The Indoorsman -- St. Patrick's Days of yore

So there I was, alone in my room on St. Patrick's Day 2002, drinking can after can of Guinness and listening to Johnny Cash's version of "Danny Boy" -- on repeat.

It was the first St. Patrick's Day after I'd moved from Michigan to Washington. I was lonely, homesick and bloated with corned beef and cabbage. I must've played that song 30 times in a row.

I realize that, described as such, the whole scene sounds pathetic. But I consider it one of my favorite St. Patrick's Day memories. I mean, if you can't enjoy singing sad songs loudly to yourself as your evening progresses from self-pity to tear-stained euphoria, you're just not my kind of person. It's cathartic, is what I'm saying.

All of the St. Patrick's Days in my early 20s were kind of like that; I usually just had more people around.

Perhaps the best was when I was 21 and the whole college newspaper staff went to New York to pick up some award and attend some conference. I didn't really attend the conference because, you know, NEW YORK! St. Patrick's Day in NEW YORK!

So while our more earnest colleagues were sitting inside listening to some lecture, my buddies and I hit an Irish pub for a breakfast of shepherd's pie, Guinness and Jameson. We had a really warm feeling going by the time we rejoined the rest of the paper's staff for a tour of The New York Times offices. (One more Guinness and I think I'd have tried to make off with one of the Pulitzers they had lying around.)

Those were glorious days, those St. Patrick's Days of yore. Drinking and singing and fighting with friends; it was like living out a Pogues album.

And it's something I've missed tremendously over the past few years since moving here.

I've never been able to get Washingtonians to celebrate St. Patrick's the way Michiganians do, which is to say to reckless and unhealthy lengths. It's one of only two holidays that allow such excess, the other being New Year's Eve. It's like a license to do all of the boorish and uncouth things polite society normally frowns upon. And still most of my friends in the Evergreen State have been content over the years to have a green beer or two and call it a night.

The best St. Patrick's Day I've had in this state remains that first one, spent by myself. So, here is your Indoorsman's advice for this St. Patrick's Day in Washington state: If you can't find a party, make your own. All you need is a full supply of Guinness and a CD with "Danny Boy" on it.

And if you end up asleep on your floor, surrounded by empty cans with a plate of half-eaten corned beef resting on your chest, well that's just part of the whole experience. Word to the wise, though: Cabbage left out overnight smells horrible.

-- The Indoorsman