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St. Patrick’s Day is almost here.

Arguably the worst “holiday” ever.

I think this is the only day on the calendar where you can make a ridiculous caricature out of an entire nationality, and not be called a racist.

Shamrocks and leprechauns.  Really?  You really think we all have tiny little men and green clovers lying around our house?

It seems like I have a personal tie-in to everything going on in town lately.  I’m not sure why, it just goes down that way some times.

Depending on who you ask in the family tree (assuming they will let you into the psych ward), I’m somewhere between 1/2 and 3/4 mick.

This explains why I was always able to drink large quantities of alcohol, have a penchant for anything made out of potatoes, and am not that bright.

My ancestors aren’t from the red hair and freckles Conan O’Brien part of Ireland, but rather the dark haired and annoying Bono part.  Has homeboy cured world hunger, AIDS, and athlete’s foot yet?   Because if anyone can do it, it’s the lead singer of an Irish rock band.  Irish singers can solve any problem facing the planet.  It’s a proven fact.

Even though it’s only Friday, I’ve already encountered people that are into the festivities.   We pulled up to a stoplight yesterday shortly after noon, and a couple of folks outside of Margaritaville were already getting their groove on.  I didn’t even have the camera rolling, but two dudes on the rail kept waving and asking to be on camera.  Who am I not to oblige?  The video is only 12 seconds long because the light turned green (only because I’m Irish), so  just consider it a moving photograph … not a video:

I know there is some kind of story behind St. Patrick’s Day, but the reality in 2009 is that it’s just another excuse to get drunk.

What do people do on President’s Day?  Memorize the  Presidents of the United States from first to last and have meaningful discussions about the impact of each?  No.  They get drunk.

Memorial Day?  Remember Veterans who have died in past wars? Nope. Drunk again.

Ground Hog Day? Drunk.

Flag Day?  Drunk.

Martin Luther King Day?  This one is the exception.  On this day everyone in America studies the words of Dr. King from dawn until dusk.  It’s a good thing they made this a holiday, because I was squeezing in readings of his speeches during lunch, and there just wasn’t enough time to fully appreciate their impact.

But I digress.

I’m not a fan of St. Patrick’s Day.  I find it to be more than a little annoying, because many people pretend to be Irish, even when they are clearly not.  If you’re not Irish the day before the day, you’re not Irish on the day.  Hell, I don’t even consider myself truly Irish because I’ve never lived there.  People just want to drink … so call it “Get Drunk Day” and be done with it.

And what’s up with the “get pinched you aren’t wearing green” crap?  I don’t punch people in the face if they don’t wear black on MLK Day.   I think everyone should pack heat on St. Patrick’s Day and bust a cap in someone’s ass if they get pinched.  It will end that stupid tradition once and for all.

Last year I saw a Chinese dude walking through The Flamingo with a shirt that said “Kiss me I’m Irish”.  While it was funny in an ironic way, these shirts are terribly insensitive to people who actually are Irish.

Imagine if I walked around during Chinese New Year with a shirt that said “Fellatiate Me, I’m Chinese”.   Real Chinese people would probably beat me kung-fu style while throwing egg rolls at me.  At least I don’t stereotype.

The most interesting St. Patrick’s Day celebration I have been to was in Chicago when they dyed the river green.  I was actually there when they were dumping the powder into the water, and the wind blew some of it into my face.  For the rest of the day, I actually had green snot and when my eyes watered, it looked like I was crying lime Gatorade.  The folks in the windy city are hardcore.

Here in Las Vegas, St. Patrick’s Day is a little lame, because it looks like pretty much any other day.    We already have Irish-themed bars, and the day itself is kind of redundant.   People get drunk and act foolish here every night, so I’m often hard pressed to tell the difference.  Every hotel has an Irish party with green beer and/or Irish bands, and I hate to say it, but it’s terribly cliché.

Just to be fair, every nationality should have a holiday where people not of that ethnicity get to stereotype and be posers for a day.  We could refuse to shave our armpits and lay off deodorant on Bastille Day.  Or run around on Cinco De Mayo shouting “Yo Quiro Taco Bell!’ while local bars host hubcap stealing contests.

The possibilities are endless.

Anyway, just to complete the absurdity of the experience, I will probably hit O’Sheas this weekend.  Since I am somewhat Irish, I should have a great deal of luck playing craps in a casino with an “O” in front of its name … even though it is also a poser casino.  Harrah’s owns O’Sheas, and the last time I checked, “Gary Loveman” was not an Irish name.

Hopefully it’s the thought that counts, though, because I could really use a winning session.

Now if you will excuse me, I have to go feed my leprechaun.  The little bastard always gets cranky when I am late with his Lucky Charms, and I don’t want him pissing all over my shamrock garden in anger again.

I guess some stereotypes really are based in reality.

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