March 17, 2005
The Thing About St. Patrick's Day
See, the thing is, it annoys me. Especially living in Chicago, where the South Side Irish love themselves almost as much as they love telling everyone that they're South Side Irish. And by telling, I mean -- shouting at you while poking you in the sternum with their forefinger and sloshing green beer on your shoes.
Great. You're Irish. Does that really warrant so much hoopla? Do you really need to jam it down my throat? Cuz really? The green satin jacket with the Irish flag on the back gave it away. Here's a cookie.
Uh huh, and now all the Irish people are jumping all over me going, "Oh, you're just JEALOUS that you're NOT IRISH!"
Really, I'm not. Now, I will fully cop to envying many, many things in the dark recesses of my heart. I'm jealous of those freaks who are natually slender and willowy. I'm jealous of all redheads. I'm jealous of anyone who can snap their fingers. I'm jealous of those "kept women" who live in penthouses and don't work and only have to see their man on Thursdays.
But I'm not jealous of the Irish. I'm Scandinavian. Yes, we're reserved to a fault and have a pallor like the underbelly of the lye-soaked fish we eat, but we don't start wars, we won't ever embarass you in public, and we make damn good desserts.
A typical St. Patrick's Day conversation:
"Why aren't you wearing green?!"
"I'm not Irish."
"What are you doing after work?"
"Going grocery shopping."
"You're not going out for a drink?"
"I'm not Irish."
"Well, everyone's Irish on St. Patrick's Day!"
"Why the hell would I want to be Irish?"
And violence ensues.
It's not that I have anything against the Irish. I have Irish friends. They're cool. I've seen pictures of Ireland, and it looks pretty. And I'm a big fan of McD's shamrock shakes. But seriously? Just. Another. Nationality. It's not that special.
This year, on Norwegian Independence Day (you don't even know when that is, do you?), I'm totally painting the Norwegian flag on my torso and running around naked with a bowl of herring in one hand and some skis in another, yelling, "Kiss me, I'm Norwegian! Cop a feel, I'm Norwegian! Fling my ankles behind my ears, I'M BALLS-OUT NORWEGIAN! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Comments
OK, I'm definetly going to have to make it to the Syttende Mai parade this year...
Posted by: Marty at March 17, 2005 12:47 PM