Poor Mary High, in town visiting for this year’s cruddiest weekend, decided that she would move to New York were it not for the weather. St. Patrick’s Day was just plain sloppy. We started with the parade up on 86th street, then ambled our way downtown -- skipping Midtown -- Chelsea, East Village, West Village, Lower East Side, for at least twelve solid hours of reveling. There was a German pub, with bagpipes for entertainment, a Mexican fiesta, and two overcrowded Irish pubs, of course. It really is exhausting, going through all of that. By the end of it, we (or maybe I’m just speaking for myself) were like walking train wrecks after trudging through the snow to have a beer with every single person in New York.