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by Diggory

Years of drinking, debauchery and some other ill shit have created what I would call a Frankenstein personality in me and many of my close friends. We, my crew and I, have come up with or adopted countless stories (some real, some fake, some very exaggerated), expression, words and mannerism, turning a night of drinking with us into a movie scene or puppet-theatre presentation.

I am sure everyone has experienced this: when, for one night, you are immersed in the sub-culture of someone's old-time crew, chillin with these people for the first time, and not knowing what the fu@# is going on because of all the random movie quotes shot around, the inside-jokes and the party stories.

To fulfill my megalomaniac ambitions, I want to introduce you all to the next big thing coming out straight of my crew's vocabulary. The St-Patrick is no more. The legendary Irish celebration shall be known from now on as La Saint-Patrice. That's right, we have translated the name in French, and as it obviously sounds much better, we are sticking with it. You shall now also stick with it.

My friend's cultural ambiguity is not really what I wanted to share with the world. La Saint-Patrice is really what I wanted to talk about. It is such a weird national holiday, entirely sustained by the fact that it is so deeply alcohol entrenched. Honestly, I think that is genius; it simply is genius. Having not a single drop of Celtic blood in me, I feel pretty damn Irish on La Saint-Patrice, because I can fully identify with such a free spirited nation, one that celebrates its identity on an alcohol induced cloud.

I came to understand this passing Saint-Patrice that, no matter where I am in the world, even if it is in a country that has never seen an Irish woman or man, I will always celebrate La Saint-Patrice. That is the main trait of the new world, adopt parcels of culture that please you and make them truly yours. A bit like my friends and I, and probably you, quoting famous lines in conversations or imitating some character's behaviour, effectively making these behaviours ours.

Unfortunately, the new world has its woes also, and they are intensifying. I can not explain in any rational way why the police and local authorities were so cautious and over-reacting during the Saint-Patrice parade. What are they scared off? Is all of Montreal still kids that can't be trusted to get drunk in public and behave? Why is the police state intensifying; why weren't we allowed to chill in the parking lot in between Crescent and Bishop Streets like we were last year?

Big Brother's decision to keep the streets calm on La Saint-Patrice parade goes against everything that celebration stands for. Not because keeping the street calm is wrong, but because we weren't trusted to behave like humans, but were instead treated like a herd of wild animals, that needed to be directed by power-tripping cowboys (aka. the police) and then forbidden to re-enter the feeding ground (just look at the second video, you'll see the tactics that the police uses, exactly like Clint Eastwood driving away his cows).

Talking about videos, look at the first one. That man has perfectly well understood the spirit of La Saint-Patrice and, just with his little display of independence, is fighting against Big Brother more than many of us are in their daily lives.

This year's Saint-Patrice parade just felt too much like 1984's Saint-Patrice, and that gave me the chills.
The man knows it all
Long live beer
Rounding up the sheep

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