Philly Beer Week notes #4 (an ongoing series until it’s all been done).

The end is in sight.

Yes, a slew of events of various kinds stand between now and then while the nation’s largest beer celebration rolls onward, but the final day of Philly Beer Week 2010 is one of the few which I have planned out in any real detail, everything  but breakfast, which still has to be decided.

It’s kinda fun to look ahead and know what you’re going to do. This must be the way organized people feel all the time.

Assuming I can remember the number of the bus that runs out there from Center City, the Dock Street Music Fest, which starts at 2pm following the Dock Street Amazing Philly Beer Run, appears to offer a great way to enjoy a leisurely afternoon and good beer, all the while having an opportunity to make fun of Bryan Kolesar for whatever reason presents itself at the time. He’s the race founder and organizer and will be one of the unpleasantly sweaty people after they finish the six or seven mile ordeal. The festival will be more of a block party thing, with live music and grilling. I have high hopes that they will partition off the runners somewhere to the side or hose them down or something.

Then it’s back to Center City and a nice leisurely walk down into South Philly for dinner at South Philly Tap Room. There is not, to my knowledge, any PBW thing going on there and the recent review in the Inquirer has me jonesing for some cold asparagus soup (and I don’t even like asparagus) and whatever other goodies are on the menu. Plus beer, definitely more beer.

Finally, the clock will run out on the nation’s largest beer celebration, as it should, at Fergie’s Pub and the oh-so-aptly named T.U.D. That’s Totally Unnecessary Drink for you uninitiated. It’s a bit of a misnomer as I, and most people in the room, I’ll wager, fully intend to have more than one.

Let it be noted that I consider karaoke one of the great crimes of the human race and the evening apparently features of lot of same. As with the asparagus thing, I am working to confront all the dark shadows of my psyche on the night that PBW slides into history. Indeed, biographers and historians will surely term this period something of a crisis point in my life.

If they have to give a name, The Six Days of Carl P might work, encapsulating a time when I finally learned that a man must be willing to face down and destroy the demon that haunts his soul.

Or at least send him home.



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