Top 3 Reasons St. Patrick’s Day is our Most Ridiculous Holiday

1.     It is a holiday largely celebrated by drinking. March 17th is the feast day of St. Patrick, Patron saint of Ireland. March 17th is also the middle day of spring and St. Patrick himself promised better weather from that day forward. Taking their cue from him, the farmers would busy themselves planting the potato crop in the days before so as to be ready for maximum merriment when the feast day arrived. St. Patrick’s Day came to represent a break from the self-denials of Lent, a day when all fasting and holding back was thrown out the window. When mass was over the men headed to the pub to drink “Pota Pádraig,” Patrick’s Cup, before heading home to feast on what we can safely assume was something that included potatoes. The celebrating continued into the evening when, at last, the shamrock you’d been wearing that day was placed in the bottom of your last drink and a prayer was said as it was thrown over your left shoulder.

Flying whiskey-soaked shamrocks, always a threat.

These days, we would be lucky to get a prayer anywhere near the severe inebriation that takes place on St. Patrick’s Day. Here in New York City, people are decked out in their best green finery during the morning commute and the evidence of what came next liters the sidewalks the next morning. Lunchtime is a maze of people spilling out of local bars, as if it is their duty to St. Patrick to take part in a midday booze fest. Of course, with the parade blocking off half the city, what are they to do but sit and drink? Read maybe? At one time, bars in Ireland were actually closed in honor of St. Patrick, but with modern society focused on making money, beer companies and commercial enterprises alike saw fit to market the hell out of St. Patrick’s Day and thus, a drinking holiday was born.

2.     “Erin go Braless.” Erin go Bragh is a fine Irish phrase meaning, “Ireland Forever.” Dating back to the mid 1800s, Erin go Bragh has been used by groups of citizens, political parties, unions and sports teams to pledge their true allegiance to Ireland.

Like Irish Friday Night Lights, only better.

And like any epic phrase, it comes as no surprise that the more ridiculous of us have ripped it off into something absurd and a little risqué. There was no credible information available on the origin of “Erin go Braless,” but one need only visualize a braless, drunken reveler, possibly clad in an Erin go Braless t-shirt, to absorb the full weight of why this bastardization is so totally ridiculous. However, considering that roughly eighty percent of women are wearing the wrong bra size, perhaps we should just give up altogether.

3.     Gang green. The tradition of decking yourself out in green on St. Patrick’s Day is said to originate from St. Patrick’s love of shamrocks. Prevalent in Ireland, he often referred to their representation of the Holy Trinity: the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit—or, in Ridiculous in the City Terms: Tina Turner, George Michael and Barack Obama. Tina, George, Barry and Oprah if it’s a four-leaf clover. Because of this, the Irish began wearing shamrocks on St. Patrick’s Day, representing him with a little bit of green. The tradition grew into what can now be referred to as green fever, with everyone and their mom sporting green on March 17th, not just the Irish among us.

Hats, clothing, fake green beards, crowns, green Mardi Gras beads; green fever effectively takes over the city on this fair day and it is nothing if not ridiculous. But then, St. Patrick’s Day is for celebrating and I suspect St. Patrick, a man who was enslaved until his twenties, would want us to accept the enthusiasm and dedication these green wearers put out into the universe.

Yes, “Accept gang green, lose the bra, have a few drinks and eat a potato, my child,” he would say. Because tomorrow it’s back to the austerity measures of Lent for all of us. That’s why you’re celebrating right?

Fashionably Ridiculous: $4000 Pajamas

Photo: net-a-porter.com

Photo: net-a-porter.com

The world is full of problems. It is full of wrongs that need to be righted, needs that need to be met; gaping chasms of despair, injustice and suffering, which, in many cases, could be avoided if the right people directed the necessary resources where they are so desperately needed.

It is with these harsh truths in mind that one begins to feel utterly ridiculous falling in love with $4,000 pajamas. You can reason that they are not pajamas, they are clothes and the wearing of such magical pajamas out on the town with the right loafer and a beaded clutch would be a look so devastatingly chic that it warrants the price tag. You can reason that, though you own numerous pairs of pajamas, this pair will be the be-all and end-all of pajama purchasing and you will never need to buy another pair or want for any item that bares even the slightest resemblance to pajamas ever again—for these pajamas are the penultimate PJs. You can even argue with yourself that, although you sleep sans pajamas, these are the pair that you have been waiting for, the pair that will make you a proper pajama wearer, finally leaving behind the natural, yet “in flagrante,” life you’ve been leading.

Yes, you tell yourself, these magic pajamas will change your life. You have to have them. Any way you look at it, all reasoning points to yes.

Except, of course, that these are $4,000 pajamas. People the world over don’t have food, shelter, school supplies, access to clean water; the list goes on. And on. And then, the ridiculous, overly analytical you is right back where you started—lusting after the magic pajamas and chastising yourself for it. But, you wouldn’t be the person we know and love if you weren’t.

And regardless of whether you sleep in the nude or clad in pajamas, we accept you, in all your ridiculous glory.

Because what makes the $4,000 pajamas so ridiculous is also what makes you so amazing, they really are that fabulous. They are to be coveted, pined for, thought of with pangs of desire and longing, just like you should be. So donate school supplies to a child in need, lend your voice to a cause that works to end global hunger and then, when it comes times for slumber, stick with your birthday suit or buy the magic PJs and quiet your inner voice. Perhaps you can split the difference and just get the top, no one needs bottoms. 

Whatever you decide, we support you, because that’s what ridiculous people do. Especially ridiculous people who want to feel better about lusting after $4,000 pajamas.

I’m Calling It: The People vs. O.J. Simpson is the Greatest Miniseries Ever (Sorry Roots)

Not since the early nineties heyday of the salacious television miniseries has a made-for-TV movie been as addictive as FX’s The People vs. O.J. Simpson. Yes, The People vs. O.J. Simpson harkens back to a time when networks were bursting at the seams to broadcast the tawdry, over-dramatized tales of Danielle Steel and Jackie Collins, and we were loving every minute of it. I mean, Nicolette Sheridan as Lucky Santangelo, how could we not?

They were the glory days (never mind that some of us weren’t even old enough to drive), but somewhere between the rise of technology and the attention span of reality television, our beloved cheesy miniseries faded away. And millions of silent tears were shed in wall-to-wall carpeted living rooms across the country.

There would be three-night movie events here and there as the years rolled on, but they were generally on networks like Lifetime, which saturated the airwaves with programming that was more afterschool special than escapist pleasure. Dallas was off the air, Dynasty was gone, Falcon Crest had dropped off the face of the planet. Where else were we to turn than the Real Housewives of Fill in the Blank that would eventually take their places?

Well, there is something called reading.

And so it was with great fanfare that The People vs. O.J. Simpson began its marketing campaign, betting not only on our desperation for something spicy yet familiar, but wagering that today’s viewers would be in the sweet spot between curiosity and hazy recall. Which is to say that, in the golden age of paparazzi, we are as curious as ever about the ugly side of celebrity and twenty-two years later, we might not remember enough of the gory details to turn us away.

They wagered correctly as over twelve million of us tuned in for the first installment. The number one reason why The People vs. O.J. Simpson is so goddamn good is the cast. It’s unbelievable that they were able to get so many big name actors given the tabloid nature of the story. David Schwimmer stars as Robert Kardashian, a character infinitely more interesting since the rise of the Kardashians than he was in 1994. John Travolta is Robert Shapiro and it’s the first time I’ve been able to take him seriously in decades. Cuba Gooding Jr.—taking one for the team as O.J. himself—is so good you almost think O.J. really believes he didn’t do it. Almost. In perhaps the best casting move ever, Connie Britton (“Texas Forever!”) plays Faye Resnick, in all her coked-up, vivacious outfit glory. And Nathan Lane as F. Lee Bailey? What genius even thought that up?

But the man who shines brighter than the satin pajamas and purple silk suits he rocks through Beverly Hills is Courtney B. Vance as Johnnie Cochran. Once he joins the Dream Team there is no question as to why O.J. got off. As Johnnie says, “It’s like it’s my destiny.”

His destiny may have also been to be an extra in Troop Beverly Hills, but that one was never fulfilled.

As the story plays out on screen, you literally can’t look away. For, if you do, you might miss a gratuitous shot of the young Kardashian kids screaming as their father addresses the media. Marcia Clarke, Judge Ito, Kato Kaelin, the courtroom; all of it is exactly as you remember, only you’re on the inside now, seeing the human Marcia at home with her kids, Judge Ito proudly showing off a fan letter from Arsenio Hall, Kato lamenting that he has to move out of Simpson’s guest house while getting flashed from some “fans” driving by. It’s surreal. This week brought the welcome addition of Dominick Dunne to the courtroom, followed by him gossiping like a cad at a dinner party about what he’d seen.

All amusement aside, there is a bigger force at play here, one which drives the series. Should we have forgotten any of the aforementioned gory details, The People vs. O.J. Simpson assaults us with them from the first minute, as it absolutely should. Because for all the reasons this is a ridiculously entertaining television movie, it is an equally startling tale of overwhelming guilt in a horrific crime. One whose lack of justice for the victims should never have been allowed to take the sad turns it did. The entire program serves to not only remind us, but drill into the brains of every last one of us who may still be harboring any shred of doubt, that O.J. unequivocally, brutally murdered two people with full knowledge of what he was doing.

For that reason alone, it could be considered the greatest miniseries of all time.

And no, when I refer to The People vs. O.J. Simpson as the greatest miniseries of all time, I am not putting it in the category of War and Peace or documentary masterpieces by Ken Burns, or those the likes of American Experience—this is Ridiculous in the City you are reading. Is it a true crime story? Yes. Is it entertaining? Yes. But the category it belongs in is that of voyeuristic guilty pleasure, even though I don’t feel the least bit guilty about watching it. It is an absurdly interesting portrait of something so unfathomable you can’t believe it actually happened, and it shows us, on the most rudimentary level, that the whole case was screwed from the get go. A truth that is saddest for the families of Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman as The People vs. O.J. Simpson constantly reminds us.

It’s hard not to see that what began as the public’s obsession with watching the O.J. trial laid the seeds of our current reality TV obsession. If that kind of massive charade could have happened with O.J. Simpson, a B-list celebrity in 1994, can you imagine what would happen today? E! would probably set up another channel and broadcast twenty-four hour dedicated programing, with episodes of Keeping Up With the Kardashians airing in prime time, of course.

The People vs. O.J. Simpson is not going to change the world, but once you’ve solved world hunger, put your feet up and witness the ridiculousness that is this epic miniseries. You can use a little more ridiculousness in your life, or at the very least, a little more Faye Resnick.

Now, can I get a made for TV movie about the making of Dynasty please? I’m dying here.

Ray-Bans, Ted Cruz and the Apocalypse: This is Happening.

Photo: inquisitr.com

Photo: inquisitr.com

 

If we needed a sign that the world was finally nearing its inevitable apocalyptic fate, it came this past weekend in the form of Ted Cruz wearing Ray-Bans at a Nevada rally. So absurd was this attempt at “cool guy” posturing that it sent shock waves through the hearts of dedicated Ray-Ban wearers across the globe.

The Ray-Ban, a symbol of hope and all that is right with the world that once adorned the faces of Audrey Hepburn, James Dean and John F. Kennedy, has long been an accessory that defined bona fide coolness. For almost eighty years, the brand that was born out of an attempt to protect Air Force pilots from the sun’s glare has been pioneering sunglass technology while introducing styles that would go on to become cultural icons.

The Aviator, the Wayfarer, and the Clubmaster (a.k.a., Ridiculous in the City’s early nineties obsession), are among a multitude of styles that have risen to the top of our cultural consciousness and given us the burning desire to wear our sunglasses at night. When we think of movies, we think of Ray-Bans, thanks to burned-into-our-brain films like Easy Rider, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, The Blues Brothers and Top Gun—a movie that was basically one giant pair of Aviators. When we think of rock and roll, we think of Ray-Bans, picturing Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, The Ramones and the thousands of musicians who have come after them, all craving a little bit of the cool that lies behind those shades.

Those shades. Maybe that’s why seeing Ted Cruz sporting Wayfarers is such a comical affront, because the cool that lies behind our Ray-Bans isn’t forced, and it isn’t manufactured; it’s fundamental and unquestionable, just like our beloved Ray-Bans have come to be. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if you’re wearing a pair of $160 Ray Bans or the $10 knock-offs you bought on Astor Place (hey, we do what we have to). What matters is you put them on and you immediately looked like the cool customer you’ve always known you were.

As a cool customer, you know when you see someone who is most definitely not a cool customer. The lack of authenticity, the forced attempt at being the genuine article; it looks ridiculous, which is what Ted Cruz looked like up there on that stage wearing the Ray-Bans someone handed him to up his cool quotient. 

Correction: it looks ridiculous and it smells of Lysol and polyester.

Cruz's onetime opponent Rand Paul learned just how seriously Ray-Ban takes its cool. After appearing on the campaign trail in a pair of modern Ray-Bans—and looking slightly better than Cruz doing so—Paul's website began selling "Rand" branded knock-offs saying they were, "at the intersection of politics and cool." I'm guessing they were pretty lonely in that intersection. Ray-Ban's parent company, Luxottica, swiftly shut Paul down insisting, "Ray-Ban is not at all a political brand. We’re focused on making sunglasses that people love."

In recent years, Ray-Ban has rolled out their “Never Hide" campaign. Now there’s a campaign slogan (Jay-Z/Ridiculous in the City 2020!). In the spirit of never hiding, we Ray-Ban lovers will face this apocalypse head on. If Ted Cruz becomes the next president, I’m putting on my Wayfarers and boarding a raft bound for parts unknown. I may not know what life will be like when I get there, but I know I’ll have my Ray-Bans to shield my eyes from the burning apocalypse I left behind.

That and a roll of toilet paper can get me across an ocean.