Kent Brockman: Top o' the morning to ye on this gray, drizzly afternoon. Kent O'Brockman live on Main Street, where today everyone is a little Irish, except, of course, for the gays, and the Italians.
Ah, yes, St. Patrick's Day. The day that grips Oneonta by the throat and strangles the town until it is a lifeless mass covered in its own vomit and urine.
This town takes its Patty's Day celebrations seriously; not only do most people wake up earlier than they do on any other day, and not only do they not go to any classes, but this past week I've seen kids getting genuinely PISSED at their teachers for scheduling anything either on, or the day after St. Patrick's Day. In my Composition class, the kids weaseled the teacher into pushing paper a paper's due date, and in the class I TA for, some girls were really, really pissed that a test was being given tomorrow, the day after.
So basicially students think St. Patty's Day is a four day weekend.
I am not partaking in the festivities this year, as I have a big speech I have to give tomorrow at 9am, and don't feel like fucking it up.
The only thing that makes me a little unhappy about not taking part in the festivities is around 5:30 this afternoon, when the majority of the revelers are out of their minds drunk and having a fantastic time, and I'm hunched over a textbook studying. This is the hardest part of the day; I begin to question whether it's right to put my schoolwork before fun. But then tomorrow when I'm doing my speech and not bloated, purple, and dead on a toilet, it'll seem worth it.
I can hold off until next year: not only will it be senior year and most of my friends will be 21 by then, but St. Patty's Day is also on a Friday. Just imagine the possibilities.
Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone. Hopefully your liver will forgive you.
Liver of a SUNY Oneonta student after 4 St. Patick's Days.
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