We tried not to venture out more than necessary this weekend. Once of the nice things about living right smack in the middle of town is that there are always places to go. Unfortunately, this goes for everyone else too and South Street becomes a mad house on any holiday associated with drinking heavily.
About 90% of the things people do on St. Patrick’s day have nothing to do with St. Patrick. Mostly it seems to be a free-for-all for Irish Americans, who are less Irish than I am German. We asked a relatively recent transplant from Ireland co-worker of Frank’s what St. Patrick’s day is really like in Ireland and he said like any other day, subdued since it’s lent. I already had my suspicions that spandex hot pants, which seem to be the female uniform of choice, weren’t really all that authentic.
Frank and I could really care less about the observance, provoked by having to deal with an abundance of loud belligerent people, but we did get to see/hear a drum and pipe band march down South Street and I do like a good bagpipe marching band.