Kiss Me. I’m 1/10th Irish On My Mother’s Side.

I’m seeing the green shirts, and the leprechaun hats, and the inflatable Guinness pints and I’m thinkin’ that my first St. Patrick’s Day as a civilian in four years is going to be quite the greenish gasser. There are few better places to be on this wondrous day. You’ve got Belfast, and then Dublin, Boston and New York with Chicago rounding out the top five – in very particular order. But I have a little shamrock in my craw today, as I always do on March 17th, and it stems from the fact that everyone who has ever so much as touched a U2 cassette will be running around maniacally professing their dodgy Irish heritage. I want a shillelagh and I want it now.

The last four years I have come out of retirement to work the door at Tiernan’s and have thoroughly enjoyed it. But I have to take an entire day off to do so and I’m also starting to feel more and more like Sgt. Roger Murtaugh. I’m too old for this shit. Regardless, there’s no place I’d rather be on St. Pat’s and I’ll be dropping in after work for a couple hours. Also, be sure to check out the magnificent dancing leprechaun I’ve added to their website to mark this delightful day of days. Dee-lightful.

In working those four St. Patrick’s Days, I learned a few important lessons. Cleaning up trampled cabbage at the end of the night is not something to look forward to. Large inflatable leprechaun hats lose a lot of their charm once they’ve been on your living room wall for a week. Know when to duck. But most memorably I’ve learned that people with questionable links to Ireland like use being Irish as an excuse to act like a complete cunt. So for all of you who have a half Irish grandparent who died before you were born, but will be running around today like you’re Brendan bloody Gleeson on mescaline, I have a few important points I’d like you to remember:

1. You don’t have an “Irish Temper”. You’re simply an asshole who’s never been further outside of the United States than Niagara Falls. The American side.

2. Your red hair is as likely due to your parents having had sex in a front of a hotel television set playing a Carrot Top HBO special than any smidgen of Irish heritage. You were born in Methuen and your father is Jewish.

3. The fact that you’ll get red-faced tonight after 3 pints has nothing to do with “the Irish in you”. It’s called an alcohol flush and it means you’re either a piss-head, a diabetic or an Asian. Rarely all three at once. Another 2 pints and you’ll be punching out your boss, so it’s probably time to head home. I saw it happen and then broke it up two years ago.

4. St. Paddy’s is more about savoring a Guinness and listening to some traditional music with friends – and less about shotgunning a sixy of Natty Lite before putting your head through a plate glass window in the financial district. I wish I were kidding, but I’ve definitely seen some confusion surrounding this point in the past.

Have a great, safe time tonight everybody. And one last word of advice – The parade doesn’t actually start until Sunday. Marching down West Broadway at 4 a.m. tomorrow with your pants around your ankles is likely to get you PC’ed. Regardless of whether or not you’re carrying a baton.