pinzoner and the blog

so, yesterday i dabbled with st. patricks’s day. now, hear you me– buffalo does not “get” this holiday, but apparently embarassing our families is enough of a consolation. for example: my agenda for the day involved commenting 17 times on the beautiful weather (check), glaring at people blowing smoke in the faces of piggy-backing children (check), and booing “mayor”  byron brown (sidenote: we did not throw things at him, simply because it would be shamelessly determined a hate crime. our cries for a more compatent mayor were not fueled by color of his skin, but by the content of his mayoral portfolio). checky mc checkerton.

we migrate along delaware avenue weaving in and out of college grads, the clinically obese, and the infamous obstacles simply known as “strollers”. there are bagpipes and little girls bucking and jumping up and down whilst sporting the most heinous of weaves. there are the most effervescent shades of green dotted with guinness splattered whites and jungle juice tainted oranges. it’s not exactly new york fashion week.

but at the end of the afternoon, when the last of the bellowing christian elitists throw out the remainder of  pamphlets that will allegedly save our damned souls and the curb cannot possibly cradle another rattling empty, the red sea of debauchery is split. we spill into the street (thanks to the lingering effects of the detours) in a mangled, yet unified wave. throwing our bodies forward, and hoping that our legs will follow, we charge to the bars. in the middle of the road lie parade float debris– candies and beads that were refused, thrown with the elbow forward, or damaged in transit– all of which map our route like some tragic yellow brick road.

tow trucks outnumber police cruisers– not to say that there are a lot of tow trucks. at this point, every cop is backed into some alley way with his car turned off, trying to enjoy his blood alcohol level.

for the most part, yesterday was a success, unless you made the critical error of going to the parade with your girlfriend/boyfriend (i’m sure i heard at least 4 couples call it quits while the female half was wearing what was left of a headband with clover-tipped antennae). the sun was out, only prompting a few bottom heavy lasses to dress like jameson shot girls. the weather was marvelous, the crowd was cheerful, and i only used the phrase “hulk angry” to describe a tipsy female once.

this rambling is all my long winded way of saying happy st. patrick’s day. go orange.