Erin go bragh

Evil O'Twin #1 checking in this frigid first day of spring.

While most of my Irish brethren celebrate every year, I have noticed that the past few years I have taken St. Patrick's day for granted. Evil O'Twin #2 at least got to see a parade even though it was under less than ideal circumstances.

Last Friday, I woke up to a lovely sunny morning and donned on a kelly green t-shirt and a pair of jeans. (Of course, I also wore an undershirt, a wool sweater and a pair of thermal underwear as it was technically still winter then.) I whistled "Danny Boy" on my commute to school. For lunch, I passed on the cafeteria's rendition of corned beef and cabbage, opting for the Agean Mediterranean sandwich at Finagle a'Bagel. What was a good Irish catholic girl to do? Choose traditional boiled meats, or follow the "no meat on Friday" rule? I figured the consequences of not following church doctrine would be a little more dire than missing out on this once a year treat. (But since I am neither a Celt, nor ever been baptized it might be a moot point.)

Friday was also the last day in our lab for J. J has been a student and a postdoc in our lab. Since we spend approximately 2/5 ths of our lives in lab, members of the lab become more like family than coworkers. We gossip, bicker, laugh, and help each other get through the day. J was our slightly perverted cousin. He always reminded us that the motivation of all men is sex. You could always ask him personal questions like "why do men pee in the shower?" and he would always give an honest answer. And if someone was a mean to you, he would beat the living crap out of that person. It was time for him to actually make some money and put his scientific skills to use. Before that could happen, we would try to kill every brain cell he had with alcohol.

The pub across the street from school, is the Squealing Pig. It is the local watering hole for doctors, students, staffers, and professors in the Longwood Medical Area. The bartenders know your name, and after 8pm, the place is dead. (Evil O'Twin #2 has been there twice and can attest to its late night quietness.) However, on St. Patty's day there was a line outside the door. V and I looked at each other in shock as it the first time EVER, in 5 years of loyal patronage, we had seen the bar at capacity.

Inside the ordinary crowd of scrawny men with glasses, and women with high waisted jeans and ponytails was replaced with young people wearing a variety of Guiness flashing shamrocks. Struggling our way to the bar, we found J ensconced on a stool with his brother and sister-in-law. They started celebrating not to long before us. Having not eaten dinner yet, V and I decided Guinness was the most nutritious of the beers and therefore would make a fantastic appetizer. It was fun, although highly disorienting to be in such a familiar place under such unfamiliar circumstances. V and I had two followers for the night. Who would of thought that you could get hit on at the Pig? After chasing a shot of Jameson's with a lime, J informed me that he would have slept with the guy that had a tattoo if he was a chick, but then again he was kind of slutty. It was fun to see him cut loose and to see so many people from the school to come out to say good luck.

So that was my first Boston St. Patty's day in an Irish pub. Two pints of Guinness, a shot of Jameson's (sans lime), a rowdy overly friendly crowd, good friends, and green clothing made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

V and I topped off the night with a traditional dinner of enchiladas at Boca Grande.