So it's Saint Patrick's Day, which means lots of people getting more wasted than usual and claiming to be Irish and authentically Irish at that, claiming that they like Real Irish Music and Real Irish Pubs, even though people in Ireland didn't even drink on this day until the 1970s.
It's also the only time every year when you see a lot of pasty suburbanites downtown who ordinarily don't go there and who clog up the transportation system that they also only take once a year.
I will get to see them in their full green-painted glory, because I'm marching in the parade this afternoon, decked out in a bright green hoodie with the other college radio people. You probably won't be paying too much attention because the Burning River Roller Girls will be right behind us.
Like most people in this corner of the world, I'm an amalgam of immigration, half Polish from my dad, Irish and miscellaneous British Isles from my mom. When my mom buys stuff at the Irish stores on the West Side, she always pays in cash so they don't see the Polish last name on the credit card.
Despite any ethnic stereotypes, I think corned beef is gross and I'm not an alcoholic. But I will be taking pictures and enjoying the sun.