I love St. Patrick’s Day, and, in two more sleeps, we’re going to be practically bathing in everything Irish. However, before I write another word I have to tell you I’ve got so much Irish in my gene pool that the deep end is bright green. Half my family came from the Land of Blarney, so on St. Paddy’s Day, I’ve got a ton more right to have a howl and a dance than most people singing “Whiskey in the Jar” and sucking on the Bushmills. And, truth be told, I’ve done my share of singing and sucking over the years. With that in mind, here is some interesting stuff about Ireland.
The reason they call it “The Emerald Isle” is it rains in Ireland — a lot. In any given 24 hour period — summer or winter — it will rain for 12 of them. However, it’s a little known fact that the rainstorms in Ireland last exactly the amount of time it takes to drink a Guinness (2 Carlsbergs.) So as the Irish go about their business, every day when it starts to rain, they nip into a pub, order a pint and wait it out. This is why the Irish have a reputation for drinking — they’re smart enough to come in out of the rain.
James Joyce is a wonderful writer — a Nobel Prize winner. He wrote The Dubliners, The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Ulysses — all worthy efforts. However, in the English-speaking world James Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake is the international symbol for Bullshit! If you meet someone who has read/is reading/is thinking about reading or even owns a copy of Finnegan’s Wake, stop — don’t make eye contact, and back away slowly. You have encountered A Pompous Ass. The fact is Finnegan’s Wake is unreadable — anybody who tells you any different is an off-the-charts intellectual git. And I can’t prove it, but I think the only reason Joyce wrote Finnegan’s Wake is so the world would have an easy way to recognize this brand of Academic Nincompoopery.
There are no female leprechauns. This is yet another example of the Irish constantly getting screwed. Simple biology aside, what other culture has an all-male mythology? Hell, even the Smurfs got a girl — eventually.
“The Luck Of The Irish” is a total misnomer. Think about it! The history of Ireland is a litany of war, conquest, rebellion, oppression, famine, another rebellion — oh yeah, a little more famine — oppression again, one more rebellion, even more oppression, civil war, soul-eating poverty, a couple of economic tsunamis and yet another civil war. Plus, on the days the Irish weren’t shooting at each other or slowly starving to death, they were leaving Ireland in a Diaspora of biblical proportion. LUCK? I don’t think so! But the weird thing is even after a millennia of catastrophe and calamity, the Irish are still the friendliest people on this planet. They’re worse than Texans! Show up in Ireland with a smile on your face and you’ll think you landed in Celtic Disneyland. The locals simply can’t do enough for you.
And that’s Ireland’s gift to the world. If they can still live, love, laugh and be happy after all the crap they’ve been through, there’s hope for the rest of us. So, on March 17th, go out and have a grand time.
Happy Saint Patrick’s Day.
Call me a hopeless romantic, but there’s something seriously icky about Rupert Murdoch and Jerry Hall getting married last week. I’m not one to deny anybody happiness, and if it makes you happy to throw a big party and invite Bob Geldof — knock yourself out. (Murdoch? Geldof? There’s some irony there!) My problem is they called it a wedding. WTF?
Sell my clothes; I’ve gone to Heaven! Last week, the boys (and girls, too, I assume) down at Facebook thought we were finally mature enough to handle it and gave us emotions. Wow! For years, we’ve been hanging with our Cyber-friends, incapable of doing anything more than “Liking” and “Sharing” — kinda like first-term Kindergarten kids learning how to play nice with the other children. Now, we can like, love, laugh and be happy — all at the click of a mouse — plus we can be sad and even hate. Yeah, hate: the #1 bad boy for all millennials. Cool, huh!
WD Fyfe 