A day late and an Irishman short

I'm half, on my father's side, and prone to grumble-riffic rants about how no other nationality has its foibles celebrated with a holiday; imagine, if you would, St. Guido's Day, where we all engage in La Cosa Nostra-style mock killings and Sopranos-esque overacting. (And I'll stop the exercise right there, before my Al Campanis moment.)

But the nice thing about being Irish is that you're usually too drunk to care about being, you know, stereotyped as drunks. Pour me a Guinness already, would ya?