Today my town had its annual St. Patrick’s Day Parade. It has been held in this town for the past few years, ever since the annual parade in
Sharpe James’ Wonderland Newark could not attract a sufficient number of spectators or participants.
It is quite the event in town. A few saloons make a huge killing, including the one directly on the parade route, which removes all the barstools, tables and chairs so that it can pack more celebrants into the joint.
I am partly of Irish heritage, and I am a guy who enjoys a libation or two. However, as in past years, I took a pass on the parade and the post-parade revelry. As I mentioned in an e-mail exchange with a Jersey blogging colleen, I remain of the view that too many rank amateurs come out for events such as St. Pat’s Day parades and often things can get pretty messy. There’s nothing terribly Irish or festive about some guy named Angelo puking on the sidewalk.
So, tomorrow, we will head over to the Post where The Original Bill will have prepared a shitload of corned beef and cabbage. We will eat and drink with the Usual Suspects, which is to say — with “professionals”.