So, when I got to Scally-land, we went out for a few drinks, as one is wont to do, particularly when that one is me. And, lo and behold, I met a culture thief in the very first pub I went to. One of those people who illegally assumes the identity of another's culture just because he has neither the wit nor the intelligence to find out about his own heritage.
Anyhoo, I'm in the pub and this bloke overhears me speaking. He ambles over and, in the broadest Scouser accent imaginable, proceeds to tell me that he's Irish. 'Course you are, love. You and half of the United States of America.
I have a couple of points I'd like to make about this:
Point number 1:
If you were born in Ireland, then you are Irish. If you were born in Liverpool, you're English. And if you were born in the United States, then you're American. It may not be pretty or interesting, but it's the truth.
I really hate these people who, once they figure out I'm Irish, proceed to bore me to death about how they're also Irish 'cause their father's cousin's friend's dog is called Patrick and 'cause their sister's boyfriend's uncle's brother's co-worker's daughter once visited the Emerald Isle, and showed them all the photos.
Having a t-shirt saying "Sláinte" or "Póg Mo Thóin" does not make you Irish. It makes you a idiot.
Drinking green beer all day on Paddy's day till you puke green pavement pizza does not make you Irish. It makes you an alcoholic. Which, incidentally, does not make you Irish either.
Point number 2:
If you're so desparate to fit in somewhere that you've started telling people you're Irish in the vain hope that they might think you're a bit of craic and start hanging out with you, then at least get your bloody facts straight.
This guy in Liverpool at the weekend started telling me all about what his name meant. Now, his name was something like "Bob O'Reilly" (I can't remember exactly for I was a little inebriated and also had the rage). In old-time Ireland the "O" in a surname meant "son of". Therefore, Bob O'Reill would mean "Bob, son of Reilly".
This muppet in the pub, however, insisted on telling me that his name meant "son of, proud of".
The conversation went a little like this:
Muppet man: "I'm Irish too, you know".
Me (suitably unimpressed): "Oh yeah? How's that?"
Muppet man: "Well, my name's Bob O'Reilly".
Me: "Uh huh, but you have a Scouse accent."
Muppet man: "Yeah, well I was born in Liverpool, but I'm Irish cause my grandmother was Irish. My name means 'son of proud of'".
Me: "Eh....what?"
Muppet man: "Well, in Ireland, the 'O' means 'son of'. 'Proud of', you know?"
Me: "Actually, it just means son of, as in 'Bob, son of Reilly'"
Muppet man: "No. It means 'son of, proud of', as in 'proud of my son'. I know, 'cause I'm Irish."
Me: "Eh... I was born in Ireland, you numbnuts. I speak the language. It means 'son of', nothing to do with being proud of anyone".
Muppet man: "No, my name means 'son of, proud of', I'm tellin' ya".
Me: "So your name is 'Bob son of proud of'"?
Muppet man (proudly): "Yep".
Me: "You fucking muppet".
Point number 3:
People who steal another culture's traditions in a bid to make themselves cooler are as bad, if not worse, as the muppet man above.
Take, for example, the skinny white guy with the Maori tattoos, or the 'bohemian' ginger guy with those horrible things in his ears that stretch the lobe, as is seen in some African cultures. Those tattoos or that jewellery means nothing to these guys. They have no idea of the significance or power of these images in their native culture. Therefore, they have no right to wear them, and they especially have no right to reduce them to the status of a handbag or a pretty pair of shoes, i.e., just another "must have" fashion item.
Why not just be proud of your OWN heritage and culture?
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