills his soul with delight.
His eyes are the quickest to well up in tears,
Yet his strength is the strongest to banish your fears.
His faith is as fierce as his devotion is grand,
And there's no middle ground on which he will stand.
He's wild and he's gentle.
He's good and he's bad.
He's proud and he's humble.
He's happy and he's sad.
He's in love with the ocean, the earth and the skies.
He's enamored with beauty wherever it lies.
He's victor and victim, a star and a clod,
But mostly he's Irish in love with his God.
-Author Unknown