Spring Break!

And no more of that depressing stuff!  I’ve been quiet on the blogging front this week as a) try to reintegrate myself into society, and b) get ready for a visit to my dad and spring training in Florida this weekend.  Go Sox!  But while I resume my web surfing on campus instead of from my couch, the rest of my neighborhood and city tries to recover from one of the more raucous weekends in memory. 

Last weekend was an organic hat trick of debauchery, three days of fun usually designed for an official long weekend where Monday is available for recovery, sitting in traffic, etc.  This year, St. Patrick’s Day fell on a Saturday, with the annual South Boston St. Patrick’s Day parade occurring per usual that Sunday. Add to that a snow storm began Friday afternoon, right around lunch time.  By the time the M.A.S. and  I got back to Brighton mid-afternoon, the Screamin’ Eagles

were out in full effect, moving cautiously down the slippery sidewalks to different impromptu parties, taking special care not to drop their thirty packs of Coors Light, Bud Light, and Busch Light.  When I passed by Roggie’s at 7pm, headed home again after yoga, drunk co-eds were comparing notes on how long they’d been living it up at happy hour, with one young woman whining that she’d only got off work at 5.  I traipsed past them only to run into three dudes crowding the sidewalk, one of them bleating like an antelope I saw on safari in the Serengeti, as his friend reassured him, “we’re sleeping until like, noon tomorrow.”  More college kids crowded the bus stop, this time with their thirty packs resting in the snow, while they waited for the BC bus to come pick them up and drop them around the neighborhood.  Saturday was a repeat of Friday, only with everyone out in their green finery.

I first attended Southie’s St. Patrick’s Day parade in 2003, when I was still living in NY.  A couple of my cousins were living then in Southie, and as we headed from their houses up towards Broadway where the parade begins, my first view of that main promenade was the giant inflatable Anheuser-Busch beer cans atop two corner buildings.  During steak and eggs at the house of the guy who would become my cousin’s husband, I noticed that every friend of his arrived with ubiquitous thirty pack in exchange for breakfast and a warm place to hang out.   This year the giant beer cans were gone, but the keg of Bud Light and back up supply of Miller Lite at my buddies’ annual parade bash were readily available.  (And it’s a good thing, as their brothers and friends – ranging in age from 27 to 37 – kicked a good chunk of the Bud Light supply with a recurring series of keg stands.)  I, on the other hand, have spent a good part of this week in downward dog, triangle, and crescent lunge trying to work off the 10,000 calories I consumed that day. 

I leave you now with some photos of the parade, as it’s a tradition up here no one should miss. 

Please join me in giving it up for the parade’s Deputy Mayor Michael Pano.  I know I’m not the only one who can say you knew him when!


And this St. Patrick’s got nothing on my saintly portrayal in my junior year high school homecoming parade:


A little shout out to Waltham in anticipation of my big 10-year reunion coming up:


And finally, Mardi Gras ain’t the only time to earn those beads! 



Go Sox!!


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