St. Patty's Day in Beantown

St. Patrick’s Day forces you to contemplate such questions as, “Who was St. Patrick, and what should we learn from him?” and “Why do we celebrate St. Patrick’s day on March 17th?” to which Boston loudly answers “Who the hell cares? Pass the Guinness!”

I don’t want to paint a characterture of the place, but outside of Ireland, Boston is a pretty swell place to celebrate the Irish (or whatever it is we’re meant to be commemorating on St. Patty’s day). Coming from Chicago, where we literally paint the river green and have an epic annual parade immortalized by Ferris Beuller (thank you John Hughes), I’m accustom to a bit of a celebration. But Bostonians seem to take this a bit further, and a bit more personally.

It’s not the city-sponsored events, but the general “spirit” of the holiday expressed by a steadily drunker population. By 9 AM the larger of the Irish bars had already opened the taps, and by noon stray celebrants could be seen stumbling into the street. And this is in the normally quite staid business district, so I only imagine the scene in the more “fun” parts of town.

Almost to a person, my entire office donned at least one green item of clothing, the purists were green head to toe. There was a leprechaun loose in Caleb’s daycare who had been leaving little green footprints all over the tiny tables and chairs for days, and for whom the pre-schoolers excitedly set an elaborate trap. Boston natives warned me that the afternoon T trains were sure to be full of liquored up party-goers (and comers), and one person told me she was opting to just walk home to avoid the ruckus.

For some reason all of this reminded me of a Simpsons episode that parodied the typical St. Patrick’s day parade as a day where we pay homage to the Irish by getting drunk and fighting (an ironic “Irish Need Not Apply" sign hangs subtly in the background of the celebration).