Should I talk a bit about how my last name is Irish and all that, but that I feel no more identified as Irish than most of the world? (My background is Euromutt with a lot of Irish and Scottish on both sides, and yes there’s the last name and pale skin and flecks of red in the hair, but really that’s about it.) Nah, heck with it.
Should I talk about the sheer obnoxiousness of the idiocy almost certain to go down at all the ‘Irish’ bars over in Newport Beach tonight? No, and no again. It’s there, it’ll be idiotic. In fact the last place I’d want to go to tonight is a bar.
Should I talk on how the one time I did finally go to Ireland I really enjoyed it but that I appreciated that Dublin didn’t seem burdened by as much of a sense of history as you might expect, and that in the Post Office in the center of town there are all these murals up about the Easter Rebellion and that nobody gave a notice and cared? Well, there, I talked about it. (Though I will add that the many folks I’ve known and/or met from there, like Andrew F., DV, Rener, Lara, Ronan and many more are all great people, full stop.)
But it’s a full work day and I’ve got to get back to it. Celebrate as you do if you’d like. And turning back to the first point — I’ll always love my last name but I’ll never pretend to be anything other than that the somewhat goofy American that I am. Still, I did wear a shirt with a bit of green on it.