no four-leaf clovers on St. Patrick's Day, please

Amen on that.

I'll do my tanking on Guy Fawkes Night, thanks.

 

Pat: He was an Anglo-Irishman.
Meg: In the name of God, what's that?
Pat: A Protestant with a horse.
Ropeen: Leadbetter.
Pat: No, no, an ordinary Protestant like Leadbetter, the plumber in the back parlour next door, won't do, nor a Belfast orangeman, not if he was as black as your boot.
Meg: Why not?
Pat: Because they work. An Anglo-Irishman only works at riding horses, drinking whiskey, and reading double-meaning books in Irish at Trinity College.

– From Act One of The Hostage by Brendan Behan

 

Just got back in from Manhattan. The last time I saw that many drunk, loud micks was a 'Beat family funeral.

 

Like many others here who have considerable Irish ancestry, I too get ticked off at the Mardi Gras type commercialism of the holiday. For those who aren't Irish, it's just an excuse to get drunk, and has no real meaning.

But I try not to complain about it too much. I wouldn't have any Irish in me if I didn't still try and have an enjoyable time with family and friends who do really care about it.

 

Hate to disrespect your subject line request, but I don't think you'll mind this one

 

As my dad would say, You mutt.

Since my family is green, I've always favored Jameson, although I will admit that the black Bushmill's is a superior product.
And although the orange and green sentiment still runs deep when it comes to the subject of whiskey, the two brands are now owned by the same company.

I'll be indulging in a drop of the creature for Paddy's Day.
Maybe more than a drop.

 

Walking through Manhattan, on seemingly every block, there are vendors shilling cheap hats, flags and Mardi Gras-esque beads.

 

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner
round the flure yer trotters shake
Bend an ear to the truth they tell ye,
we had lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake

 

Good music from my home state is always welcome.

 

This thread is incomplete without:

When things go wrong and will not come right,
Though you do the best you can,
When life looks black as the hour of night -
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

When money's tight and hard to get
And your horse has also ran,
When all you have is a heap of debt -
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

When health is bad and your heart feels strange,
And your face is pale and wan,
When doctors say you need a change,
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

When food is scarce and your larder bare
And no rashers grease your pan,
When hunger grows as your meals are rare -
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

In time of trouble and lousey strife,
You have still got a darlint plan
You still can turn to a brighter life -
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN

 

Oh whiskey is the life of man
Always was since the world began

Whiskey-o, Johnny-o
Rise her up from down below
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o
Up aloft this yard must go
John rise her up from down below

Now whiskey made me pawn me clothes
And whiskey gave me a broken nose

Whiskey-o, Johnny-o
Rise her up from down below
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o
Up aloft this yard must go
John rise her up from down below

Now whiskey is the life of man
Whiskey from an old tin can

Whiskey-o, Johnny-o
Rise her up from down below
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o
Up aloft this yard must go
John rise her up from down below

I thought I heard the first mate say
I treats me crew in a decent way

Whiskey-o, Johnny-o
Rise her up from down below
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o
Up aloft this yard must go
John rise her up from down below

A glass of whiskey all around
And a bottle full for the shanty man

Whiskey-o, Johnny-o
Rise her up from down below
Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey-o
Up aloft this yard must go
John rise her up from down below

 

My ancestor is John A. MacDonald. Therefore, as I told a young intern who asked if I was going out tonight for St. Patrick's Day..."I don't need an excuse to drink."