Every year at this time the police cordon off a city block here in San Francisco’s Financial District in preparation for the all-important celebration of Saint Patrick, who, according to legend, will be the judge of the Irish in the Last Days. The block basically becomes a large frat party, with clumps of young men who are hoping to get lucky roaming around ogling clusters of young women, all of them drinking and wearing green. The traditional loud rock band plays in the street and the green beer flows. If you want to seem “in the know,” when you greet people today you can say, “Éirinn go brách,” which in Irish for “I can’t remember what happened!”