I’ll begin by saying I really do not like the word vomit. I don’t like when people say “I vomited in my mouth a little” to be funny. It is not funny to imagine you vomiting in your mouth a little. Having said that, I went grocery shopping yesterday, and it looked like St. Patrick’s Day vomited everywhere. I’m not even joking. I only wish I could show you the NINE pictures I took with my phone of the NINE St. Patrick’s Day displays in Stop ‘N Shop, but my phone is evil and hates me and refuses to allow me to share. Darn you, dumb phone. I will definitely be swapping my phone for Nate’s in a matter of days. But I digress.
This is not even the best photo in my opinion, but it was the one that screamed Boston. The best has to be either the shamrock-shaped rice krispy treats, which are of course covered in disgusting green flecked icing, or the leprechaun beards and fuzzy green hats. Did I mention these were for sale in the grocery store?
Needless to say, St. Patrick’s Day is enthusiastically celebrated in Boston culture, and you don’t need to be Irish to join in the fun. The title of my post includes my three words for the day, which I shared with Jenni from the Blog. My word choice has to do with two separate recent events. First, I was looking at the cupcakes and noticed a little shamrock reading: Erin go braugh. I figured it was something like “Go Ireland!” or “Good luck!” in Gaelic (it turns out it is the former, except more like “Ireland Forever”), and I think it’s interesting from an anthropological perspective that so many people have retained knowledge of the meaning of this phrase that it can be found scrawled on cupcakes and t-shirts all over Beantown.
The second of the titular events has to do with a little bear Charlie has become fond of lately.
It is pure coincidence that he’s decked out in St. Paddy’s shamrock green, but it does make me chuckle that she wants to bring him everywhere, as if she somehow intuitively understands the culture here and is an active participant. The funniest part of this little guy is that she inexplicably calls him Doo. Not Doo, acutally, but “DOOOOO!” And when this is screamed enthusiastically, it sounds a lot like “DUDE!”…which is of course what Vivi and I now call him. Or El Duderino, if you’re not into the whole brevity thing.
Do you have plans to turn regular grub green with food coloring? This is a holiday I can let pass with little fanfare, but I wouldn’t mind if someone made me these Irish car bomb cupcakes. I consider that an unlikely prospect though, so this is how I intend to celebrate St. Paddy’s: