Though I hate to use Identity politics in any argument, St. Patrick’s Day is a bit unique. My blood is nearly 100 hundred percent Irish and I hate every bit of it on St. Paddy’s.
St. Paddy’s is man’s basest nature of hedonism and Irish culture. Yes, the Irish are found of the drink, perhaps a devil for it but no one mentions our unusual accomplishments to the English language in Joyce, Yeats, Wilde, or Beckett. All Irish accomplishments are thrown out the window for our perhaps unique sin or curse;alcohol. The public drinks for us like it’s going out of style.
The general public engorges themselves on the Irish American proto fatalistic tradition of alcoholism. Everyone seems to forget that the term “Paddy Wagon” which earned it’s title. The Irish were such a miserable lot that the NYPD had to hired half of the Irish to arrest the other half for being such violent drunks.
This miserable tradition continues today but has spread to the general public. When I walk the streets of Manhattan on St. Paddy’s I see 15-21 year old Staten Island Italians andthe children of Westchester ride the metro lines to annihilate them-selves on booze. They drown themselves in Gatorade and vodka and before 3pm they have alcohol poisoning. Your soda-bottle mixed drink reeking in Everclear doesn’t fool a soul.
This brings me to the larger point of alcohol indulgence. I’m an alcoholic, I once got black out because it was cloudy outside. A day devoted to the drink serves no one, especially the one that divulges in it.
This is my general proverb to the young on out St. Paddy’s; “You’re 16 and you shouldn’t be drinking hard liquor before 9pm. I’m an Irish alcoholic who has been drinking for a decade, don’t ruin my name by vomiting in the subway car. “
Happy St. Paddy’s
-JAMES F.X HILER