The Night That We... (lost faith)

An ongoing feature here at PoYB, one where Joe runs through the moments in his life that were meaningful to him in some way. Doesn't mean that they were necessarily good times, or bad times, or whatever. Just means that they are important in the general scope of who Joe is and who he has become. Enjoy.

PART XI
Divorce Is Imminent
Autumn 2013

I warned you yesterday that there'd be more talk of religion and Catholic upbringings today, so if this isn't your cup of tea, turn back now. Here, how about you go read this treatise on Jersey Shore that I wrote in 2010.

Still here? Okay then.

I was raised Catholic, but a few steps below "hardcore" Catholic. We went to Mass every Sunday (sometimes Saturday night instead), and I received the sacraments, had a "Religion" class every semester for twelve and half years straight, etc. But, like, we didn't say grace as a family before dinner, and we weren't forced to pray before going to bed or anything.

My parents lightly encouraged a religious upbringing, but they weren't batshit crazy about it. Honestly, the main reason they raised me and my sisters Catholic was because that's how they were raised. That's it. I was Catholic the same way I was a Phillies fan. My family just didn't know any other way.

All this to say that the religion I practiced in my life has always been my choice. Catholicism was suggested, but it wasn't shoved down my throat. I chose how to practice my faith (or not practice my faith, eventually).

And my choice evolved over time. Gradually. I didn't give myself thirty lashes for sinning one day and become an atheist the next. My worldview changed as I grew older, steadily.

As alluded to in my previous passage, I would consider Fourth Grade Joe a boy of great faith. I believed that there was a God up there, and I believed he would be judging us, and I believed that behaving the way my teachers taught me would get me in the good graces of that God. So not only did I go to Mass every Sunday, I participated. I prayed to God at night. I was honest at confessions.

By the time I got to high school, all that had waned. I still went to Mass, but my mind was on the girl in the cute Sunday sundress. I didn't go to confession. I was learning how to think for myself, and I was starting to come to the realization that there probably wasn't a God up there looking down on all of us. I became a man of science. I needed proof, and proof wasn't there.

It was tough to let go of that safety net; I briefly described myself as an "agnostic theist" in college, indicating that I would never have proof that there was a God but I'm just gonna go ahead and believe in him anyway. That was too wishy-washy.

It was time to admit it: God is a construct that people made up so that we don't have to imagine the moment we cease to exist. I can't fathom what that means, to die and then to stop existing, and so I get why people need to imagine that when we die we all get to hang out on a cloud with everyone we love and the family dog too. I don't blame people for needing to think this. I just know better than to think it myself.

I'm getting way off track here. My point is—I am no longer religious.

But again harking back to what I talked about yesterday. I believe that we can live a good life by following the example of the Jesus character featured in the Bible. It doesn't matter what religion you believe in, if any. Doesn't matter if you think Jesus was a divine God or just a prophet or simply a decent human being or a completely fictional character. His actions as described in the Bible are a guidebook to how to live a good life (treat every human with basic decency, sacrifice your needs for others' needs, help those in need, bring as much fucking wine to a party as you can, etc.).

The Catholicism that I was raised in, then, isn't necessarily a bad thing, theoretically. If the whole point is to follow Jesus, and the Catholic Church is truly committed to following Jesus, then we should have zero beef between us, the Catholic Church and I. We'd be on the same page.

That's why Pope Francis is quasi-beloved by a lot of young(ish) folk like me. He actually took steps to get closer to following Jesus' example, instead of the warped version the Church has been preaching. Pope Francis lives a humble life. He sneaks out in the middle of the night to help the poor. He has said that it's better to be a kind atheist than a shit Catholic (I'm paraphrasing).

But the assumption that the Catholic Church is truly following the example of Jesus? That's hypothetical, man. There are a lot of fucked up issues with the Church. I don't want to get too far into this, but, um, we can start with the covering up priests molesting children? The shunning of homosexuals? And this is just shit with the Church officials. Step into any church and witness the hypocrisy. Okay, I really don't want to get on a rant here. I'll cut myself short. You get the idea.

I think I'm finally ready to get to the actual incident in question here. I'm about to tell you about the moment when the Church and I finally went our separate ways. I was okay saying I was "raised Catholic" before this, but after this incident, I was no longer comfortable admitting it. I want nothing to do with the Catholic Church anymore. Fuck that shit.

So it was the Fall of 2013, I think. Pam and I had gotten engaged the previous May, and we were fucking pumped to say the vows and become one. We had already booked our wedding venue, a beautiful winery. As a winery is clearly not a church in any sense of the word, we had a lot of leeway in creating our own wedding ceremony. We would need someone to actually perform the ceremony, for one.

My Dad, as mentioned above, was raised Catholic and still practiced (he had not had any type of scientific or atheistic awakening of his own, in other words), and he felt that it was worth a try to see if a Catholic priest would still say the "Mass" at the winery. The only thing I gave a shit about was that my future wife was happy, and my future wife figured that if a priest was willing to say Mass at a winery, then said priest would be cool enough to be the one to bless our marriage. And so, with everyone mostly in agreement, me and my Dad went to visit my old local parish priest and get his input.

(I won't say the priest's name here. Even though I want nothing to do with him anymore, and I want nothing to do with the Church anymore, some Catholic habits are impossible to break, and I cannot bring myself to name a priest when I'm talking shit on him.)

Dad and I visited the head priest of the parish at his Rectory office. We explained the situation, and asked him, "Would you be okay with performing our wedding for us?"

I'll paraphrase some of his responses:

"No."

"I don't understand why you wouldn't marry in a Church."

"It's a sin to get married outside the Church."

"Your marriage will not be valid in the eyes of God."

And here's the kicker, the thing he said that irreparably damaged my view of the Catholic Church and made me turn away from this institution forever:

"You're probably going to get divorced if you do this."

FUCK THAT GUY.

Was he fucking serious? What kind of dick says something like that, regardless of the context? My Dad and I left the Rectory in disbelief. Like, fucking stunned. I've never been buddy-buddy with this priest, but I grew up in his Church, and I had more than a modicum of respect for him. He was a reference on my job applications in high school, for fuck's sake.

But he made it clear that he doesn't fucking know me, or care about me. The leader of the fucking parish is going to tell one of his old parishioners that his marriage is going to end in divorce? Fuck that shit. Fuck him. And fuck the Church for allowing that bullshit to spew out of this dude's foul fucking mouth.

I mean, it doesn't even make sense, this policy of needing to get married in a Church. Isn't the Lord supposed to be everywhere? Can't you get baptized and receive Eucharist and give confession and receive the Last Rites outside the building of a Church? So why not marriage? And isn't the Catholic Church, like, fucking hemorrhaging members? Why chase people away? It's really no fucking wonder young people are turning away from the Catholic Church in droves. Who wants to be a part of an organization that is going to insult you so deeply?

Someone stop me, please. I could go on and on about this.

At the end of the day, it's just fucking plain ol' disappointing that a priest would say something so hurtful. It wasn't very Christ-like, I guess is ultimately what I'm trying to say. Would Jesus say something like that? Would Jesus imply that the love my wife and I have for each other is not valid because we decided to get married outside the walls of a church? No, I don't think he would.

Pam is the most important thing in my life, full stop. Fuck anyone that dares say otherwise. Fuck the Church.

The Night That We... (believed in god)

An ongoing blog series in which Joe writes about the important moments in his life. Big moments, small moments, they all resonate with him. So, how are these moments important to him? Read on to find out.

PART X
Religion with Reilly
During the 1998-1999 School Year

This one is unique in that I don't really remember any specific details from the incident itself, I just remember the impact it had. I was in fourth grade, give me a break. This also might be a bit dry or boring, so I apologize in advance. A day in a fourth grade classroom typically lacks any and all drunken drama, sadly.

I went to Catholic School, at a tiny elementary school called Presentation B.V.M. in Cheltenham, PA. Catholic school gets a bad rap (just ask my public-schooled wife her opinion on the matter!), but honestly, I loved my eight years at Pres. There were barely any nuns there, let alone nuns that beat the shit out of you with rulers or any nonsense like that. The classroom was structured and disciplined, sure, but we learned a lot and the teachers were for the most part cool for a bunch of old ladies.

In fourth grade, I was placed in Mrs. Reilly's class. Reilly was on the older side, and for sure she was one of the strictest teachers in the school. Strict, but fair. I liked her, but this was quite possibly because I was a teacher's pet. That wasn't always the case—I was a badass in Kindergarten, and I started to reach into class clown territory by the time I reached eighth grade. But plum in the middle of my eight years in elementary school, I was the model student (much to the chagrin of my peers, I'm sure).

So I liked Reilly, I didn't mind that she was strict, because she never had to be strict with me. (On this note, check out her old Rate My Teachers page, it's fucking hilarious. [bummer, the link is broken])

I have no idea what caused the events of this particular day. Let's assume that the class was acting up and being particularly rowdy on this day for some reason. Or maybe Mrs. Reilly was just at the end of her rope. But on this day, she sat her chair down in the middle of the class, got really quiet, and had a talk with her students.

Mrs. Reilly sat us all down and spoke to us frankly and honestly about religion, about our duties as human beings, about the need to be good people. I remember it being an eye-opening experience. It was the first time in my life I recall getting treated like an adult by a teacher.

The talk itself was important to me, and christ, I wish I could remember even some of her exact words. Or, maybe it's better if I don't? Maybe if 28-year-old Joe heard the words Reilly had to say that day, maybe it would come off as preachy or way too religious for my tastes.

I was young and impressionable. I knew I was Catholic but I hadn't really thought about what that means up to that point. Reilly impressed upon us that as Catholics, it was our duty to do good in the world, to do the right thing. She was putting the responsibility on us, like adults, that we would always need to do good by our fellow man.

Now, in retrospect, the whole "Catholic" part of this talk can be jettisoned and the point would still be made. She was speaking to us as Catholics, but I took her to mean "human beings." We needed to follow Jesus' example, sure, but I knew after a while that she meant we just needed to be good people. My interpretation later in life was that, who the fuck knows if Jesus really existed and who the fuck cares if he comes back to speak to us through a bowl of crackers, what's important is that you follow the example of this literary figure. Do as he did, or was said to do at least. Simple as that.

I don't claim to be a good person now, or ever. I've made too many mistakes, I've been a dick to too many people, I've made the easy decision instead of the hard decision on too many occasions.

But I swear I try. It's important to me to try. And I trace that need to do good by my fellow man back to that talk with Mrs. Reilly in fourth grade.

I saw Mrs. Reilly on the train about a year ago. Obviously, as it had been almost 20 years since I had her as a teacher, she had no fucking clue who I was. And if she knew who I was now, who knows, maybe she'd be disappointed. But I'm still thankful for those words she shared with the class all those many years ago.

All this is obviously ignoring the fact that, regardless of my interpretation of her words now, there's a part of me that knows that she really wanted us to follow Catholicism, to be religious, to go to Mass and so on.

So, did I become a Good Catholic? For a little bit. I sang at Mass and read the Bible. Nothing hardcore, but hey, I was a teacher's pet, remember? Gotta do what teacher says.

Am I still a Good Catholic? No, I am not. But that journey will be detailed in the next "The Night That We..." entry, where I plan on detailing the moment when I finally called it quits on being a Catholic for good. Stay tuned, right here on Puke on Your Birthday.

All 150+ Monday Beer Runners Bars, Ranked

Monday Beer Runners is a group of friends (mentioned briefly here) that decided about three years ago to try to run every Monday to a different bar, and then have a few beers at that bar. It started out as an excuse to hang out at the beginning of the week and drink a couple. It morphed at some point into a serious training group, and that training period climaxed at the 2016 LOVE Half Marathon. After that, we became a lax group of drinkers again. As the months have gone on, attendance has waned, because people are tired of it, work schedules change, assholes get sober, life gets in the way.

We're entering the final few weeks of our little running group. Looking back, we've run to a ton of places. We do not repeat drinking spots, ever. You can see the map here.

Below, I've listed every bar we've been to so far, and ranked them. I defined "bar" as a drinking location that had an actual, physical bar that one could sit or stand behind and enjoy a drink. Under this definition, only 153 of the 194 places to which we've run are "bars."

As far as ranking them goes, I based my opinion on every experience I've had at the bar in my lifetime, before, after, and including the time we ran there. So a bar like McGillin's, which I've been to dozens of times before and after the time we ran there, is being ranked against a bar like Cookie's Tavern, which I've only been to once. This might seem unfair, but so be it.

So here is the definitive ranking of MBR bars. List your grievances in the comments. (That's a joke, because no one comments on any of my posts regarding MBR on Facebook anymore. Ha ha!!!!!!!)

NO RANKING. Mick Daniel's / The Ugly Moose (CLOSED) / CJ and Eck's - I've missed eight runs total, and out of those, these are the three bars I've never been to before or after the official MBR outing. So I have no opinion on them one way or the other.

150. Doobie's — We've run to a lot of shitty bars, but this has the "doobious" distinction of being the worst. It's a shame, because it seems like the type of bar that I would normally love, but the waitress was a huge bitch, and acted like we were this big inconvenience for her even though we were literally the only people in the bar. Never going back.

149. Applebee's (15th St.) — This bar is so bad it's laughable. And indeed, I feel like its become a joke on the internet, the go-to recommendation for naive out-of-towners. The chicken wrap I had was fucking bad, maybe the worst wrap I've ever eaten. It's not cheap. I wish I wasn't sober during the $1 margarita promotion though; I'm sure I could've had a good time at this awful bar.

148. NBC Sports Arena (Xfinity Live!) — Douchebag bar for sloppy dickbag sports fans, expensive as fuck, and the bar at which MBR stared into the dark abyss of our futures and America never recovered (i.e. we watched the 2016 presidential debates here).

147. Mick's Inn — A place where racists Port Richmonders can go and really let loose in their finest pair of sweatpants.

146. Union Jack's Pub — Had a few good times here, but one time a bartender yelled at me because I put my chicken wing bones in my empty beer glass, and now he "had to wash the glass." I can hold a fucking grudge.

145. Lucky Red — Sugarhouse is a depressing place, and so a bar in Sugarhouse is a depressing place.

144. SouthHouse — The service here was almost as bad as Doobie's, but at least the guy wasn't an asshole about it. He just didn't care.

143. Bridgewater's Pub — $7 for a fucking Miller Lite in a train station. Count me out.

142. Bayou Bar and Grill — 21-year-old Joe may have ranked this higher. But 21-year-old Joe can't come to the blog right now. 'Cause he's dead.

141. Bar-Ly — When you're the only sports bar in Chinatown you don't have to be special.

140. Slainte Pub and Grill — Grandmom has an hour to kill before she has to take the train back to Swarthmore, so she's gonna spend it getting some authentic Irish cuisine (a limp chicken quesadilla and steak fries).

139. Applebee's (Ararmingo Ave.) — It's an Applebee's. The bartender in this one was cool and attentive, and it's always nice to chill at a bar during a snowstorm. But it's an Applebee's.

138. Molly Malloy's — I read on TripAdvisor that in Reading Terminal there is a bar that I can Instagram a picture of a cheesesteak!

137. Tio Flores — Fancy tacos?

136. Urban Saloon — They have a back room where you can see comedy shows. This bar is #136 out of 150.

135. New Deck Tavern — The fanciest shitty college bar you'll ever go to.

134. Johnny Brenda's — The most overrated bar in Philadelphia history. The beer selection is shockingly normal, the prices are average, the food is dogshit. Move along.

133. Callahan's on South — "Well, I have this empty space that probably used to be a bar, might as well sell some beer while I'm sitting back here on my phone."

132. Saint Declan's Well (CLOSED) — So forgettable they boarded up the door and windows.

131. Flying Fish Crafthouse — Who decided the template for Generic Brewery Pub and how did they convince so many breweries to buy in?

130. Harrington's Pub — The only reason you won't run into your least favorite Northeast White Trash peer from high school here is that you must be aged 50 or older to enter.

129. Parkway Pub — Best way to unwind after a long day managing spreadsheets is kicking back and relaxing with a glass of wine at your... local Whole Foods...

128. Prohibition Taproom — I get that people like fancy craft beers. I like one every once in a while. But I'd like to have the choice to buy a Miller High Life too, ya know?

127. Chick's — Named after the owner's mobster dad. Gotta be proud of that family history of crime!!

126. Irish Pol — Exactly the type of bar that would be on route for the Shamrock Shuttle or Erin Express, minus, ya know, actual patrons.

125. Jon's Bar and Grille — Every surface of this bar is sticky. But man, nothing like drinking shit beer on their second-floor deck.

124. Race Street Cafe — If you won't let sweaty runners enjoy the air conditioning in your bar, and kick us to the curbside tables like dogs, well then, I'm gonna rank you at #124. Take that!

123. Chickie and Pete's (South Philly) — Well, the crab fries are good anyway.

122. Bao Bar — Chinatown Square, where 37 vendors are serving approximately twelve customers total on any given day.

121. Dahlak Paradise — The atmosphere is neat but the bartender would rather be anywhere else, the food was good but you have to eat with your hands.

120. The Boyler Room — Maybe I need a repeat visit, but I just remember our post-run hang out being really, really crowded.

119. Falls Taproom — Meh.

118. Local 44 — Meh 2.

117. Boot and Saddle — I think if I ended up seeing a show here at some point this would rise in the rankings.

116. Dock Street Brewery — Way fancier than it should be ("fancy" is a slur in these parts), but damn that pizza was good.

115. Brick and Mortar — Felt like a hotel bar minus the hotel.

114. The Sidecar Bar and Grille — I barely even remember this place which means that there was nothing bad about it.

113. The 700 — The bar downstairs is chill, the upstairs club is anything but. Call it a wash.

112. Institute Bar — They have a bar cat, which is an automatic downgrade, but FUCK those tater tots are good and are totally worth the allergies.

111. The Victor's Pub — The only bar in Camden I would feel even remotely safe in.

110. Martha Bar — Snobby as fuck but enjoyable on a summer day in that backyard, wallets be damned.

109. The Bar(n) — If we were ranking bars based on their names alone this would be the worst bar in the city. Since we are ranking based on overall opinion, we'll call it mid-tier.

108. Castle Roxx — I've been in here two times, once after a run, and once blackout drunk. Both times were mostly pleasant.

107. Jack's Firehouse — The best firefighter-themed bar on this list.

106. Strangelove's — Another bar that I wish was just a little less fancy. "You think Strangelove's is fancy wtf?!" —my wife, 11/28/17

105. Kelliann's Bar and Grill — The restroom is smaller than an airplane bathroom. I have nothing else negative to report.

104. Cavanaugh's Rittenhouse — For some reason the frathouse atmosphere here doesn't bother me as much as other similar bars.

103. Moonshine Philly — Excellent for daydrinking. I've never been here after 5 PM but I heard it's a great place to pick up balding electrician South Philly single dads.

102. Lucha Cartel — Excellent for daydrinking, plus tequila.

101. Triangle Tavern — Comfortable and cozy. I cannot comment on the food but it's on my to-do list.

100. The Black Sheep Pub — Definitely an overlooked bar in the Rittenhouse area. I didn't know it existed until we ran there.

99. 2nd Story Brewing Company — When I was freshly 21 I went to Triumph Brewery and asked for a Miller Lite, and was laughed straight out of Old City. Whenever I visit 2nd Story, the ghosts of past embarrassments still haunt me.

98. Cedar Point Bar and Kitchen — Bars like this are a dime a dozen in Fishtown. Doesn't mean I dislike it.

97. Front Street Cafe — I've only been here once and I was so depressed I practically drowned in my fruit smoothie, so maybe I shouldn't be quick to judge this place and rank it so low...

96. Lucky's Last Chance — Did I get a burger here and enjoy it or have I just heard really good things about their burgers? I can't remember. I have an awful memory.

95. Las Vegas Lounge — This is a shit bar that I've happened to have a lot of good times at. Something about Las Vegas Lounge just keeps bringing me back.

94. Smokey Joe's — Apparently President Gerald Ford mentioned this bar in his 1975 commencement speech. If I had attended Penn I would've frequented this place.

93. Pennsport Beer Boutique — Barely a bar, but it meets the requirements. There is a bar you can sit at, despite the fact that most people take out six packs or bring the beer into the beer garden out front.

92. Yard's Brewing Co. (MOVED) — This is the old location's ranking, but they've since moved around the corner to bigger and better things. Good, because this bar was crowded as fuck with families with small children. Maybe I'll appreciate it more when I have a little one of my own and I need a place to relax with a beer.

91. Baby Blues BBQ — Yeoooooo, good ass BBQ.

90. The Abbaye — I've passed this bar millions of times and barely noticed it until we hit it up for a very comfortable and enjoyable brunch. The place was empty besides us.

89. Llama Tooth — If you can get in before the concert crowds fill it up, it's nice to chill in their spacious backyard beer garden.

88. The Cambridge — Probably the coziest bar in the city.

87. Bob's Happy Hour Tavern (CLOSED) — A shit bar that I very much enjoyed the only time we went. R.I.P.

86. Garage South — NOT Garage North. Fuck that place. Garage South is way less douchey, it's affordable, and we played the craziest game of Circle Slap ever here and DIDN'T get kicked out.

85. Hollywood Tavern — I'm biased. This is a terrible bar.

84. Fluke's Irish Pub — If your car ever breaks down near the Cottman exit on 95, drown your sorrows here with the other NEasty scum.

83. McMenamin's Tavern — Probably the closest bar to my alma mater La Salle that you won't get murdered at. Good food too.

82. Paddy's Old City Pub — Not of the Always Sunny fame, but it should be.

81. Wahoo's Tacos — Eating burritos outside was pretty cool last summer.

80. Silk City — Is it a diner? A hipster beer garden? A dance club? The hangout of superhero David Dunn? The answer is yes.

79. South Bowl — It was a bowling alley bar for Christ's sake, but I remember the bartender being super friendly and helpful. That means a lot these days.

78. Green Room — Not like the movie, Christ!

77. JR's Place — Before going in, I wrote it off as a dumpy old man biker shit dive bar. After going exactly once, I know for certain that it's a dumpy old man biker shit dive bar, and that's okay with me.

76. Manny Brown's — I went on a terrible date here in 2010, but then the second time I was there, post-run, we had a good time, and found some shelter from the attack of the Philly gnats!

75. Graffiti Bar — I don't know whether to love or to hate this bar. I think it depends on the weather.

74. la peg. — The fact that my sister had her wedding afterparty here should probably bump it up a couple spots, but that would only be if I could remember most of the afterparty.

73. McKinley's Tavern — Cheltenham's best bar... which isn't saying much.

72. The Bards Irish Bar — Remember that joke I made above for Slainte about grandmom wanting to get the authentic Irish experience? This bar is that she should've gone to.

71. Jose Pistola's — This town is oversaturated with craft taco joints, but I've always had such a personable and pleasant experience at Jose's and Sancho's. No complaints.

70. The Post Office Cafe — Mick's Inn, but cleaner, and the racists are of the Bridesburg variety.

69. Kostas Bar — Cheap beer, good food, fun backyard hangs in the summer, too bad it gets crowded as fuck on weekends. Fishtown is ruined.

68. Locust Bar — Smoking is allowed. Who cares? Give me those tasty wings and pitchers of beer and you can blow smoke in my face all night.

67. The Bishop's Collar — Unlike my date at Manny Brown's, the one I had here was great, because I ended up marrying her a few years later.

66. Franklin's — Completely average bar, but with cheap drinks and the best goddamn wings in the city. I'm not exaggerating.

65. Ortlieb's Lounge — It'd be better if they actually sold Ortlieb's beer like my great grandmom did back in the '60s when she owned a bar in Kenso.

64. Devil's Den — Only good in the winter for that sweet ass fireplace.

63. Murphy's Tavern — We were there at noon on a Saturday and it was just us and the bartender was our butler and man those Twisted Teas tasted pretty great after a run along the Wissahickon.

62. City Tap House (University City) — The beers are expensive but the outside portion of the bar is pretty great in all weather.

61. Bonk's Bar — Port Richmond's worst shit bar was recently redone and is now Port Richmond's BEST shit bar. Expect beer deals and fistfights.

60. Memphis Taproom — This is about 59 spots lower than it would be on my wife's list. And I don't dislike the place at all! I'm just not completely sold on it. It's expensive. (We did win quizzo there once. That felt good.)

59. Frida Cantina — Quirky and colorful and comfy in all the best ways.

58. Lucky 13 Pub — Who says the Passyunk district is too hoity-toity?

57. The Pub on Passyunk East — There's something so welcoming about this place. Maybe because it's a welcome respite from the hot neon lights of the tourist traps right up the street?

56. Cookie's Tavern — Some bars describe themselves as "dive bars," and some bars are ACTUALLY dive bars. This is the latter. Just don't bring up the NFL player protests if you don't want to get your throat throttled by a drunk racist South Philly union warden.

55. Maggie's Waterfront Cafe — This is the closest approximation to a Wildwood bar in Philadelphia. Just don't bring up the NFL player protests if you don't want to get your throat throttled by a drunk racist Northeast Philly off-duty police officer.

54. Billy Murphy's Irish Saloon — The Von Hayes sandwich forever and ever.

53. South Philadelphia Tap Room — The times I've been here: a couple date nights with my beautiful wife; post-run with MBR; the start of a blackout during a wild and crazy bachelor party. This is the swiss army knife of bars.

52. Irish Pub (12th St.) — Can't get much simpler than a bar called "Irish Pub." Plenty of good nights here, sipping regular beer, eating average food, enjoy the company of friends.

51. Druid's Keep — It feels like the idea for the backyard beer garden came first, and only then did they attach a dank shit dive bar to it. BYOFood, yo!

50. Cherry Street Tavern — This bar is frozen in time. The roast beef is phenomenal. I'm just sorry that we destroyed it during Pope Weekend.

49. National Mechanics — Really good Quizzo, cheap PBRs, good food, just avoid this shit like the plague if it's after 9 PM on the weekend.

48. Atlantis: the Lost Bar — Cheap, with free soft pretzels!

47. Buffalo Billiards — It's never too crowded, and there's nothing like drinking beers and playing pool with your buds.

46. Catina los Caballitos — Going to a Mexican bar in Philly is like listening to AC/DC: it's the same shit every time, but the constant repeats are of an appreciated product.

45. Watkins Drinkery — The only bar in the city where you can get a camel meat burrito. Gotta love eating weird ass exotic meats.

44. Bomb Bomb — The poor bartender did her best with the ten sweaty young adults all ordering food and drinks at the same time. Bless her heart. I also came here in high school with the school jazz band, and we thought we were hot shit, hanging out at a bar.

43. Sto's Bar — I feel like I'm hanging out in a friend's basement whenever I'm here. I think it's because of the Mario Kart 64 on the TV.

42. Bottle Bar East — I fucking love these bottle shop / bar hybrids. Here, you can drink any beer you could imagine, and then use those beers to wash down some bangin' grilled cheese.

41. Stogie Joe's Tavern — I went to an AA meeting and a guy was super upset because he had broken his sobriety at Stogie Joe's. I don't blame you, dude. The square pizzas are so goddamn good, and even better with a pitcher of beer to go along with it.

40. Byrne's Tavern — As the years go on, I'm forced to reevaluate, and I miiiiiight consider their famous wings to be overrated. However! This will always be the classic Port Richmond bar for me. I've been going to Byrne's since before I even considered buying a house, let alone buying one right around the corner from this mainstay.

39. Hop Angel Brauhaus — Sometimes it's a quiet brunch spot for Mother's Day, sometimes there's a band playing and I'm drunk as shit and we're all going crazy on the dance floor. There's nothing this bar can't do.

38. Philadium — It's like seven blocks from XFinity Live!, and basically its opposite in every way.

37. Morgans Pier — This place can be the worst sometimes, but even at its worst, you're still drinking on a deck along the Delaware River, enjoying a cold drink on a warm night. (At its best, you're listening to Fucked Up perform during a thunderstorm and doing tequila shots with strangers.)

36. Frankford Hall — As much as I rag on this place, as much as I make fun of it for being the artificial light to the suburban moths, I can't deny that every time I go here, I have a good time. Every single fucking time.

35. McNally's Tavern — The Schmitter sandwich forever and ever.

34. Devil's Pocket Food and Spirits — The best bar named after Satan in the city.

33. Michael's Place — Have you ever walked past a bar with tinted windows and a tinted door and it looks so uninviting and closed off? That's Michael's Place. Step inside, though, and see how poorly its exterior represents its true nature.

32. Mace's Crossing — This is the Up! house in bar form. A small brick two-story bar bustled in among the skyscrapers. And some great people visit [broken link to Fox29 video of me at this bar].

31. Bonner's Irish Pub — A bar run by your drunk uncle. The best NYE's party in the city, except when the DJ cancels.

30. Spread Bagelry — Yes, this bagel place has a bar. And awesome bagels. And the bagels pair nicely with beer at eight in the morning. AND be on the lookout for our experience at Spread Bagelry on an episode of Man v. Food this winter! (Not joking.)

29. For Pete's Sake — Hits that perfect balance between nice brunch spot and trashy South Philly bar. I mean, the perfect balance.

28. Burg's Hideaway Lounge — Featured in the Philly.com Bar Code column, they hit the nail on the head describing it as a bar with "cozy interiors" with "friction... in the city's evolving neighborhoods." I'd take a trip back there soon.

27. Penn's Port Pub — It's a dive bar, but also naked women dance on the bar. Should I keep writing or stop there?

26. Millcreek Tavern — Mondays at this bar is All You Can Eat Wing Night. So get this, you pay $25 bucks, and not only do they bring wings to your table until you yell Stop, but also beers are $.50 for the rest of the night. Yes, as in two quarters.

25. Three Monkeys Cafe — Yeah, you gotta travel all the way to the Far NEast, but it has one of the best beer garden experiences in the city.

24. West Tavern — My friends shit on this bar constantly, and rightly so. The karaoke host was out of control and tried to fight us! But let's be real here. That night was awesome. That night was so awesome that it might even make a "The Night That We..." entry sometime soon. The beer is cheap, the bar is no-frills, and the karaoke on Saturdays is the wildest time you'll ever have.

23. The Draught Horse — I guess this Temple bar isn't that special at the end of the day, but man, they day we spent there was pretty special. Any bar is special when there's a blizzard outside, and you're nice and toasty inside, drinking cheap beers with good friends.

22. Tattooed Mom — Like Disney World if they had a "dumpster" attraction.

21. American Sardine Bar — I love America, I love bars, and goddamn it, do I fucking love sardines.

20. The Yachstman (CLOSED) — Yes, there was that whole controversy about the cokehead owner using GoFundMe to pay for this bar instead of investing his own money, and yes, it went bankrupt eventually anyway. But despite all that, there was something appealing about this strange tiki-style bar. Maybe it was that weird-as-fuck single table in the rear of the bar in a private room, where our drunk group of friends spent a few nights getting drunker.

19. 12 Steps Down — Even though it's a well-known bar, it still feels like our own little secret every time I'm there.

18. Locust Rendezvous — It's nice to know that most neighborhoods in the city have a tried and true Shot/Beer-type establishments, even the fancy Rittenhouse neighborhood. The 'Vous is a divey oasis.

17. Nick's Old City Bar and Grille — The burgers are great. The beer is affordable. The bartender was cool as shit. I have nothing but good things to say. Old City isn't just for douchebags anymore.

16. The Blarney Stone — I take back what I said about Smokey Joe's. THIS is the bar I'd be frequenting if I made some bad decisions in life and ended up a Penn student.

15. Fiume — It's less a bar and more someone's attic. It might fit 25 people. There would be more room if there wasn't endless varieties of craft beer stacked high to the ceiling. If I ever open a bar, I'm gonna model it after Fiume.

14. Drury Beer Garden — I really don't need much to enjoy a bar, despite how this 150 Bar list might read. I just need a cold cheap PBR pounder and somewhere to enjoy the weather. Maybe a few games of Connect Four as well.

13. Fishtown Tavern — If you're an out-of-towner wanting to experience a good Fishtown bar scene, don't listen to the dumb stupid idiots that tell you to go to Johnny Brenda's. Fuck that shit. Go to Fishtown Tavern instead.

12. Bait and Switch — In Port Richmond, you have the trifecta of excellent bars. You have Byrne's (listed above), the old classic that will never die. You have Gaul and Co. Malt House (not listed, never ended up running there), the true neighborhood bar where everyone knows your name. And finally, you have Bait and Switch, the closest thing to a "trendy" bar that this neighborhood might ever have. Even Laban thinks it's great (though he totally underrated it with only two bells).

11. Tiki — I've only been here a handful of times, but every time has been fucking wild. Friends getting thrown out. Friends banging in the bathroom. Everyone getting blackout on the best fucking cocktail in the entire city (the Trash Can). Always a good time at Tiki.

10. Krupa's Tavern — There are no beer taps. No food. No music. Just you and a few friends on vinyl seating and a few old heads asleep at the bar and a cooler full of Miller Lite. I'm home.

9. Crabby's Cafe - Crabby's opened after Schmidt's Piazza's best days were behind it, so I've always seen Crabby's as the little guy, fighting for survival. Even though the Piazza (ahem, I mean, Schmidt's Commons!) is mostly empty these days, I still love sitting out on Crabby's benches with a bucket of Rolling Rock ponies and another bucket of mussels.

8. The Handle Bar — It's tough to find bars in Fishtown that aren't absolutely overrun with douchebags. The Handle Bar isn't quite there yet. Let's enjoy this smokey establishment while we still can.

7. Khyber Pass Pub — This is my #1 recommendation for tourists who are staying in Philly getting the colonial experience in and around Old City (Independence Hall, Liberty Bell, etc.). The Khyber is so inviting to everyone. I personally enjoy sitting at the dark-lighted bar and having intimate conversations over a Kenzinger. But there's also the adjoining dining area with the best Cajun food in Philly. This is my idea of a family bar.

6. Pub on Wolf — Unlike the rest of the Top Ten on this list, I don't have a ton of memories here at Pub on Wolf. The only time I've ever been there was the time we ran there a few years ago. But goddamn, that hour and a half there was just so pleasant that I've always held the bar in the highest regard. The bartender treated us like old friends. Shots on the house, cheap beer deals. This may have been peak MBR. I gotta get back soon to see if the magic is real.

5. Ray's Happy Birthday Bar — It's true, you do get a free shot on your birthday. I confirmed this at 7 AM on my 28th birthday, when friends gathered before work and hit a few beers while the sun rose. Light up a cigarette, it's gonna be one of those days when you find yourself at Ray's.

4. Interstate Drafthouse — This is my and Pam's go-to date spot. They have the best bar food in the city. The perfect summer date spot is in the beer garden in the back, sipping a "Fishtown Iced Tea" with the woman you love.

3. McGillin's Olde Ale House — This is the oldest bar in Philadelphia. My grandmom used to come here during her lunch shifts during that brief period she had a job (when grandpop was fighting in WWII). And decades later, her grandson had plenty of epic nights here. 21st birthday parties, Sunday karaoke, family dinners, blackouts, dance parties, wing nights, Phillies games, the memories go on and on. What a bar.

2. Green Rock Tavern — Credit the Green Rock Tavern for trying to be different and fresh and not like every other goddamn bar in the city. Take, for instance, the time we ran there. We happened to get there during the "Punk Rock Pizza Party." Hamm's were $1, as were the slices of pizza that the bartender was cooking behind the bar in a mini oven, all the while old school punk rock was playing. It was fun! Take also the time me and Pam went there for lunch, and I had the pleasure of eating a "Lehigh-way to Hell Burger," which was a bacon burger with maple syrup, and instead of a bun, there were slices of toasted Stock's pound cake. Every time you go to Green Rock, you get something different, something special. I'll always love this place.

1. Fergie's Pub — I'm not sure I can adequately explain the appeal of Fergie's Pub. Everyone is friendly, everyone is always in good spirits, every time I'm there I'm just fucking happy. This is the ultimate "Let's meet up for a few beers and catch up" bar. Sometimes there's authentic Irish music being played by musicians in the corner. You can choose between fancy craft beer or cheap shitty beer. They give you the choice! And it's the only bar in the city or anywhere where the owner walks in and I recognize him. I just feel like I'm home when I'm here. Best bar in the city.

The Night That We... (got punched)

An ongoing series that discusses Joe's important life moments, in Joe's own words. The good nights, the bad nights, the dumb nights, the regrettable nights, the unforgettable nights, they're all here. Read on to discover another snapshot in the life of Joe, and why it lives on in his memory, all these years later.

PART IX
I Didn't Start the Fire
December 2006

Yes, this particular incident occurred the same month as the Burholme Bust, and this incident also happened in the Burholme woods. I only know the approximate date because a picture of this other incident was posted on Facebook in 2008, and 2008 Joe explained in the comments that this night happened "about two weeks before getting arrested."

Like the night we were cited by the police, this particular dark and wooded night started out okay and ended... not great. Unlike the night we were cited, none of it was really my fault, which makes this incident important in a whole different way. Let's delve in.

The thing that started the chain reaction of the night was that it was the coldest night of the winter, and for some fucking reason, I left the house wearing just a thin T-shirt and an even thinner, rattier hoodie. The plan was always to drink in the woods, and still I dressed poorly for the occasion. My theory is that I had improperly dressed myself on purpose as some limp dick rebellion against my Dad, who I have to assume yelled as I walked out the door, "Aren't you going to be cold?!" I have no way of remember if he actually said that on this particular night, but I know my Dad well, and it's a good guess.

Anyway, I walked to Burholme Park to drink some beers in the winter chill, as was our modus operandi at the time. It was a sparse night, maybe four or five of us huddled around the firepit. It's funny how certain weird details stand out in memories like this; I remember quite clearly that our drink of choice, god help us, was Old English 800. In cans. Why.

With the small crowd and the shitty beer and the cold, we were thinking maybe the night wasn't going to be an all-time great or anything. But from out vantage point at the firepit, we could see and hear a much larger group of people on the other side of the woods, at the top of the hill. Fuck it, we thought, let's go check it out. So we packed up the case of malt liquor, traversed a Tookany Creek tributary by ways of a fallen tree, and walked up the hill toward the noise.

I hadn't been drinking for that long at that point in my life, maybe a year or so. But from what little I knew and had experienced when it came to drinking, getting drunk made people nicer. When you get drunk, so I thought at the time, you're friends with everyone. It was all arms around shoulders and laughs and smiles up to that point. So when we got to the top of the hill to find a couple dozen people drinking, even though we didn't know a single person up there, I felt that all was well, because we were all GETTING DRUNK, which meant that we were all FRIENDS already.

It means I was naive, but it didn't even cross my mind that some people get mean when they drink. That some people create more negative than positive when they are fucked up. I learned that lesson quickly.

Our new friends were at a drinking spot in Burholme known colloquially at "The Hut," named after the frankly impressive structure they had built to encompass the kegs and a few people. It was about eight feet high, made entirely of fallen trees and branches. It was the Hut. Never underestimate the will and ingenuity of thirsty teens.

As I mentioned before, it was cold, and I was wearing almost nothing to combat the cold, so imagine how glad I was to see that these kids up here also had a trashcan fire going for warmth. I parked myself next to that sucker and slowly began to thaw.

Let the record show I had nothing to do with this fire besides enjoying its warmth. I didn't start the fire, I didn't contribute to the fire, and in all honesty I knew in the back of my mind that there shouldn't even be a fire because no doubt emergency personnel could see the fire from the street. But I was cold, and pretty fucked up on malt liquor at this point, and so I stood next to the fire.

Some dude comes up to those standing around the fire: "Put this shit out! The cops are gonna see it!" Like I said, I agreed with this sentiment, but I didn't know any of these fucking kids, so I kept my mouth shut and neither put the fire out nor built the fire up. I just stood there with my fucking mouth shut.

Things get a little hazy, because I was a teenager drinking large quantities of alcohol, but I assume someone standing around the fire threw a log in there, in direct opposition to what that dude was yelling about.

I guess that guy thought it was me throwing wood in the fire for some reason, or maybe he was just drunk and angry and needed to take his anger out on something or someone, who the fuck knows. But all of a sudden, this guy comes up to me and punches me twice in the face.

I remember this moment clearly. I was so cold and drunk that I didn't really even feel the punches land, but I definitely saw stars. It's funny, all these years later, but I swear to god my first reaction was to incredulously turn and sincerely ask this guy: "Dude, did you just punch me?"

Like, I was more perplexed than anything. I did nothing to this guy except stand adjacent to a fire he did not approve of. I didn't add to the fire, I didn't say a fucking thing about it. And for all this, I got punched in the face. Twice. By a total fucking stranger.

All of a sudden, the cordial atmosphere curdled, and we were in hostile territory. What had been a group of new friends a few minutes earlier (friends because we had our inebriation in common) was now a mob of angry drunks, and who knew if they were going to take after the violent lead of the firebrand that had thrown a punch. We got the fuck out of there.

(Not before our friend and my cousin's-cousin-not-related, who was with us and witnessed the incident and was allegedly high on pills and was pissed at these strangers, not before he flipped out and started knocking down small trees surrounding the keg spot above the hill, and at that point people were really, really getting angry and we truly needed to make our exit posthaste.)

Fuck, I was so bummed out leaving the woods that night. I was sad because my naive belief in the goodness in people was shattered. I thought that drinking brought people together, but after this night I had to acknowledge that drinking sometimes tore people apart. Drinking was not a fix-all for everything. Sometimes it was the problem.

I know it might be hard to believe that I was so dumb as to believe that drinking only made people nice, but up until that point I had only had drinking experiences with the friends whom I loved and trusted. It took some asshole punching me to wake me up to the reality of it all. Shit gets crazy when you let go of your inhibitions. Some people get sloppy. Some people get sentimental. Some people punch passersby in the face.

Had I done something to offend this guy and actually earn my getting assaulted, I perhaps would have still learned the same lesson ("drinking has a dark side!"), but the fact that I honestly did nothing to warrant the attack made the lesson crystal clear.

Don't worry, though, we got even eventually. They say revenge is a dish best served hot and steamy. That spring, me and Mike and Kev took a trip back to the Hut during the day. After we were done with it, The Hut was no more. We laid waste to that piece of shit, ripping every branch off, gutting the structure, and scattering its remains around the woods. And as the coup de grâce, I personally left a long, soft gift on top of one of the kegs they had stored there for that night's revelry. Motherfuckers.

After that night, I stuck to drinking exclusively with people I knew or trusted, and I was able to avoid this kind of bullshit until I learned a few more hard lessons in college. And most importantly, every other winter keg in woods I attended for the rest of my life, fire or no, I bundled the fuck up.

Shuffle Sunday, 11/26/17

Joe listens to a lot of music, and usually sticks to listening to music as the artist intends—whole albums, in order. However, on Sundays, he listens to his iPod on shuffle the whole day. Here are the ten songs that played when he was writing this blog post, and what they mean to him.

Alright, I'm gonna try to squeeze this shit in before the Eagles game. There are not many things that could make me shut down the iPod at work for three hours, but a 9-1, Super Bowl-bound Birds team is one of those things.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lachrimosa" by Regina Spektor, on her 2002 album Songs

By the end of high school, my closest high school friends ended up becoming the theater kids. Everyone who performed on stage was also in love with Regina Spektor. I can get into her too, even though some of her tunes are unbearably corny. "Lachrimosa" is a decent one. It has all the hallmarks of a classic Spektor tune: fluid piano playing with constantly fluctuating tempos, hiccupping but impassioned vocals. (According to Wikipedia, this song, along with the eleven other songs on Songs, were all recorded in one take, all on Christmas 2001, which is impressive!) But no matter the Spektor song, though, it always reminds me of those dorky theater kids who I loved so much.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"TV" by Colleen Green, from her 2015 album I Want to Grow Up

A lot of the commentators on Stereogum (a website that I read obsessively, yes, even the comments) swear by Colleen Green and think her album I Want to Grow Up is about the best thing since sliced bread. I was never able to see it. "TV" is a serviceable song, but Green's vocal are just too monotone for me, I think. It's not bad! I'm not trying to shit on it. But, like, it's not an artist I would ever recommend to someone if they were asking for suggestions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"No Thoughts" by Cloud Nothings, from their 2014 album Here and Nowhere Else

I underrate Cloud Nothings consistently, which is a shame, because every time I listen to any song or album of theirs, I'm never disappointed. Would you consider these guys hardcore at all? I'm not sure. They don't pass the Pam Test; there is a lot of scream-singing on this song and most of their other songs, but I see it more that the singer is so emotional that it comes out as a scream, as opposed to that being the normal way he sings. I dunno.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Star Power IV: Ooh Ooh" by Foxygen, from their 2014 album ...And Star Power

I went to bat for ...And Star Power when it came out, but that album just did not have legs. A couple great songs surrounded by more filler than I would admit at the time. Hang showed us this year that maybe Foxygen could do straight pop better than a lot of the noise from their previous effort. "Star Power IV" is nothing special. Maybe rising tides lifted all boats on that album at the time. Maybe "How Can You Really," one of the finest achievements of our time, just so overshadowed the rest of the album that the faults of "Star Power IV," et al, were overlooked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I Have Been Floated" by the Olivia Tremor Control, from their 1999 album Black Foliage: Animation Music Volume One

A lot of the time I feel like, for mediocre-to-good albums, hearing a single song in isolation actually elevates the song. For great albums, it can sometimes do the opposite. Anything from OTC's two albums probably falls into the latter category. The albums as a unit are fucking works of art, but you take any random song out of the lineup, like "I Have Been Floated," and it falters a bit. This song is decent lo-fi indie pop and nothing more, until you listen to Black Foliage all the way through. Then it becomes a piece of beauty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Pleasure" by Feist, from her 2017 album Pleasure

There are plenty of albums this year that I may not have given their proper due. You can include Pleasure in that; neither the album nor any songs are gonna appear on my year-end countdown in a couple weeks. So I'm glad its title track showed up. Should I give this album another chance? Judging solely from this song right now, I probably won't be rushing to listen to it again. It's too sparse an arrangement to get excited about it. The last 30 seconds are okay though!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Harpoon Fever (Queequog's Playhouse)" by Man Man, from their 2008 album Rabbit Habits

For some reason, this band always reminds me of the time me and my friends went to go see a legit Freak Show in the backyard of a West Philly home. I'm talking dudes swallowing swords, ladies with the multiple piercings performing burlesque dances, midgets on unicycles, the whole shebang. Listen to this shit, it's not hard to hear why I make the connection.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Watch Your Back" by the Coathangers, from their 2016 album Nosebleed Weekend

Riot grrrl punk is a subgenre of music that I've tried so many times to get into, but despite totally appreciating the theme of Women Power as the undercurrent of a song, and even appreciating punk rock as a type of music that pumps you up, I could just never really get into it. It's never done enough to capture my interest. This bums me out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"ambassador bridge" by Of Montreal, from their 2016 album Innocence Reaches

Fuck, I'd hate for this feature to just turn into me bashing music that shows up on my iPod. That's not what I want to do on Sundays. I want to appreciate all music in all its shuffled forms. But man, is there a band on earth that I soured on more than Of Montreal? Every song since Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer? sees the band become less tethered to earth, more obscure, more twisted and knotty, and way less fun. I'm not sure how many more times I'm going to try a new Of Montreal album. I've been disappointed for so long now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"We Can Get Together" by the Hold Steady, from their 2010 album Heaven Is Whenever

Heaven Is Whenever is totally underappreciated. It's not fair that a band can put of a couple classic albums, and then just because the next album isn't necessarily a classic, that album is maligned. That's just the way life works I guess. Heaven Is Whenever is a solid album, with a few excellent songs, and a lot of good-to-great ones. "We Can Get Together" is on the slow side for the Hold Steady, but it still has a lot going for it. Fuck the naysayers. There is no bad Hold Steady music.

Sharing Pictures of My Child, Week 1

Everyone loves posting pictures of their kids on social media. And Pam is due on May 1st, so I guess it's time for me to get in on the fun of oversharing! Every Saturday from now until my last child is eighteen years old, I'll be sharing pictures here on Puke on Your Birthday. Each week I'll share a picture that is actively NOT a picture of my child.

Here's a picture that is very much not the picture from our latest ultrasound. This is a picture of a man with a phone for a face, and a lady wearing another phone as a hat. Enjoy! You're welcome, Mom!

The Night That We... (went for a run)

An ongoing series for PoYB, in which Joe writes about those nights/days/whatever that changed his life. Some literally changed his life, some more figuratively, but all of them are important moments, according to him and his skewed perspective. Read on for the next installment.

PART VIII
The First Step
May 22, 2011

Oh lordy, Puke on Your Birthday has been a little sad the past few days, hasn't it? Let's make a concentrated effort to stay positive in this installment. Let's look back at a small moment that changed my life in beneficial ways, shall we?

As you can probably surmise from the tens of thousands of words I've typed about my college experiences, those four years were not very healthy ones for me. Examine Facebook pictures from my first months of freshman year, and compare them to pictures of me toward graduation, and you can easily see the difference in weight, health, and general demeanor. My La Salle University motto was stolen right out of a Titus Andronicus song: "Life begins at the moment of consumption."

Being the idealistic young man I was, a man who—let's face it—was a victim to all the vain and shallow pressures to attempt to look "attractive," being such a man who was ashamed of his newly acquired beer belly, I started to tell myself that I would start to get healthy, promise. I started to tell people that I was going to start jogging for my health and well-being. Everyone laughed, because they knew me. The thought of Joe K*** exerting himself physically beyond the occasional keg stand was absurd.

And even I had doubts about my ability to actually go for a jog. The most I had ever run was like, maybe a half-mile, tops? But I had told so many people about this plan, that I had kind of backed myself into a corner, and now I would have to start running, or else look like a coward too. My big mouth ultimately worked to my advantage. (My dad did something similar in the '80s, apparently. He was an avid cigarette smoker, but had told so many people that he was going to quit once my mom was pregnant, that when she actually did become pregnant with me, he had no choice but to quit. I'm thankful my family was not a cigarette family, and so I'm thankful my dad Talks the Talk just as loudly as I do.)

So, I remember clearly the day I had chosen to begin this new lifestyle. A Sunday in May. I remember clearly the sting of a hangover, even though I don't remember what exactly I was hungover from (my tweets from the night imply that I was so drunk I thought I was going to die, but the details get no more specific than that.) Even with a hangover, though, I had talked this shit up so much that I had no choice but to strap on my cheap running sneakers from Modell's and hit the pavement.

My journey totaled maybe only a mile that day. I remember that I alternated running and walking every other block. It was a pathetic display. I probably threw up on the lawn afterward.

But still! Hey! I was running! For fun!

If I were ranking moments that changed my life the most in a literal sense (for example, meeting Pam literally changed my life and diverged my life onto a completely different path, compared to, say, a night at the Pike Hike, which was more important in a figurative sense, but my life would go on the same with or without it), if I was ranking those moments, this would probably be in the Top Five as far as how big of a literal impact it had on my life.

It was the moment that my health became even a little bit important, as opposed to not important at all prior. I haven't been uber-consistent in my running habits the past six and a half years, but still, I've run probably at least 2000 miles more than I would have had I not started running on this day, which isn't a small task. In the years following, I ran to the finish line of the Broad Street Run and proposed to Pam. I completed the daunting task of a half marathon. And I started Monday Beer Runners, a small group of like-minded individuals that wanted to get together every Monday to run a few miles and then drink a few beers. We've been doing MBR runs for almost three years now. Wouldn't exist without cultivating my running habits right after college.

And I've found over the years that I actively enjoy running. Getting out the door and starting each run is tough, sure, but once I'm in the groove, running through my beautiful city, I feel such a sense of peace and happiness that even alcohol can't match (well, okay, sometimes). I don't even listen to music while I run. I just let the experience wash over me. There's the sense of accomplishment, too, at the end of each run. Like you feel like you actually did something to improve yourself for once. It's a great feeling.

So if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna get off my fat ass and go for a run right now. Until next time, when I inevitably write about something depressing again. For now, let's bask in the optimism of this blog post. Running is great! I feel great! I love you all!

The Night That We... (hiked the pike)

An ongoing series for this blog in which Joe divulges stories about the important moments in his life. Not that he knew they were important at the time. Sometimes it took years of self-reflection to realize how important it was. But the moment could still be considered stupid. Who knows. Fuck it, he's gonna write about it anyway. Enjoy.

PART VII
An Unbreakable Tradition
November 23, 2012

This is one of those moments that's only significant because of what happens after. If life were a Shakespearean play, this moment would be an instance of dramatic irony, something that's said, but audience immediately knows that the opposite is true.

Tonight will be the eleventh time my friends and I gather in the old neighborhood for a tradition known as "Turkey Bowl." Basically, in the fall of 2007, in an effort to stay connected even though half of the friend group had gone off to various area colleges, we decided that we'd all get together for a game of football the day after Thanksgiving. After the game, we'd walk over to Kev's house, where his Mother would make us spaghetti and meatballs. At some point we'd go somewhere and drink some beers. The first year was a success.

As most traditions go, this one gradually evolved. The year our tradition really took off was 2010. That was the first year a lot of us were 21 years of age, and so, after the pigskin and the meatballs, we met up again at 7 PM for the "Pike Hike," a bar crawl through Jenkintown, Rockledge, and Northeast Philadelphia. Shit got wild. It was the best night.

By 2012, the train was moving full steam. Friends of friends were starting to come along for the ride. We were ordering T-shirts now to wear as a group. Bars knew to stock up or else we'd drink 'em dry. The FB event from the time indicates that "49 people went," but who knows how accurate those things are. I know that by 2014 there were over 100 people in attendance for the Pike Hike, so 49 seems low to me. But that's beside the point.

The point is something that happened during the Pike Hike during our 2012 crawl. All my friends were there, I was drunk-but-not-too-drunk, the music was blasting at the Rockledge Pub, and I'm squished because it's so crowded but it was only crowded because so many of my friends were there, and I just looked around and had that feeling that I get sometimes when I'm so goddamn happy, that feeling like I'm the king of the fucking planet, and I raised my Miller High Life and proclaimed:

"We're gonna do this for the rest of our lives!!"

And I meant it too. I wanted this tradition to last. I wanted that feeling to last. The feeling that this was exactly where I wanted to be and life was good. I felt so powerful and so free. I wanted to keep coming back here, to these bars, this time every year, with the people I love, and let loose. Doesn't matter where we move to, doesn't matter how many kids we have, doesn't matter if we're getting older or getting sick or dying, I wanted the grand tradition of the Pike Hike to last for the rest of my life.

Of course, life has a tendency to... happen.

The "Turkey Bowl" is still a tradition that occurs every year (so far, anyway). But we don't play football anymore—we're too old, and most people work Friday during the day anyway. We're not meeting up for a meatball dinner this year for the first time ever. The Pike Hike still happens, and people still get drunk and have a good time, but the numbers are trending downward. The energy isn't there. I feel like sometimes I'm holding my friends hostage in forcing them to come to the Pike Hike. Life gets in the way.

None of this is abnormal. Friends, as hard as they may fight against it, grow apart a little over time. It just happens, there's literally no way to prevent it. None of the original Pike Hikers have kids yet, but this will be the last year that's true, and I can't imagine how life is gonna change after that happens (change for the better, absolutely, but change is change).

As true as the maxim is, that friends come in and out of your life, and time presses upon friendships and squeezes them, as true and as inevitable as that is, it still makes me sad sometimes. Nostalgic, I guess.

And it makes me especially sad to look back upon those halcyon days of 2012, when I was so idealistic, when I thought I could live like that forever. When it seemed like I had found the moment in time I wanted to inhabit forever. You can't make time stand still. It keeps moving. And in the blink of an eye, it's five years later, and everything has changed.

I love my life right now. I wouldn't fucking give up a single thing to go back to 2012. But still, I cling to that memory, that moment when I felt all was right in the world, and I mourn that it's gone.

So, folks, this is my last year organizing the Pike Hike. Even without my doing, I hope the tradition continues, as 2012 Joe predicted and hoped that it would. If not, and we're here a year from now and I'm at home on Black Friday, well then, that's how life goes. I'll be okay either way.

Thirsty Thursday: SOBRIETY

Observations from 61 days sober:

• Sobriety is only hard during those times during which you'd typically be drinking. Which unfortunately for me, was most activities in general besides, like, the 40 hours a week I'm at work, and the 50 hours a week I'm asleep.
• Sobriety is tough when every social interaction you've had for the most part in the past decade has all been under the haze of inebriation. I don't know how to talk to people anymore without it feeling like I'm on stage with just my underwear on. 
• If there's a good side to this, it's that when me and Pam go out to eat dinner, the check is way cheaper than it used to be. I guess I feel less stuffed leaving dinner as well. Beer had a way of making me feel full in even small quantities.
• I thought it would be weird seeing people get drunk while I'm sober, like at parties and shit, but what I'm finding is this: I used to think that, when I got drunk as shit, everyone else was drunk as shit with me, but as it turns out, people don't get nearly as drunk as I assumed. That was just me being too drunk to know or care. People get way less drunk than I always thought.
• Dancing at a wedding was impossible.
• The little moments are actually tougher than the big moments. When we were at our annual Halloween party, it was a bummer being sober, but, like, I wasn't dying or anything. But when I was cleaning my house a few weeks ago, nothing exciting, but all I could think about was mixing myself a cold gin drink to complement the vacuuming. It wasn't like I came close to actually mixing the drink or anything, but it fucked with my psyche A LOT more than when I was at an open bar party.
• I've always prided myself at being good at apologies, but what I'm finding is that there are certain things that I will never be able to adequately apologize for. The fuck-up was just too permanent. Even, say, quitting drinking, it's unfortunately not enough. I have to live with that, and I have to be okay with that burden, as it was my own doing.
• I also have to be okay with the burden of people constantly hounding me about why I'm not drinking, when I'm going to start drinking again, if I'm going to start drinking again, do I really think I have a "problem," don't I miss it, etc. Ten years of peer pressuring others to drink and calling people pussies for not drinking, I deserve everything anyone can throw at me, I deserve it all.
• I just wish I could properly articulate the negative feelings I have about it all, but it always comes out wrong. Like, I feel like a walking contradiction. I know that I can't drink right now, and it's never come to the point where I have to physically restrain myself from not drinking. But even if I'm not "tempted" to drink at all, per se, I still have these incredible feelings of sadness for not drinking. It's like I've been in mourning. Drinking was my friend that occasionally let me down, but it was still my friend, and it just makes me incredibly fucking sad to have to put that friend down. I dunno, that sounds dumb and it makes me sound like I had a severe problem. Maybe I did. I don't know. I can't help how I feel right now.
• I'm lucky that I have friends who still want to spend time with me, I think. Okay, friends who at least feel some sort of obligation to put in their time to hang out with me, regardless of my sobriety. I get that it's not the ideal time to invest in a friendship with Joe. I get that it's not easy to drink around someone who's sober. I don't really blame people if I don't get invited places because of it. But I'm lucky in that at least my friends haven't, like, totally abandoned me because of my sobriety. 
• What is a good way to ask someone to hang out with you? My go-to has always been "let's grab a drink sometimes," but now I have no clue how to ask someone to hang out.
• I tried to go to a few AA meetings. I think I went to four total during the first couple weeks. I just couldn't get into it. It's really, really tough to get into all the clichés and the sayings and the religious-type stuff. I know that's a common complaint, and I know that if I would just put in the work to do the Program, it would end up working. But I'm not interested in sobriety if I have to spend an hour every day with people who annoy me. 
• And I know that's fucked up, to call people "annoying" when the thing they most want in the world is to help you. But, it's just too fucking much. I went to a meeting six weeks ago and haven't been to this particular meeting since, but a guy in the group got my number, and texts me occasionally, and his texts are just so fucking eyeroll-worthy. I feel awful thinking that, but I can't fucking help it. Here's a short snippet of his text from this morning: "Today I have gratitude for the blessings given to me on this spiritual journey." I just can't live like this, folks, I'm sorry.
• So, am I happy with all this, the sobriety? The answer is no. I am not. I'm happy that through my sobriety I was able to heal relationships in my life, and I'm happy that I have the willpower to keep it up and the self-awareness to know it's working. But I'm not happy that I even brought myself to this point in the first place. I know there was like 50+ times in my life when I got way too drunk and did some awful shit, which is a lot of times, I'll admit. But sometimes I think: it was only 50 times. I only had to make 50 different decisions in my life, and I could've enjoyed a nice cold brew with my Thanksgiving turkey today. I regret the stupid things I've done. It makes me sad that I fucked so much up and it makes me sad that my fuck ups brought me here to this position today. It makes me sad that I ruined so many good times in the past and in the future.
• But that's just me being selfish, I think, those feelings. That's me wishing I could have the good parts about drinking while conveniently forgetting about all the bad things that came along with it. And I know those feelings of sadness are just me being selfish because if they weren't then all I'd have to do is chug a beer right here right now, and I haven't done that yet, so...