On the way back from Ohio Saturday, Joe and I decided to swing by Penn State (my alma mater), since we’d just visited Kent State (Joe’s alma mater).
After a drawn-out search for dinner (my fault–I always have to explore every option) and a side trip to Eastern Outfitters, we decided to stop by The Phyrst. The Phyrst is a local bar at Penn State with extremely good vibes (I did meet my wife there on Saint Patty’s Day in 1988, after all). It’s in a basement on Beaver Avenue near Allen Street, if you ever get up there.
The bar (the literal bar inside the Phyrst) had been torn out and replaced with one along the wall last summer, but otherwise it was the same place I remembered. We settled in and relaxed. The place gradually filled up with people and a pleasant hum of noise permeated the room. It was relaxing, calming, almost soothing.
Until the voices suddenly thundered out from one of the tables:
“WE ARE TABLE NUMBER THREE! NUMBER THREE! NUMBER THREE! WE ARE TABLE NUMBER THREE! WHERE THE H#$L IS TABLE FIVE!”
Table Five’s answer was even louder. I’d forgotten about the “interactive” aspect of the Phyrst. Perhaps relaxed and calm weren’t the words I was looking for.
But it was a lot of fun. The Phyrst Phamily took the stage at ten and the traditional singalong began. Good times…look for yourself.
