Practicalmadness

I would not have believed it, but day-old India Pale Ale tastes none too different from fresh India Pale Ale. That is, it is a flavor best described with terms like “vomit”, “essence of Cream of Wheat” and “why oh why did I not buy Honkers Ale?”

Being rather out of the loop, I had no idea that the St. Patrick’s Day parade thing was today (you’d think I’d have known, seeing as I live on State Street and all), and as such was rather shocked to note that, when I padded out of the house for milk, bread and chocolate toffees, everyone’s got their green on and there was a line out the door at Govnor’s Pub at Lake Street. And I’m like, dude.

It seemed like kind of a touristy crowd, and Guinness- and Miller-provided SPD decorations notwithstanding, I’d have pegged Govnor’s as more of a wannabe British pub than a wannabe Irish pub. I would further assume that the wannabe Irish would, in fact, want nothing to do with the wannabe Brits on this day of drinkin’, and that these people must not have gotten the message that all tourists are to do their drinking in specially marked “Tourist Trap Zones” like Fado, or even Celtic Crossings.

It can, then again, be argued that all of Chicago between Belmont and Roosevelt is one humungous tourist trap, as perhaps indicated by the number of H&M bags I saw walking around the place.

I have no Guinness on the premises; however, I trust that the leprechaun patrol will find it satisfactory that my selection of high-falutin’ German and Czech beers come in green glass bottles, and that I have green martini fixins. Also that at least 30% of the items in my fridge are presently green. And if they pinch me, I’ll make them eat some of them.