If it's green, I'm not drinking it.

I have already thought about St. Patrick's Day (it's "the new Christmas" don'tcha know). If one is so inclined, it can be a day of legend - an epic day with hilarious, bizarre, and hazy tales. For the past two years, I've done the Boston thing - bar hopping with friends, all with the intention of catching the parade the Sunday morning... though never actually getting to Southie to see it. Two years ago was because Annie and I had to spend the night back at Wheaton and the next day I got into Boston a little too late; instead, I spent the afternoon photographing the Fanuiel Hall area festivities for my senior project. Last year was because I was too busy freezing outside of Rob's apartment for an hour waiting for a bus that never came... damn MBTA. Jojo and I ended up watching parade highlights at Kait's Northeastern apartment while eating scrambled eggs and bacon.

A couple of stories are a little too "epic" to tell here, but the night always proves to be a good bit of fun... dare I say good craic? Like when Annie, Jojo, and my non-smoking ass FLEW up the Government Center steps, cigarettes dangling from mouths in some weird drunken rite of passage. (The really bizarre part was that none of us were winded after the three flights of stairs, puffing away.) Or last year, when Jojo, a tiny redhead decked out in an emerald green peacoat, attacked a parked Hummer with the driver and his date still inside, yelling something to the effect of "conspicuously consuming ASSHOLE! Oil-swilling mother---" There's also starting up conversations with random Irishmen, concerning the Twilight Zone-like phenomena of the women's room line moving faster than the men's. Pub food and Theater District divebars. Green hats and Jameson... oh Jameson...

Maybe this year, I should migrate to Cambridge/Somerville area and avoid the classy (relatively speaking) and over-priced places that speckle downtown. Maybe even catch a show... sing-along, anyone?

While in Boston that holiday weekend, it's important to remember the lesser-known St. Joseph's (aka San Giuseppe) Day (I always remember the day after... when the pastries are gone...) Maybe this year, I'll have a clear enough head to float into the North End and pick up some zeppole - though not from Mike's Pastry (it's one of those places that's really popular, but you're not sure why, cause they're not really that great.) A cappuccino and a zeppole on the Sunday morning after a St. Patrick's Day celebration? From the best of Ireland to the best of Italy. Pinch me.