the underbelly

I’ve searched and I’ve searched and I still can’t find why Hoboken has its annual St. Patrick’s Day festivities two weeks before the actual holiday. But as girl of some Irish decent and a great lover of all things Guinness, I’m not one to complain about two opportunities to celebrate the great Saint who chased away the snakes.

I was too overwhelmed at the parade to take pictures, but here’s a little sensory sketch: fratty dudes, green-wigged girls, very, very drunk people ready to collapse at noon (no, I wasn’t one of them parents), lots of men in kilts playing the bagpipes (isn’t that a Scottish thing?) and lines around the block of people wearing green beads who are trying to get into an already overcrowded Irish pub.

No green beer. That I saw, that is. Which I’m okay with. I don’t think beer should be green. It’s not natural. Though there was a woman on a corner selling corned beef and cabbage sandwiches out of a cart. I had already eaten but if I hadn’t I would have taken care of that. My Irish heritage has given me three things: the inability to be in direct sunlight, a pretty respectable alcohol tolerance, and a great love of cooked cabbage. Yum. Especially when paired with beef, shade and a Guinness.

When I recovered from the shock of seeing the afternoon debauchery I was able to get a couple of shots of Gotham from the pier while waiting for the ferry:

The approaching storm:

There’s home!….inviting.