I'm SUCH a crank. Here I am on St. Patrick's Day, the day everyone is Irish, the day everyone loves to get drunk, listen to Irish music and get drunk (yes, I know I was being redundant there).

You'd think I was in hog heaven. But I'm not.

I watch people dancing their stupid little faux-jigs at green-bedecked faux-Irish faux-celebrations and all I can think is that Dan Ackroyd line from Spies Like Us. "We mock what we don't understand."

And the bands. Jeebus Chrysler, people, the Clancy Brothers went out with the '60s. Irish ballads sung by four people (all in unison; no harmonies) have always been my most reviled style of Irish music. And yet it's all these Irish-for-a-day people respond to.

And don't even get me started on green beer.

I even refuse to wear green on St. Patrick's Day.

• It's cheesy.
• It's a symbol of Irish nationalism, and while I support efforts to unify Ireland, I really don't want to take sides, even if it's only symbolically and even if 98.5% of the people who wear green have no clue. I don't want to make a political statement on St. Patrick's Day. Enough people have died.

That said, our newest Irish pub in Phoenix, Rose McCaffrey's, is really nice. If you're ever in Phoenix, I strongly recommend a visit. 8th St. and Camelback, people.

I had a whole lot of fun.