I was raised by Germans and Eastern Europeans but discovered a few years back, when I tracked down my birth mother, that in fact my blood runs Dutch and Norwegian, with a smattering of Irish. Chalk it up to nurture, then, that I've never had a great affinity for St. Patrick's Day. This year I'll visit the world-class Musical Instrument Museum with my young kids and their cousins, and the combination of some Eire-themed special events and their presence should make this a memorable green day.
Prior to this iteration, though, the only St. Patrick's Day celebration I cherish is one from mid-1990s Los Angeles, a matter-of-fact multicultural pileup I have often used as shorthand to illustrate why I came to love that benighted sprawltown: The evening found me with a Korean-American friend at a German pub, where some impromptu live karaoke saw the pub's owner get up to sing "Besame Mucho" in Spanish and our waitress offer a passable rendition of "Jambalaya." She got a nice tip.
Prior to this iteration, though, the only St. Patrick's Day celebration I cherish is one from mid-1990s Los Angeles, a matter-of-fact multicultural pileup I have often used as shorthand to illustrate why I came to love that benighted sprawltown: The evening found me with a Korean-American friend at a German pub, where some impromptu live karaoke saw the pub's owner get up to sing "Besame Mucho" in Spanish and our waitress offer a passable rendition of "Jambalaya." She got a nice tip.
A fellow Dutchman! Yes! Own it.
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