The Laughing Wolf

I Think I Now Hate Blackfive

Mainly because the man is a true sadist. He resides on one of the best cities in the world for celebrating St. Patrick’s Day, and is rubbing our nose in the fact. The more I read, the more I hate him for it. It has been my pleasure to be in Chicago for these celebrations a time or two, and I do wish I was going to be there this year.

The river running green and all of that is fun, but what makes it so special is how for one day, everyone is Irish. People go out, celebrate, and become one. It truly is a wonderful time, and there are some very good places at which to celebrate. They have some real pubs there, portions of some of them having come from Ireland. You get good food, good drink, and a lot of fun. While not Irish per se, one of my favorite watering holes is up there, Goose Island.

While I am about it, there is a huge misunderstanding in the U.S. that a pub is a bar. No, it is not. It is far more than a bar. It is a place for gathering, for food, for entertainment, and a bit more – and it also just happens to provide a variety of liquid refreshments. One of my favorite pub memories is on a winter’s night in Scotland walking into a local pub, sitting down on what amounted to a pew near a nice fire, and stretching out. Within moments I had a tankard of water, a pint of wonderful stout ale from the Orkney’s, and shortly after that some wonderful food. I sat there, visited a bit (not many people out that night), read a book, and enjoyed a nice evening out that allowed me to thaw a bit inside and out.

You can come close to that in Chicago. Stuck in the wilds of North Alabama, I really don’t appreciate being reminded of what I am missing. Bah to you, Blackfive, Bah.

*grumble* wish I was going to be there Wednesday…

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