Where floats go to die

Where floats go to die – at the end of the parade route,

near the underground entrance of Upper Wacker Bridge.

If it weren't for The Fella and good friends, I might never have seen where parade floats go to die.

I would most certainly be more of a homebody, that's for sure. One look at today's non-stop dreary, drizzly weather, and I had already made up my mind to skip out on the group's rather ambitious St. Patty's revelry: witness the Chicago River being dyed green in the early morning hours, catch the parade, have lunch and drinks, and then bar hop throughout the night around Lincoln Park. (Chicagoans get this party started a weekend early!)

[A side note: From what I've been told, St. Patty's partying in Chicago is an all-day affair and happens in shifts: drinking begins at 8am, then the people pass out, wake up in time for Round 2 in the early afternoon, pass out, and (some) wake up again for Rounds 3 and 4 beginning at 6pm and 9pm respectively.]

Anyhow, with some prodding from friends, I donned my best Scottish cape and The Fella and I joined our friends despite the nasty weather. This was my first St. Patty's in town – a city with a large Irish community, hard-core Notre Dame fans, and rowdy college students who use any holiday as an excuse to party hard.

It was quite the experience! From the "L" ride to the parade route downtown to lunch at Fox & Obel (because we couldn't get within 10 feet of Lizzy McNeil's, D4, or any Irish pub for that matter), everywhere you looked was a sea of green and I was being swept up in it.
Thanks to my pals for giving me my very first "Wicked green" river, leprechauns, men in kilts, life-sized green chameleons darting across traffic, electric green velour snuggies, and space chicks with alien babies... not certain how it all relates to St. Patty's, but – in keeping with the Chicago spirit – WHY NOT?

Upper Wacker Bridge