My inaugural blog. It feels so important, and yet insignificant somehow. Blogging is such a strange concept. Am I arrogant because I think that my thoughts are interesting enough to warrant their own website? Probably. Really, I have moments of hilarity in my head, but how am I to know if they are grown-up enough to stand on their own in the scary world of cyberspace? So I must trudge ahead. And if I fail miserably, I can always cancel my blog. This is reassuring to me, as I am hesitant to make any decision that smells vaguely of permanence.

Today is St. Patrick's Day, 2006. As a redhead, I am regularly confronted by the assumption that I am Irish. Alas, I am 100% Dutch (but can one really be 100% anything? I have a sneaking suspicion that my genealogical roots are actually tainted somewhere along the way, but since I have pride in my Dutch ethnicity, I let that slide most of the time). Hailing from the Netherlands gives me great comfort. I have a theory that I could get around merely by ice skating, as my ancestors did so long ago, if my ankles weren't shot to crap, and that the ability to dance in large, heavy wooden shoes must be hiding in my genes somewhere, which allows me to hip-hop dance in a club with relatively little trouble (which is amazing, considering I regularly knock over objects just sitting at a table, and walk into door jambs on a relatively routine basis. It must be those dancing genes!). I have also noted conscientiously that somehow my long-lost cousins are now running the Red Light District in Amsterdam, smoking pot by the truckload, and getting rich off of the massive American consumption of Heineken. Lucky them! I'm just kidding, although another time I will elaborate on the boring nature of being a good oldest child.

Anyway, about the Irish and St. Patrick's Day. How is it that the whole United States decides that we should celebrate the patron saint of Ireland? And that the best way to celebrate this is to drink green beer in abandon and wear funny green sunglasses in the shape of shamrocks? Don't get me wrong, I love St. Patrick's Day, and I love corned beef with cabbage and green beer as much as the next guy, but I'm not Catholic, and I'm thinkin' that St. Patty is rolling over in his grave about this. And why don't we celebrate other countries' traditions by dedicating a national (as in actually on the calendar) day to each one? I, for one, would love to see a day dedicated to the Netherlands. We don't have any patron saints (that I know of, again, I'm not Catholic), but we have large, heavy wooden shoes with which to dance through the streets. And by God, there should be dancing!!

It's funny, because being Dutch is not generally considered to be a good thing (although the nice side benefit of being tall and super thin has its merits), what with all the "Dutch treat" cheap innuendoes running rampant, and the fact that we claim only an oven as our own in the kitchen, but every once in a while, I find myself miffed that the world has missed out on the Dutch traditions. Great traditions, like "banket" (almond pastry) and putting chocolate sprinkles on buttered toast until it melts into a gooey mess (this has a Dutch name, of course, but I am not cultured enough to know what it is!). Of course, we have made our share of political and social blunders along the way, but so have the Irish, and really, why is it that we can't have our own U.S. holiday? We're redheaded, too!!! We deserve a "Klompen-dancing" day!! (that's what it's called, the dancing with the wooden shoes with the outfits like the little Dutch kids in "It's a Small World" at Disney World! It's actually really funny to watch, but it does take some degree of leg strength. Crash course: Head to Holland, Michigan during "Tulip Time".)

Anyway, all of this campaigning makes me hungry. Maybe I'll go find some toast and chocolate sprinkles, and down it with some Heineken. Happy Dutch Day to all!! Oh, fine, happy St. Patrick's Day, too.