On this joyous Irish saint day, if you want to impress people (future sexual partners) with your knowledge instead of your drinking prowess, here are some fun facts about American bars, Saint Paddy's and Irish stuff. So enjoy, kind readers.
It's true, green beer causes you to be gaytarded.
A few years ago an American went to Ireland in the summer. He ordered a Jameson on the rocks. The bartender said, "Where the fock would I git ice this time uh year?"
Saloons used to not have chairs along the bar. That brass rail along the bottom of the bar was for drinkers to put their boots up. When people started falling over, that meant they were done drinking. Literally and figuratively.
After American Prohibition, the teetotalers forced every saloon owner to stock their establishments with bar stools. The logic behind this move was that if males sat down to drink, they wouldn't be cruising around the place looking for loose women. This has obviously worked very well, since women quickly learn most people who sit by themselves at bars are the biggest weirdos.
Many drinking establishments didn't allow women inside until the last 40 or 50 years or so. Because drinking in a bar was the only place men could be men – which I guess meant singing songs and crying while surrounded by dudes. Maybe our forefathers were kind of gay?
Since many American pubs were basically "poor men's clubs" that banned women, urinal troughs ran along the bar. So next time your drunk buddy pisses all over the bar, just tell the bouncer he's honoring an age-old tradition.
While wine's popularity around the world is fairly universal, it's just starting to find it's place in the United States since American grapes and vineyards weren't very good until the late 20th century. Most Americans didn't drink vino, except for the stuff at Catholic churches – which is Jesus' blood. For a while only Jews and Italians drank red wine in the states, so the early settlers called all dark wine "Dago Red." Even in New York, wine is only recently popular. A decade ago if you came to a NYC bar and ordered wine, the bartender would look you over and check out your shoes to make sure you weren't a bum – or a wino. I've always been conditioned to laugh at men who order wine. I can't help this, it's how I was trained.
During slavery, Southerners believed gin made African Americans uncontrollably horny, which is why they forbade many slaves the right to drink.
There was a time that the city of Chicago sported more bars than the entire Southern States.
Boulder, Colorado claims "The World's Shortest Saint Paddy's Parade." It's basically a circle around the local Irish pub.
One Saint Paddy's Day 2K7, I bet Bones — who had been drinking for about three hours straight that he couldn't chug six Guinness in under five minutes. He did it in under a minute. Nine hours later I went double or nothing with him — by then he'd probably had about 20 Guinness, 15 Carbombs and maybe half a liter of Jameson. I lost $60 but gained even more respect for this machine of a man.
When I first moved to North Dakota, I swear some bars let beer drinkers lace up boxing gloves to fight…live kangaroos or toothless and declawed bears. I never saw this, but I remember they passed a law banning this "sport" when I was really young. I swear this is real.
I've been to the bar in Deadwood, South Dakota where "Wild" Bill Hickok was shot. The chair hangs from a wall now. The bar is actually a really cool place. I wonder how many other bars I've been to where people have been killed?
Kevin Costner owns a casino in Deadwood. I won $30 at the blackjack table and when I left I told the dealer "Tell Costner that was for ‘Waterworld.'"
Coyote Ugly is the worst bar I've ever been to. Just about every bar in Denver is the second worst.
I've worked in the bars for almost nine years. I've never drank a gin and tonic.
I've been unemployed for a spot, so I thought I'd go back to my bouncing roots, but NYC requires every doorman to be registered by the state or city or something. I think it's bullshit, but what's really bullshit is most bars want you to be a certain height and weight – six feet tall and at least 250 pounds. I'm two inches too short and almost 60 pounds underweight. It's like I'm at the state fair again, but not tall enough to ride the Tilt-A-Whirl. Fucking Irish genetics. Thanks Mom and Dad.
Some NYC Irish pubs banned the singing of "Danny Boy" because it's a depressing song written by an English guy. If you run out of songs by The Pogues, Dropkick Murphy or Flogging Molly, here's my favorite one to shout:
"Oh I will weep with the women,
For yellow-haired Donaugh is dead.
With a hempen rope for a necktie.
And a black hood over his head."
You'll impress every bonnie lass in the room.
Happy Saint Paddy's everybody! Stay safe and have a shot for me! You're the best!