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It can be safely said that Bing Crosby taught America how to sing. Before his arrival in the 1930s, the airwaves were filled with off-pitch, rakish...
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Irish EnoughLOCATION: Through the Phone Line , Cincinnati, OHYEAR: 1999TAGS: St. Patrick's Day, grandparents, drinking, friends, college, partying, Notre Dame, Bing Crosby, barPUBLISHED: March 16, 2008For a purebred American German, my grandfather sure liked to crank The Cros on St. Patrick's Day. This was, perhaps, his lone stab at multiculturalism: The same man who never quite got over the inability of Fred Astaire to lose a girl was totally down with rocking out to Bing. Much has been made about the faux-Irishness Crosby's cuts are said to represent. The same album caused my BFFE, who studied for a year in Ireland, close her eyes and fight deep, deep nausea. But I figure: Close enough. Outside of a justice-minded history teacher who affixed green paper hats to each Presidential portrait in his classroom save Warren G. Harding, Bing's groaning was my sole preparation for four years of the highly stylized Irishness of Notre Dame, with its Scottish kilt-wearing Irish Guard (kilts, not that I'm complaining) and pissy cartoon Leprechaun. The drinking aspect of it flowed right down to my senior year, when I swung into Notre Dame's Senior Bar on St. Patrick's Day and discovered, throughout the course of the evening, that practically all of my close friends were there as well, worlds colliding all over the place. ("OMG, PRACTICALLY ALL MY CLOSE FRIENDS ARE HERE!") But what I remember most is a male acquaintance so over-beered that his friends helpfully dragged one of the bar's industrial-sized trash cans over to him as he moaned with his head on the table, then wheeled him back to the dorm in it. Those Irish, certainly an ingenious lot.
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