Cinco de Mayo
I have little interest in holidays. While I do enjoy having a legitimate excuse to get drunk and disorderly, I don’t necessarily like it when everyone else has license. I mean, most people aren’t very good at drinking. St. Patrick’s Day and New Year’s Eve are like amateur night across the country. Silly, stupid hats, green drinks, frat boys and the women who love them—all gallivanting about the city, throwing up all over the sidewalk.
Christmas is less like this, of course, unless you consider my father. One would think he’d be better at drinking after all those years, but he still always managed to drink too many complimentary drinks, drop a grand on roulette and pass out on the floor of the hotel room with his clothes on. Thanksgiving, he’d sit at our aunt’s table and just mumble about my mom, who only left her piano behind.
Halloween is nice, I suppose, because I enjoy pretending to be someone who I am not, and I think most people feel that way.
Fourth of July, well…I have mixed feelings about it. On one level, I enjoy trying to feel like a patriot by recounting our Constitution, one hell of a document (though often trampled upon, yes); on another, I find it strange that kids end up blowing their fingers off in an effort to celebrate our independence from the British.
Martin Luther King Jr. Day always felt slightly off to me as well. Not to downplay the man’s achievements, but it seems all the white people go skiing to celebrate his birthday. My young cousin, growing up, thought MLK was an Olympic skier and that’s why everyone hit the slopes.
But I’ve always loved Cinco de Mayo, due in large part to my nostalgia surrounding Mexico. While no one really celebrates it south of the border, I’m always reminded of the time I managed to break my own heart in Mexico City.
It’s odd when you can find pleasure by reveling in past failures. I guess, after so long, it ceases to matter how terrible it felt at the time; what you find is that what really matters is that you were feeling so much and whether it was good or bad is immaterial. I guess that is largely what this blog is for: recounting a life worth living, even if it sucked at the time.
So, happy Cinco de Mayo, everyone. You can bet I’ll be drinking tequila tonight with my interns. I invite you all to contribute any stories you might have surrounding holidays, tequila or Mexico.
Vaya con Dios,
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