Happy St. Patrick's Day, if you can afford it. Happier, still, if you can't. Getting ripped off induces a worse hangover than a fifth of Jameson. March 17 is when we collectively pretend that anti-social behavior is really social behavior. Projectile vomiting, impromptu impersonations of Mickey Ward and Arturo Gatti, and a.m. inebriation rank as a few of the behaviors that the bourgeois share with the bums on the holiday. Read my article @ the American Spectator on drinking milk instead of beer this St. Patrick's Day.

I am currently sitting at home this Saint Patrick's day, cooking my traditional corned beef and cabbage dinner and imbibing in a few Guinness. I would prefer to be at my local Irish Pub. But my local Irish pub, usually being a friendly and reasonable Oasis during most of the year, has turned into an expensive receptacle for would be Irishmen and quaffing amateurs. And I don't do lines for the privilege to over spend in an overly crowded venue.

I used to love going out for Saint Patrick's Day, especially in Boston. But when the local establishments started charging exorbitant covers to spend $7 bucks for a draw and to hear a faux Irish band play 'Green Alligators' (aka - the Unicorn song) over and over, my interest waned.