Somewhere right now in Massachusetts, a woman is wearing a lapel pin just like this...
Last time we had a snowfall, I was goofing through a work-at-home day by blogging about Valentine's Day. And here we are again. It is, to be fair, my "lunch hour," and I must stop in the middle of yet another ACTION LOG (let's start a comic book called ACTION LOG LEAGUE) to watch the snow fall and wish this were not a work day.
The spring Nor'easter really has a fierceness all its own. I just dashed to the mailbox without the proper 4 layers and truly regretted that. Fortunately it is not far. And there are buffalo tenders in the oven. I have a conference call at 1pm or there would also be something frothy in the blender. Perhaps even green and frothy.
I am not a fan of St Patrick's Day. Certainly you know I am not a fan of most holidays, as obligatory fun gives me the willies. Required colors just make that worse. Here is your user's guide to the heart o' St Patty's country.
The St Patrick's Day breakfast: Massachusetts pols have 2 big breakfasts: MLK and St Pat's. And you don't want to get these confused, because the former is reverent and respectful, and the latter...not so much. Especially when your governor is Deval Patrick. But O-be-garsh-n-girlie, to have a governor named Patrick at the St Patrick's Day breakfast, which is a Dean Martin meets Don Rickles meets your Uncle Sully so biting that this year they had to publicly state the rule that jokes about the First Lady's clinical depression is off-limits.
The St Patrick's Day parade: There are several, of course. This should be spelled THE St Patrick's Day parade - the Southie parade, mysteriously held this year last weekend, as if someone knew this one would be a bust. Perhaps the weeeeeeee folk had a hand in it. [this whole conceit is much funnier if you could hear my O'Shaughnessy-Shaughnessy brogue] Anyway, here's 2 minutes o' daht.
The Irish Singalong: This is mostly for the tourists, but the regulars certainly will sing along to the Shins and the Dropkick Murphys (Murphies?) and the Floggin Mollies, and god bless Jim Plunkett. The Purple Shamrock one, not the Oakland Raiders one.
Click here for the whole damn unicorn song. And don't blame me if you can't get it out of your head.
Boiled Dinnah: ew...ew...ew. You have to be so wet-sweater rain-soaked "it's a fine soft day" Irish, so New England you say "b'day-da," to even eat boiled dinner, and if you say you like it, you're a liar (YOU aa'!), you just say so because your mother worked all day on it and she's a saint, and she only did because it's the only thing her poor old fathah can enjoy anymore, and frankly...he's lying too.
Evacuation Day: So yes, St Patrick's is actually a State Holiday. Not because of the snakes, or even the pols, but because Washington scared the British out of Boston from the top of a hill in -- where? -- South Boston, so it all does fit together nicely. And the banks are closed, so drink up, laddie.
Leprechaun Roundup: This is strictly the folly of my own town, where town leadership honors those who give service to town interests by naming them into the Leprechaun Society. Quite an honor, actually.
That is not one. [smoking does indeed stunt your growth] He and other children have been enlisted to round-up the wee folk in the town square and escort them into the Hall for the ceremony. This is difficult, see, because they are so wee the' can'na be seen by nay but chil'ren. [that might be scottish] It took some doing to drawn in a picture of this, but you are worth it. And I stole it off someone else's page, so let's see how long that lasts.
The yellow rope is the corral that holds the wee folk in. Nah, ya can'na see 'em, ya doomb bastid. They're weeeee.As I was writing this, Pete Malloy, my authority on these things, sent this. That ought to hold you till the sun comes out.