St. Patrick's Day: Coronavirus Edition

Well, America, this has definitely been, without a doubt, the weirdest St. Patrick's Day I've ever celebrated.

Celebrating St. Patrick's Day in Navrongo, Upper East Region, Ghana, 2005.

And yes, I'm including those two St. Patrick's Days I spent in Ghana while serving in the Peace Corps.

Yesterday, as you know, was the day the whole Covid-19/Coronavirus pandemic came crashing into America's backyard.  Sure, it had been slowly creeping in for a week or two before Friday, but Thursday night the writing was suddenly on the wall:  the number of U.S. cases skyrocketed, state governments freaked out, the national government more or less said "whoops, turned out we're f***ed - our bad," and ALL the school systems shut down.

You can tell Dad is happy.

Now, we had modest St. Patrick's Day plans this year to begin with, as today was originally slated to be the day of the annual Girl Scout Daddy/Daughter Dance.  Like last year, me and a bunch of the other dads in our friend group were all going to take our daughters out for a two-hour stint of chicken fingers and shitty, shitty pop music, because that's what good dads do.  Because this fell on the same day as our annual St. Patrick's Day party, we realized we couldn't go all-out for our party like we have in previous years, which was definitely disappointing.

I was pissed.

Nevertheless, we decided to squeeze in as much Irish festivity as humanly possible.  We planned on driving up to Clare Friday evening in order to get have Buccelli's with Cindy and the Whites, then stay the night at Dad and Cindy's.  In the morning, we'd hit up the usual Clare Irish Fest events around town - watch the bed races and the parade, pop into the Doherty for a couple pints and some live music, and then head back to Midland in the afternoon to start getting ready for that dance.

Afterwards, we figured we could make the most out of the dance's shitty timing and host a St. Patrick's Day-themed 'after-party.'  The moms could get all the food set up, so when the dads and daughters came back to our house, we'd have a few hours of partying in us to close out the day.

Alas, none of that ever happened:  the Daddy/Daughter Dance was cancelled.  Because of Coronavirus.

Abby tests out our photo op background. . .

Upon hearing this, Kris and I decided, with only a couple days before the big day, to throw out invites for an annual St. Patrick's Day party.  It was back on.  Unfortunately, as we began planning for this, we discovered - much to our collective horror - that Clare's annual Irish Fest was being cancelled.  The Parade, the bed races, all of it.  Closed.

So, as it played out, we had ourselves a rather small-in-comparison St. Patrick's Day party this year, with only about thirty people in attendance, and all of them being members of our immediate friend group (whom which, by now, you know very well from pictures and descriptions.)  All the usuals showed up, except for the Griffins, who were already sick with fever.  The threat of the virus lurked in the background of the party like an unspoken phantom, but we made the most of an otherwise shitty situation, and celebrated one of our favorite holidays to the absolute best of our ability.

As the folks over at Guinness said in a released statement this week, concerning the cancellation of so many St. Pat's parades and other such Irish festivities this time of year, "We Shall March Again."

Happy St. Patrick's Day, America.  Erin Go Bragh.

Ella, Abby's BFF, came over before the party started to hang out and 'help out.'  Of course.

We were in total scramble mode this morning - this party was definitely thrown together at the last minute, considering our ever-evolving plans for the big day.

Samson, in a rare moment of calm.

The Cannonball, grabbing some lunch. . . and wearing her mom's Meg O'Mally's shirt from Melbourne.

While Kris and I scrambled to get our house 'company clean,' Ella and Abby spent the better part of the afternoon screwing around outside.  Here, the dynamic duo are making a 'cake' out of acorns, nuts, sticks, and water for the local squirrels.

Abby decided to rock some sort of St. Patrick's Day prison tattoo on her forehead. . .

Aside from two different types of corned beef (one cooked in Guinness, the other in a beef broth), Kris laid out a couple other spreads - an Ireland flag of veggies and cheeses, and a hummus/cracker assortment.  And of course you have to have green, plastic cutlery and napkins.  'Cause St. Patrick's Day.

Minutes before the party was set to start.  A couple tweens, totally acting their age.

We don't own Irish costumes for the dogs, so I pulled out an orange and green bandana for 'em.

So I guess Samson is a Protestant, and Watson's a Catholic.  Hopefully they get a long for the evening.

A quick selfie before folks started to show up. . .

Maddie, mid-snack.

Probably one of the most accurate depictions of the Cannonball to date.

No surprises here:  the moms stake claim to the kitchen.

It was warm enough outside that Abby and Ella took the Collier's boy, Miles, outside to play around with a soccer ball for awhile.

Miles

Abby

Post Malone

Brad has his mind blown.  The dads quickly staked out the Study as our headquarters.

Waiting to go outside and join the ruckus.

Mees and Courtney, setting some food out for the masses. . .

Meanwhile, down in the basement (where we banish the children.)  Note the treadmill in the background there, effectively blocking off the Captain's Quarters. . .

Despite having access to the graphically-superior Wii U, Jackson and Drew - aside from little Miles, the only two boys in our friend group, prefer to play Grand Theft Auto III on our old Playstation 2.  Whatever works, folks.

Erik shows Brad some Youtube weirdness. . .

More food out.  We had all cooked enough food for a normal-size party - ours usually hover around 50 people, thereabouts - so we had more than anyone could eat.  No one complained.

We moved the old bar table up from the basement for extra table surface.  Works out pretty well.

The Bardens

The guys wanted to play some cards, so I busted out this old deck of souvenir cards I picked up when I visited the lost city of Pompeii back in 2013.  Each card features a different, sexually explicit fresco painting taken directly off the walls of the old brothels in the city's port-side district, that served as advertisements to illiterate or non-Latin-speaking sailors from around the Mediterranean Sea.  The guys definitely got a kick out of them.

The Real Housewives of Midland

Another example of Catholic/Protestant violence. . .

Wackiness ensues. . .

Time for some Irish Car Bombs. . .

At one point in the evening, folks got sucked into our screensaver - I have an app on our Amazon Fire Stick called pFolio that shuffles an album of your choice off your synced Google Photos.  For this party, I created an album featuring hundreds of pictures from our many St. Patrick's Days over the years (2003 - 2019.)  Definitely got a kick out of that, I assure you.

Brad was nice enough to give me this very interesting (and discontinued) pipe tobacco blend.  It's a very unique, if not pungent, smoke.

Samson made himself at home on Courtney's lap for quite awhile. . .

Morgan and Kris pose for a selfie.

Mitch and Brad

Brad flashes his Blue Steel look. . .

Meanwhile, back in the basement. . .

You can imagine the mess we had to clean up in the morning.

Still playing the ol' Playstation 2 (the only time this thing ever gets touched, honestly.)

Andrea - who was in town visiting from New Jersey - brought along her nephew, who entertained himself with playing with our collection of Disney Infinity figures. . .

The Magnificent Seven

Some handsome guy, smokin' on a stogie.

The Bardens' oldest daughter (forget her name, she doesn't come out often), teaching some womenfolk how to do an Irish jig (I guess she takes lessons. . .)

Sophie and Rylen

Danielle and Morgan

Brad shows off his St. Patty's shirt

Of course it was Samson, the motherf***er.  Someone bent down to pet him and he lost control of his bladder.  I hate dogs.

The Larsons

The Houghs

Females getting crazy in the living room

No idea what Mees is showing these kids, but it must be absolutely riveting to old the interest of such little kids like that.

Ella, Abby, Viv, and Sophie

. . . aaaaand with a couple more.

Rosie is ridiculously flexible.

Then came the stickers. . .

What kinda Texas Chainsaw Massacre shit is this??

At least in the Study there was some peace and quiet.  I was on DJ duty, spinning vinyl for the duration of the evening (no complaints here.)

Samson moves in on Miles' food. 

More photo ops

Playing some Euchre (they didn't go with the Pompeiian nudie cards, sadly.)

The womenfolk were playing that weird '31' card game they always play at these get-togethers.  I have no idea how it works.

Samson is a HUGE fan of hugs.  He'll let you hold him like this for quite awhile, which Kelly was more than willing to do.

Towards the end of the night, as folks started to go home.  The basement was to be expected after a 5pm - 1am occupancy.

Some families stayed pretty late into the night, with the kids migrating upstairs from the basement to watch Frozen 2 on the couch.  The Larsons, Bardens, and Johnsons all hung out until 2am, thereabouts (Morgan, pictured here, barely made it.)

After everyone left, Kris and I blitz-cleaned the house so we wouldn't have to do it in the morning, and then she went to bed.  I stayed up to have one, last beer for the night and watch my mandatory, St. Patrick's Day-themed The Simpsons episode - 'Homer vs. The 18th Amendment' (which I watch every year on St. Patty's.)  We truly rallied together this year, and, all things considered, I think managed to pull it off.

- Brian