Through the KeyholeMARCH 2026Take a break from your day...Not your typical company OR newsletter |
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“This city is currently in the news for all the wrong reasons. The place is home to some 800,000 people and tourism is EVERYTHING to the region. Home of great food, friendly neighborhoods and lovely, warm people. Even though it may be under pressure right now, let's all hope it goes back to what it was...” And you thought winter was over...
Living in Chicago in March is a personality test. Winter is technically “ending,” but no one told the weather. One day it’s 52 and sunny and people are outside in shorts like it’s July. The next morning you wake up to sideways snow blowing off Lake Michigan like the city personally offended it. March isn’t a season here. It’s a standoff.
The sidewalks are a patchwork of slush, salt, and mystery puddles that are always deeper than they look. Everyone walks a little faster, shoulders up, bracing against wind that cuts through coats you swore were warm enough. You start the month in a parka and end it wondering if you can risk putting the winter boots away. You cannot.
And then there’s St. Patrick’s Day.
For one glorious, chaotic Saturday, the city collectively decides that winter doesn’t matter. The bars open before breakfast. The trains fill with people in green wigs and shamrock sunglasses. Strangers become best friends before noon. Someone is always yelling. Someone is always singing. Usually off-key.
The crown jewel is when they dye the Chicago River bright green. It’s ridiculous. It’s unnecessary. It’s completely perfect. Crowds line the bridges in the cold, holding coffees or beers, watching a river turn the color of antifreeze as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Only Chicago could make industrial dye feel like a civic treasure.
By mid-afternoon, the drunks are everywhere. Happy drunks. Loud drunks. The kind that chant on street corners and spill out of River North bars in coordinated green outfits that seemed like a great idea at 8 a.m. The police horses look unimpressed. The rest of us step carefully around puddles and party casualties alike.
And yet, beneath the gray skies and unpredictable temperatures, there’s something hopeful about March here. The sun lingers a little longer each evening. Patios start reopening optimistically. People talk about baseball. The city feels like it’s stretching after a long sleep, even if it’s still shivering.
March in Chicago is messy and loud and slightly miserable. But it’s also tradition, resilience, and a reminder that if you can handle this month, you can handle just about anything.
Spring will come.
Eventually. |
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Most people know Chicago dyes the Chicago River green for St. Patrick’s Day, but few know the tradition started in 1962 by the Chicago plumbers union. They were using dye to trace pollution in the river and realized it turned a brilliant green. The exact formula is still a closely guarded secret handled by the plumbers themselves.
Another thing outsiders miss is that the party starts early. The river is dyed in the morning, which means people are celebrating before most cities have had breakfast. By noon, it already feels like midnight.
There’s also a quieter, more traditional side to the holiday. While downtown is packed and rowdy, South Side neighborhoods with deep Irish roots host family parades that focus more on heritage than bar crawls.
So yes, it’s loud and messy. But beneath the green beer and chaos, there’s real history, union pride, and generations of Irish Chicago tradition behind it.
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General Windows Shortcuts
Win + D → Show/hide desktop (minimize all windows) |
Guess the Location Game |
ANSWER: Las Vegas, NV(The Sphere) |
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“This crazy attraction is located in a city that never sleeps. Once touted as a family friendly city, it's really home to fancy restaurants, over crowded nightclubs and resort fees that can seem out of control. Hopefully you'll be lucky.” Las Vegas used to feel like an electric secret in the desert. You could grab a cheap flight, book an affordable room, sip free drinks on the casino floor, and feel like you were part of something wild and spontaneous. It was the kind of place where excess was the point, but somehow it still felt accessible.
Now it feels like you need a small business loan just to check in.
The Sphere is undeniably impressive. It looks like a massive glowing planet hovering over the Strip, and the technology inside is unlike anything else in entertainment. The visuals are surreal and immersive, and it is absolutely worth seeing at least once.
But the bigger issue is cost. A hotel room might advertise at $199, but once you add a $50-plus resort fee, parking charges, and sky-high drink prices, the total quickly balloons. Even lounging by the pool can come with another hefty fee. The spontaneity that once defined Vegas is being replaced by careful budgeting.
At the same time, gambling itself is no longer a reason to travel. You can place sports bets from your couch or play blackjack on your phone. Platforms like DraftKings and FanDuel have essentially brought the casino into everyone’s home. When the core experience of Vegas is available anywhere, the city has to compete on atmosphere and value.
Vegas once relied on affordable rooms to get visitors through the door, knowing the gaming revenue would follow. Now it feels like the premium pricing starts before you ever touch a slot machine. The city that built its reputation on accessibility and excess risks becoming exclusive and expensive.
The lights still shine, the Sphere still dazzles, and the Strip still has its energy. But when the price of entry keeps rising and the novelty of gambling fades, Las Vegas starts to feel less essential and more optional.
Just my two cents.
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~ 3 minutes |
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U2 in the Sphere ~ 1 minute |
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Top 5 restaurants according to this local guy ~ 1 minute |
Life in the 80s... |
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Firefall?... |
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~ 2 minutes |
Lenten Delicasy... |
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How to make it... ~ 2 minutes |
Fine Dining in Las Vegas...$$$$ |
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Bring your wallet reinforcements ~ 4 minutes |
Fine Dining in Las Vegas...$$$$ |
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“GO HOME, SOPHIE.” - The last promise Harry Morgan ever kept. She was old. So was he. But Harry Morgan still had one promise left to keep. 1993. Ten years after MASH* ended. Harry Morgan was 78 years old. Sophie was 26. For a horse, 26 is ancient. Her legs trembled. Her eyes had gone cloudy. She no longer ran. She barely walked. When the veterinarian examined her, he sighed. “She’s tired, Harry. Her body is giving out. It’s time to start thinking about letting her go.” Harry didn’t answer. He just stroked her mane— the same way he had for 18 years. Finally, he said softly: “Not yet. There’s something we need to do first.” That night, Harry called his son. “I need your help.” “With what?” “I’m taking Sophie somewhere.” “Dad… she can barely stand.” “Malibu Creek.” Silence. “The set burned down years ago.” “I know. The buildings are gone. But the land is still there.” He paused. “She deserves to see it one more time.” “See what?” Harry didn’t hesitate. “Home.” They rented a padded horse trailer—the kind used for fragile animals. It took three men to lift Sophie inside. Harry stayed beside her the entire time, whispering: “It’s okay, girl. One last adventure. Just you and me.” She flicked an ear. She always understood Harry. The drive to Malibu Creek State Park took two hours. Harry sat in the back with Sophie the whole way. When they arrived, the land was quiet. No tents. No helicopters. No cameras. Just hills. Oak trees. And sky. Harry recognized it instantly. So did Sophie. When her hooves touched the ground, something changed. Her head lifted. Her ears rose. Her eyes—cloudy and tired—cleared for a moment. She knew this place. Without being led, Sophie began to walk. Slowly. Painfully. But with purpose. Toward where the 4077th once stood. Harry followed. “That was the corral,” he said. “Colonel Potter’s tent was right there. The crew used to sneak you apples from craft services.” He reached into his pocket and pulled one out. She took it gently— just like she had a thousand times before. Harry’s voice broke. “You weren’t a prop, Sophie. You were family.” He told her everything. About the show. About bringing her home after it ended. About his wife Eileen, who loved Sophie until the end. “After Eileen died… you were still there. Every morning. Waiting for me.” Sophie rested her head against his chest. A 78-year-old man. A dying horse. Standing where television history was made. They stayed for hours. |
Best (luckiest) Goal EVER. |
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Well This is Random... |
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More Stuff. |
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Edgy. |
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More Edgy Stuff... |
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Traditional Irish Shepherd’s Pie |
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Ingredients:For the filling:
2 tbsp butter or drippings 1 large onion, finely chopped 2 carrots, diced small 2 cloves garlic, minced 1½ lbs ground lamb 2 tbsp tomato paste 1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce 1 tsp fresh thyme (or ½ tsp dried) 1 cup beef or lamb stock ½ cup frozen peas Salt and black pepper to taste
For the mashed potato topping:
2 lbs Yukon Gold or Russet potatoes, peeled and chopped 4 tbsp butter ½ cup warm milk or cream Salt to taste Optional: ½ cup shredded Irish cheddar Instructions:Make the Potatoes
Boil potatoes in salted water until fork-tender (about 15 minutes).
Make the Filling
In a large skillet over medium heat, melt butter. Add ground lamb and cook until browned. Drain excess fat if needed. Stir in tomato paste, Worcestershire, thyme, salt, and pepper.
Assemble
Preheat oven to 400°F (200°C).
Bake
Bake 20–25 minutes until golden and bubbling. Let rest 10 minutes before serving.
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