As there was a nullification of nationality and ethnicity on this day, a major noticeable alteration in common societal norms became evident. The removal of race prejudice unfortunately needs to be glorified, but being that there was no racism, the normal social hierarchy wasn’t used as a critiquing tool. There was one specific instant that will forever be embedded in my mind and remind me that the usual egocentric, white collar, ignorant stereotype can change just as much as lower class member can lose their labeling. I was sitting at a quieter bar in New York City’s Greenwich Village, the focal section of the city’s individualism. The bar was The Four-Faced Liar a popular bar among the normal hipster-genre culture of people. While sitting away from my party, taking periodical gulps of beer while I fidgeted in my stool. To the left of me approached, Arthur, a 60+ year old, African descent male, who through conversation explained he was from an underdeveloped section of the city. As I spoke to Arthur, to the right of me was this guy named Chad, a young, white, Wall Street prodigy. You could tell Chad was well off in life even for his young age. He was drinking expensive and was full of confidence. Intoxicated Chad began flaunting his money and was telling the bar to keep shots for the stool sitters. No one denied the shots except Arthur. Not that Arthur didn’t want it or had the funds to pass it up. Arthur turned to Chad and said: ”Thanks, but no thanks. It was a gracious offer but today, no matter how much money you have to throw around or if you re scraping for quarters. We are all on the same level today, no matter who, what, where, when or why, everyone is Irish just for one day. Now let me buy you a drink.”
That moment opened my eyes. There were no differences, we were just people. Then and there was the first time I can say accounting for my whole life, a point where the commercialization and the lack of traditional practice made us more animalistic. Not used pessimistically, but to demonstrate our natural ability to recognize that we are all human, abiding by instinct. Saint Patrick’s Day in New York City is something you will never forget. Whether like my older sister and her friends who enjoy the social aspects and physical pleasure it may bring, or like my personal experience and the revitalizing the hope of peace between man, although scattered in location, class, and social norms.
Posts Tagged ‘st. patty’s day’
Finally Seeing the Forest, Pt. II
Finally Seeing the Forest, Pt. I
There is nothing like Saint Patrick’s Day in New York City. Growing up in the local vicinity of New York City my entire life I have heard crazy stories about drunken arrests, violent actions, lewd behavior. Everything you could expect out a melting pot of diverse cultures and race, getting inebriated and celebrating the evolved commercialized holiday. My open-minded majority generation, ranging from less ignorant elites and yuppies, to our urban culture low class, welfare income patrons are no different on Saint Patrick’s Day in New York City. Being a part of new waves of thoughts; my aged group members of society have no real foundation of what Saint Patrick’s Day is, and just assume its intentions are just to give us reason to display public intoxication.
This is where my observations lead me to what Saint Patrick’s Day in New York City really demonstrates. With forgetting my premeditated ideas that were imposed on me, watching my older sibling and her friends rant and rave about this experience. I made my own memories my first experience into this chaotic day.
I woke up and started to party very early the morning of Saint Patrick’s Day 2010. Irish Car bombs, Guinness Drafts, Shamrock lens sunglasses and sporting so much green clothing that if I were Lou Ferrigno people would think I was in Hulk form all day. But my gaudy apparel was the causal if not under dressed for this day in the City.
It didn’t matter what your color your skin was, didn’t matter where you came from or whom you are with. There was no difference in anyone, the streets flooded in this green wave. Kind of like a forest; you wouldn’t generalize the entire forest by singletree; it would just be a forest. That’s when my realization hit. On Saint Patrick’s Day in the hub of differences, everyone was the same. Traditionally this is the day of the Irish and meaningful to their ancestral roots. But in modern times, I’m not Irish; my friends aren’t Irish, yet there’s no other place we would be. At the time all of us were underage, white suburban kids from New Jersey. Getting a drink in a bar locally, would be impossible, the city had more leniency but still difficult unless it is Saint Patrick’s Day.
St. Patrick’s Encounter
It started out on a cool afternoon about five years ago. I had just purchased a Shamrock Shake at the local McDonald’s. I decided to take a stroll over to Central Park to enjoy the weather and festivities. There were a good number of people outside due to it being warmer than the usual early March weather. I took a seat at a bench and just took in all the surroundings.
After about ten minutes an older gentleman sent down next to me, uncomfortably close, and asked me for the rest of my Shamrock Shake. Caught off guard and against my better judgment, I let him have it. I held it towards him, and he calmly took it from my grasp. He popped the lid off, tossed it on the ground, and proceeded to guzzle down the shake, and then tossed the cup as well.
That s delicious, he told me, smiling warmly, sliding closer towards me. I was not sure whether or not to leave or just to stay and entertain this eccentric man. Unfortunately I chose the latter, and all too fluidly, he performed the quintessential stretch and yawn and his arm became firmly wrapped around my shoulders.
He began telling me about his childhood and the lack of a love life during his childhood. He moved to the city hoping to find some new opportunity, both professional and social. After a few more minutes of ranting about growing turnips in his apartment, he went silent. I looked at him, clueless about what was to come of next. He simply just stood up, looked back at me, saying, you re alright, and walked away.
St. Patrick’s at the Crocodile Lounge
Let’s see, my first St. Patty’s Day I spent in New York City was definitely a memorable one. Although I wasn’t actually twenty one at the time, a few friends and I had our bars which we had made ourselves “regulars” at during the week. One in particular I spent a lot of time at was”The Crocodile Lounge” on fourteenth street in the village. For every alcoholic drink you’d get a free mini pizza, which while being a poor student at the time was a great deal. Anyways, I’m pretty sure it was actually a school night, so we took it pretty easy but it was my first night giving Guiness, or at least from tap, a try. I’ve gotta say that I’m actually a fan. Turned out to be quite different from the canned version I had tried a few months before. After the guinness though I went back to my signature drink, good ‘ole Jack and coke and after a few more drinks, some mini pizzas and some quality laughs with friends we decided it was time to turn in. Anyways alll in all it was a fun and successful St. Pattys day. I strongly suggest The Crocodile Lounge for anyone looking for a small, chill bar. Not your big city feel place, which can be quite nice at times.
NYC St. Patrick’s Day Parade
I was an awkward kid attending a private catholic High School and of course a member of the band. At least I was a member of a somewhat respectable (if there is such a thing) portion of the band, the drum corps. During my senior year it was announced that we would be marching in the New York City, St. Patrick’s day parade. We were all flabbergasted. While we could handle the local band and flag competition and the routine football game half time show, this was a REAL performance. The sheer magnitude and enormity of the prospect actually made our rag tag ensemble of performers take our preparation seriously. For weeks on end we drilled, marched, kept cadence and actually played what sounded like actual music. We became quite good. Upon arriving in the Big Apple in our orange school buses we were in awe. I recall the slack-jawed marvel on the faces of everyone in the band. We behaved perfectly for our band director, who was ironically a short red headed jewish bandleader at a Catholic High School. What a sight we were. I recall with great fondness the brisk spring air and the hustle and bustle around the parade. We found our assigned spot and prepared for departure. I recall little of the time leading to the start, but once we left it was magnificent. We were on top of the world and performed like it. I never considered myself very accomplished, but I kept the cadence in between songs in perfect rhythm. My arms were ready to fall off by the end, but the energy and beauty of the city, along with the endless rows of spectators made every bit of it worthwhile. The feeling of the crush of the crowd and the massive height and endless rows of the giant skyscrapers was an image I will never forget. New York City has never presented itself with so much glamour, class and excitement as it did on that St. Patrick’s day long ago. A sea of kelly green spectators and an endless stream of parade participants is perhaps the best way to spend a St. Patricks day in New York City