Lá Fhéile Pádraig

La fella what? The tongue twister of a title above is actually Irish for "Saint Patrick's Day." I won't even attempt to pronounce it; the little bit of Gaelic I picked up on in Dr. Murphy's Irish Lit class at Villanova seemed to have gone out the window. Sorry, Murph.

The last time I formally wrote about St. Paddy's was two years ago for The Villanovan (accessible at http://www.villanovan.com/2.7324/black-an-official-day-to-be-irish-1.1021001), when I was just a month away from turning 21. By that point in the year a substantial portion of my fellow juniors had already experienced that sacred rite of passage. While they giddily ran off to the Main Line bars, I had to contain my festivities to West Campus-- which turned out to be a blast anyway, thanks to a last-minute karaoke party in my apartment. But, oh, how frustrating it was to be a college student so close to the promised land of legality, yet so far.

And so, last year, at the ripe age of 21-almost-22, I finally spent St. Patrick's Day at a bar. Or rather, several bars. That long Tuesday night began at Brownies, an Ardmore establishment usually frequented by the Villanova crowd on Wendesday and Friday nights-- which explains why my friends and I turned out to be the only college students who showed up. The look of horror on our faces upon entercountering cougars in too-tight jeans and beer-bellied men wearing shirts that read "Kiss Me" was too much to handle. We concluded that Brownies' marketing strategy for their St. Paddy's party had been a total failure to the college crowd (but a whopping success to anyone over 40), leaving after a mere hour. On the flip side, we walked out with free mugs and Jack Daniels hats, and free stuff, no matter how kitschy it may be, always makes everything better.

We ended up back at our usual evening hangout, Erin Pub. It was wildly, almost unbelievably crowded, so packed that you had to wriggle like an earthworm through the hordes of bodies to get within visual distance of the bartenders-- but the euphoric atmosphere completely made up for it. Dropkick Murphys music blared on the speakers; friends posed for photo opps; glasses were clinked left and right. The mood was so festive that it was as if the entire senior class (or at least its most fun/interesting members) had just experienced a Friday, snow day, and Christmas all at once. St. Paddy's exemplified just what Erin's was: good people, good prices, good nights.

Part of what I'll miss about Villanova is how enjoyable St. Patrick's Day was each and every year I was there. Granted, it was all about copious alcohol consumption, but I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be right now as I sit at my cubicle typing this. Throughout my years in the NYC public school system, us Irish kids were few and far between, more commonly found attending Catholic schools (my middle and high schools were both primarily populated with Asian and Jewish students). While I ultimately embraced my minority status as something special, it was refreshing to spend my college years at a place where St. Paddy's was celebrated to the fullest.

Tonight in New York City (can't complain that I happen to live in one of the nation's most historically Irish hubs), I'll be raising my glass to those Main Line shenanigans of the past. And hopefully, maybe a trip to the Emerald Isle in the not-too-distant future.