I am not a rockstar. At least, not in real life.
Yet, on rare occasions, I’ve been known to make bold statements–you know–the kind that should only be made moments before stage diving into a screaming riot of fans.
Well, rockstar or not, I stand at the precipice of a holiday so important to me that I’m compelled to make such a statement now:
“Everybody, get on the %@#$ing dance floor!”
Seriously. The holiday, of course, is St. Patrick’s Day and its celebration is dangerously close to being swallowed in the gravitational rip of the recession’s black hole. Money is tight, people, I know.
But when the only thing you’re pinching is pennies, think for a moment about who gets short-changed.
Dozens of wonderful Irish pubs depend on your Paddy’s Day purchases to make it through the sales-slump they’re likely to incur during the Cinco de Mayo off-season.
Yes, the Irish need our help. If we do nothing, the only thing that’s gonna be moving across this year’s dance floor is a lonesome tumbleweed.
We’ll be left standing awkwardly at a party about as thrilling as potato famine.
As college students, we are endowed with the inalienable right to party (some think of this more as a duty).
I mean, consider the Boston Tea Party. Sure, it doesn’t exactly relate to this argument here, but wasn’t it awesome?
I propose that we emulate the patriotism of our drunken forefathers. Let us pretend that every dollar we sink into pints of Guinness is like a charitable investment towards the future of fun.
It may not be tax-deductible, but it will make you dance funny. So, on Tuesday night, raise your glasses and follow this two-step jig: Step 1. Put on a green hat. Step 2. Get to the nearest dance floor.
(Nate Hipple is a City Times staff writer)