If I was more interested in spending the holiday behind bars, I would don a pair of snazzy gloves and practice fierce finger aerobics on the scores of students walking barefacedly around campus without any hint of green vesture. It seems that anyone you ask will claim to be half or one quarter Irish, German, or some equally impressive ethnicity such as Icelandic. However as soon as a holiday involving colorful commitment to tradition arises, most individuals cry about conformity and just grab the nearest clean shirt they can find. It's a shame. A shameful shame.
To make matters worse, if you confront one of these confirmed rebels and question them concerning shades of jade, emerald, and lime, they will do one of three appalling grotesque things. They may threaten physical harm in exchange for the violation of their personal space. They may grin coyly and ask you exactly how certain you are that they aren't wearing anything of the desired hue. Or lastly, they may be a hopeless, loveless, desperate fool who all too eagerly suggests that you apply the prescribed punishment as much as you desire.
Patriotism is a dying dream. Mel Gibson seems to be the last person to really espouse this holy purpose made famous by his last minute 360 turn and lunge. You know someone is cool when they can make a violent piercing of a fellow actor's stomach translate into love for country. Unfortunately Gibby was not wearing green at the time, so the event must be chalked up to another Hollywood distortion of a painfully disappointing reality.
Happy St. Patty's Day, to the lepers and leprechauns alike.
Drinks all around.
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