March 2003

St. Patrick's Day: Reasons Why We Have Sedatives

It's hard to ignore St. Patrick's Day and all its associated festivities if you live in this area. Being partly of Irish descent myself, and growing up Catholic (attending a school run by a religious order hailing from Philadelphia), I've nurtured a special place in my heart for March 17th. I'm beginning to ponder this stance, though, after years of diligent sociological research. For example:

Parades/Celebrations. To date, I've attended a few parades and celebrations in honor of this day, and in various locations. My least favorite has been in Savannah, GA. My favorite has got to be the one in Alexandria, VA. One was an outright attempt at bacchanalia, and the other was a community gathering for a parade on a sunny day. But, there's more to it than just that.

Savannah boasts great location, excellent Southern cuisine, pleasant climate, and the scent of pulp mills. I had been invited by a friend of mine to fly down and visit my friend's sister and son during the St. Patrick's Day weekend last year. I think that every college student or recent college graduate was in town for that particular weekend. I have the photos to prove it. It was as if all the people who, (A) weren't attending Mardi Gras in Louisiana or, (B) were warming up for Mardi Gras in Louisiana, went to Savannah. I saw more racks there than at a shoe shop.

Personal space was at a premium and every Don's John was filled to capacity (occupancy and volume). There was a thriving black market based on beaded necklace distribution that would have supported the economy of Uruguay for six months. It was hell. The parade from earlier that day, though, was excellent.

In contrast, the parade in Old Town Alexandria carried itself in an altogether different manner. The parade itself was fairly ho-hum. It was the people that I was more interested in. Crowds for the Old Town parade had a much higher CP/f2 (Crazy person per square foot) ratio than those of Savannah. Two examples stick out in my mind:

St. Patrick, or "The Bishop" as I will call him, was an older gentleman dressed from head (cardboard, decorated bishop's miter) to foot (well, fine, he was wearing Rockports. Just read on) as the patron saint of Ireland. He had a long white beard (his own), a cleric's chasuble (in the ubiquitous green), and a crosier (crafted from what appeared to be a bamboo fishing rod).

The Bishop also walked around blessing the masses with his bamboo crosier in one hand and a plastic travel mug filled with who-knew-what in the other. I guess he was either method acting or deeply spiritual. The Bishop had some stiff competition, though, in the form of Mike.

Mike dressed somewhat plainly for the parade: terra cotta orange turtleneck and matching clay-colored pants. Over top of this ensemble, the white-bearded Mike had displayed a sign around his neck. He must have stayed up all night designing and producing this sign. It was no more and no less than a lovely neon green posterboard with the words "The sixty five year old man" (sic) written upon it in Magic Marker. I think he was hoping to enter as a float.

Accompanying Mike was his faithful canine companion "Brandy: The 10 year old dog!" (sic). Her sign was a fetching neon orange with the similar marker writing style as her master's.

Overall, I'm beginning to wonder where the rest of us fit in, if at all. As a proponent of multiculturalism, and proud herald of my own ethnic heritage, I'm torn between my experiences "growing up green" and the current trends that this holiday now harbors. Come what may, I assume that the drunken college bastards found in the major cities featuring debauched street orgies will become the Bishops and Mikes of our future.