Oy, the Green

I just got home from running errands. My pants are wet. I've got goosebumps. And the sound of the wind outside is louder than the Bach partita on my stereo. But at least I'm in for the night.

So, then. Ask me tomorrow at this time how I'm feeling. I'll have survived attending my first Southie St. Patrick's Day Parade. In fact, I'll have most likely walked in the parade. In a bright yellow slicker and ye olde paisley rain boots. Holding a sign. Striding into a 40-mph gale and, probably, trying to see around the raindrops glazing the front of my glasses.

(Through this well-timed Nor'easter, of course, in effect until the 1 pm event start, after which it is being downgraded to "just" a storm. Awesome.)

The occasion for breaking down after 3 years of purposefully avoiding the drunken chaos of millions that is this particular March Sunday in our fair city?

Politics. It's my friend Mike, who I'm supporting as he runs for Fourth Suffolk District State Rep. He's walking the parade as a necessary rite of political passage. We're walking with him because Mike is a nice guy, and because it is something that campaign volunteers do for their candidate, and because ... what other year will Southie let a Scandinavian like me onto the route ... ?

The good news is we are just a few entries behind the Hot Tamale Brass Band, who will hopefully make the slog up Broadway just a bit juicier. And I'm hoping a couple nips of vodka ahead of time, combined with the yellow slicker, will make it a bit warmer.

Oy, indeed.