Now, growing up in the city, St Patrick's Day was the bane of one's existence. Stepping over the green vomit on the streets, snaking your way through the drunken revelers, trying to get to and from school or to and from work without a "KISS ME I'M IRISH" always, always, from some dude that you would never give the time of day to, sober, drunk, green, Irish, or not. We would be annoyed. Bridge and Tunnel we would say, and try to get out of the madness.
Like these guys.
(Tho, truth be told, these are cleaned up examples)
Being back, I am enamored with the festivities.
The pomp, the circumstance.
The Parade! The Parade in NYC is really an art form.
I love the delight that people take in the holiday here;
I mean, the local supermarket sold out of their god awful looking green cupcakes in a nano second. Everywhere it seems, are signs that proclaim: BEST Corned Beef and Cabbage! Guinness Beer on tap!
The parade has changed GREATLY since I've been away. There is a strict no alcohol in public, or on the street policy. Police are everywhere. The parade is orderly.
But for one day across New York, there is unity. Everyone is Irish.***
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
***PS. except for Donald Trump. He needs to go far, far away. And take that damn toupee with him. Idiot.