St. Patrick's Day

Today is St. Patrick's Get Stupid Drunk Day.

I call it so because this date has long been used by chronic, serial binge drinkers as an excuse to consume such excessive amounts of booze as to qualify themselves as human distilleries. They ride the train with me at night causing all kinds of mayhem in their drunken states. They're loud. They start fights. Some even puke when they can't hold their liquor. And don't get me started about what happens after the train ride. Many of these morons drive home. Enough said.

In all fairness, I don't mean to paint all St. Patricks's Day celebrants with the same brush. There are many Irish and people of Irish descent who see this day as an opportunity to acknowledge and educate others about their wonderful culture. I love the Irish. I do. And I see no problem in washing down a corned beef and cabbage dinner with a pint or two. In fact, I may have one myself tonight when I get home.

I must also disclose that as an American of Puerto Rican descent, we are not immune to the stupidity of drunken celebration. I lose it when I see my fellow boricuas become borrachines during the Puerto Rican Day parades, usually held here in May. But whether you're speaking of Puerto Ricans or Irish, drinking heavily mocks the cultural significance of the day and reinforces hurtful stereotypes.


Typically, the St. Patrick's Day imbibers I've had run ins with on the train are white, wealthy suburbanites who skew politically towards conservative Republican positions. I'm making generalizations, I know. But this assertion comes from years of empirical observation. It's also fair to ask me how I know this. Look, these are my neighbors. I know them. They talk. I listen. I seethe silently. I see no point in debating them on moral or political issues. They're faithful.

They'll tell you they support denying Irish gay men and women the right to identify themselves as such at the annual parades. "Why draw attention to yourself that way?" they argue. Drawing attention to oneself is not the Irish way, after all, especially when it runs afoul of the moral sensibilities of the diocesan Cardinal who blesses participants as they pass St. Patrick's Catherdral on 5th Avenue. Yet, I've witnessed many of these same folks publicly dive into such depths of sloth, debauchery, and immorality that would make even the most sinful of Popes blush.

I digress. There was a time when this was a cheerful day for me. Despite this date being my niece Megan's birthday, it also holds sad memories. It was on this date in 1984 that my sister lost her infant son to crib death. I know I ought not care about the drunken morons; the packs of whom I'll wade through as I make my way to my train out of Pennsylvania Station. I have more pressing and immediate concerns.

But my point in writing this rant is to ask a favor. Please celebrate wisely and show some respect for the rich Irish culture. Go ahead and raise your pints of Guiness Stout or Jamesons on the rocks and be proud if you are of Irish descent and revel in their joy if you are not.

Please save a slice of Irish soda bread for me and, by all means, don't be this person.

Slán agus beannacht leat

Photo credit: Gary Holtzman