Back in the late '80's, I went to O'Hurley's bar, across from Rockerfeller Center, on St. Patrick's Day. I had to meet my mom, and her brother, my Uncle Bill. This was a bad idea from the get-go: mom and I were a volatile combination at that time, and Uncle Bill couldn't make things go any more smoothly. Mom ended up defending me, after I admitted that I smoked pot to Bill...we drank alot, and argued some more.
After Uncle Bill left, and mom was away from the bar, some drunk said to me "what, have you got a thing for old ladies?" Oh, yeah, he was Irish, and he got my Irish up, for a moment. Then the Norwegian in me took over, and I laughed in his face, saying "that's my mother, asshole!" He mumbled an apology under his breath, and left the bar when mom came back.
Unfortunately, I ended up "losing track" of mom that night. She had a way of "going off" on her own, which scared those of us who cared about her. She ended up being OK, but I spent the late hours of St. Pat's day "stewed," running around midtown looking for my "stewed" mother. Her side of the family was typically dysfunctional, but I have to accept that part of me. I count this as one of the "good times," because it's the last time I saw Uncle Bill. We had fun, but I've been wary of "St. Pat's Day" ever since...
It's become a holiday similar to New Year's Eve, as in "amateur hour." Everybody has to show how "Irish" they can be, with "Irish" translating to "stupid." Look, I've been more of a "party animal" than most of my friends, but I found the place to draw the line. Further, I'm good with "busting chops" on today's partiers, whatever holiday they excuse it with. If they act like asses, let 'em get the boot.