I do. Seriously. I can think of no other group of people -- with the exception of blonde women in their early 20s who drive white Grand Ams -- who I prejudge more.

I don't mean to say that I hate Irish people individually. I don't. In fact, I can't say that I've ever met an Irish person that I disliked. Hell, even my girlfriend is a red-haired, green-eyed Irishwoman, although other than the first time we ever hung out, when she puked on my feet and then kept on drinking for another four hours, she doesn't really act Irish and she can even pass for white most of the time. No, what I'm saying is that I hate the Irish collectively. You know, as a class, or better yet as an idea. That's much better, isn't it? My hatred has a two-pronged reasoning.

First of all, despite the fact that I am neither Irish nor Catholic, I went to an Irish Catholic college. This was back in the early '90s when the music charts were crowded with Irish bands: U2, the Cranberries, the Waterboys, Sinead O'Connor. All of these were piped seemingly constantly into the student union and into every dorm room. To make matters worse, my school had a study-abroad program in Ireland, which meant that in every class I attended, I had to listen to patchouli-reeking sophomores say things like, "Well, from my experiences in Ireland I can tell you that ..." and "Something I learned from my extensive travels in Ireland was that ..." and "The Irish have a much stronger sense of ..."

In short, it was horrible.

Second, I don't understand the appeal of the American version of Irish pubs. At all. I don't understand what makes them "Irish," other than maybe serving Guinness on tap, and even that is a tall order in this part of the world. In fact, I guarrantee you that if you were to order a Guinness at every Irish bar around here, you'd be about 50% likely to get one, and 50% likely to be met with a blank stare. Right now someone is lamenting my lack of comments, because they want to tell me how provincial that is, and how in the large and cosmopolitan city in which they live, they have "authentic" Irish pubs. Listen: authentic is not synonymous with "good". Please try to wrap your yuppie brain around that, OK? For example, authentic Mexican food looks like diarrhea on a plate. Likewise, the authentic food of my ancestors is primarily made out of fish heads. I for one am not interested in "authentic" in and of itself.

That said, it's nothing the Irish have done or said that has made me theoretically hate them, but rather the image of them as seen through the American lens. When I think of Ireland, I don't think of beautiful, rolling hills and ancient Celtic ruins. I think of the frat boy in a green plastic derby staggering in my headlights on an icy March night, his sweatshirt stained with a swath of foamy teal vomit. I think of rock bands cashing in on "important" issues, hoping some of that importance will rub off on them. I think of some dreadlocked, clove-cigarette-smoking douchebag carrying a dirty and dog-eared, yet unread, copy of Finnegan's Wake around with him wherever he goes.

And that's really what I'm getting at here: In America at least, there seems to be this idea that if you take any mundane idea and add "Irish" to it, it becomes a great idea.

Hell, if I were Irish, I'd hate it all even more so.