What are your thoughts on this year’s controversy over gay veterans not being able to march openly? Did it affect you in anyway?
Hunter: It didn’t affect me at all; I’m just here having fun. If they wanna do it, they can do it. I’m all about it.
Frank:I think it’s disrespectful to the parade. If you wanna march, march in your own parade. This holiday is for Irish people; this means a lot to us.
So would you say to a gay Irish person, “Hey don’t be gay, be Irish”?
Frank: No, I’m sayin’ do what you want, but on this day, this is for Irish people, and nobody else should be trying to overcome that.
Hunter: I’m just out here being an Irish person, you know what I mean? We don’t really care.
What would shock you more: a close friend coming out as gay, or a close friend coming out as half Italian?
Frank: Honestly, dude, I wouldn’t care either way. If they wanna be gay, be gay.
If they wanna be Italian, be Italian?
Frank: Hey, look, be who you are, as long as you’re havin’ fun.
Hunter: Look at this necklace: It says, “Irish for a Day,” not “Gay for a Day.”
—We asked Boston’s parade-goers what St. Patrick’s Day means to them. Their answers weren’t surprising.
Magaluf Is a Paradise
Once upon a time, before people, Majorca was just an island. It was a paradise adorned with golden sandy beaches and placid beasts who roamed around thinking: “My word, isn’t this a wonderful and quiet place? Mostly quiet. It’s a very quiet place.”
And then people came along—mostly people from the UK, Ireland, Germany, and Scandinavia, invited by the native Spaniards—and provided human traffic for thousands of nightclubs and bars. And in these nightclubs and bars, they danced and binge drank, and then that spilled over onto the beaches, and that’s when people started puking and pissing on the animals, and fucking in front of them.
And eventually the people became the animals. And we present this photo blog to you as evidence of that.
I don’t know about you, but this summer heat is making me look forward to the days of my retirement. Days when I won’t have to hate the sun just because it seems to shine on everyone and everything else but me, my badly lit computer screen, and the exhaustingly strong office air conditioning.
Then again, I also think about how, when those days arrive, none of the pretty young people at the beach will mind me perving over them since I’ll be a weirdly shaped bag of excess skin. And that is terrifying. But maybe also nice.
So, you know, with that in mind, here are a few of Chris Cooper’s pictures of olds unashamedly strutting their stuff while on vacat in Tenerife to get you thinking about your own mortality.