There are miles and miles of endlessly sprinkled, technicolor-green grass in Palm Springs, and staring at it as I lounge by the pool shall be my ode to this over-hyped holiday. You see, I’m on vacation. It’s the first time in my nine Chicago years that I have missed St. Patrick’s Day—the bead-tossing, beer-guzzling, river-dyeing, midday-puking excuse for debauchery that, truth be told, I’ve never much understood. I mean, I do like having a reason to wear my green "Gettin’ Lucky in Kentucky" T-shirt once in a while, but… read more »