I spent four years living in Philadelphia while earning my undergraduate degree in film.  I had lived on campus my first three years, but when my senior year rolled around, I was looking to get off campus and live in the city.

Fortunately, my friend Ryan had just graduated and was looking for someone to sublet his apartment.  I told him I would be happy to move in.  It was a studio apartment around 9th and Pine for those of you familiar with Philly.  Another plus was that Ryan and I had a mutual friend, Hank, who lived in the same building.  Anyway, as I courtesy to Ryan, I offered to help him move out of the apartment and see him on his way to New York City.

I made my way to Philly via a train from Harrisburg, PA.  It was August, I believe.  The plan was to hang out with Ryan and Hank that day/evening, spend the night at Ryan’s place, and then help Ryan move all his stuff into a UHAUL truck the next morning.

I don’t remember what Ryan, Hank, and I did during the day, but I sure as shit remember what happened that night…

The three of us left the apartment building sometime before sundown.  It was a typical Philadelphia summer’s day—bright and searing hot.  We were on our way to a bar—I think it was called South St. Blues or something like that—that held open-mic blues jams on that night of the week.  Hank wanted to sit in and play guitar. 

Digression: I must describe Hank.  All of this is relevant, so bear with me.  Hank was—writing was when describing Hank still stings, as he passed away a few years ago, though not due to anything that happened during this story…Hank was a kind-of larger-than-life figure to me.  First, he was almost ten years older than myself or Ryan.  He was also big.  Over six feet tall and husky.  And he was from Texas.  And he was an English professor.  He was also legally blind.  That was Hank, at least for the purposes of this story. 

So, Hank grabbed his cane, his gig-bagged guitar, and his backpack full of miscellaneous equipment, and the three of us headed to the bar on foot.  First, however, I had to hit up a nearby ATM for beer money.  I took out 40 bucks.  Hank was set and so was Ryan, who if I remember correctly, had upwards of $400 in his wallet, which was tethered to his pants with a chain.  Ryan was also wearing sandals.  Remember these details.

At the bar, we bought a round of beers as Hank sat in with the house band.  Hank was one of the first guys to sit in with the band, and he did a good job all things considered.  As the night wore on, more and more less-talented-than-Hank guitar men showed up to sit in.  Ryan and I, being amateur musicians ourselves, had had our fill.  We were ready to split, especially when some joker with a handlebar moustache showed up wanting to play Allman Brothers songs.  But Hank insisted that we stay, as it would not be courteous for him to ignore the other musicians who had listened to him play. 

Night came fast.  So did last call.  I was left with only ten or so dollars out of my original 40, but I wasn’t drunk.  Neither was Ryan, but he managed to somehow leave the bar with a nearly full bottle of beer in his hand.  Hank grabbed his things and we all started back to the apartment.  The plan was to walk a block or two to Walnut St. and then hail a cab.

That never happened…

Hey there, friends.  I just wanted to write a quick post letting you all know that I plan on starting a new, lengthy tale of woe very soon, but I just started a new, full-time job and have been too busy/sleepy to work on the woe.

This lengthy tale of which I speak will go back to my days in Philadelphia, PA in which one single event turned a relatively routine evening into hours of ridiculousness and disbelief.  So, stay tuned!

Oh, in case you are wondering why I called this post “Seniors in Action,” it’s because the other day I misread a newspaper article entitled “Seniors in Action” as “Seniors in Traction.”  This made me laugh and laugh.  Personally, I think my title is much catchier and would make a kick-ass band name.  Later.

Well, friends, it just occurred to me that I have been running this blog of woe for over one year.  Hooray for me!

Overall, the experience has been a good one, save of course for all the fallout that occurred with my “Epic Woe” series.  I have many (I think) more tales of woe to come and am sure to experience some new woe in the upcoming year that may make good blog material—it’s bound to happen, right?

Anyway, let’s all take a trip down memory lane and visit my first true tale of woe:  Dangerous Turkey.  As you may or may not recall, in this tale I bit into a shard of glass while trying to enjoy some turkey at work.  How the heck did that happen?  Read and find out!

Until next time…