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Thanks for coming out.

St. Patrick’s Day has come and gone and, despite their proliferation here in Manhattan, I have yet to visit an honest-to-goodness Irish pub. I put on a green shirt and went out on Thursday evening (St. Patty’s Day); fully intending to partake in the celebration of St. Patrick, the second Bishop of Ireland.

I’ve seen Irish pubs around; they’re all over the place. But I hadn’t had a reason to visit one until Thursday. I came across one, not too far away, that looked promising. Then I realized I was by myself. Who goes to a pub by themselves? I looked in the window and saw a normal number of people talking and laughing with their friends. Then I thought, “All my New York friends are doing something else.” I left.

I’m a little disappointed with St. Patricks Day here in New York. Maybe I expected to see Irish folk in the pubs all singing together. Maybe I expected to join them, raise a glass, and toast old Patty. There was a parade, but that was on 5th Avenue in the afternoon and I missed it.

Maybe when I know more people I’ll pretend to be Irish next year.