Ode to a Fallen Friend

Tonight, as I was leaving the library after studying among kids born in 1990, I saw all of these happy undergraduates running around in anticipation of "Thirsty Thursday" (although I will say there were definitely a lot of people in the library and it is not midterm week). And I harkened back to the days when I, too, had no responsibilities and could fritter away a Thursday night (especially in my last semester when I had no class on Friday). Invariably, when I think Thursdays, there is only one thing that comes to mind - The Fisherman's Pub.

The Fisherman's Pub was the perfect kind of dive bar. Slightly off the beaten path, it toiled in relative obscurity until their greatest discovery, that of karaoke. From there, a star was born, and The Fisherman's Pub saw business like it had never seen before (or since, because who knows who went there after we graduated?). We took the small stage, belting our lungs out on Britney, Billy Joel, ABBA, Metallica....you name it, we sang it. For one small moment, we felt as though we were rock stars, singing to a sold-out arena under the bright, hot spotlight. They truly were some of the best times we ever had, and not just because we could live our rock star fantasies.

On this Thursday, The Fisherman's Pub remains dark, shuttered to karaoke lovers and its handful of crusty, loyal customers alike forever (apparently, they really didn't see much business after we left). I can only say this to you, Fisherman's Pub: though you may be depriving generations of students the thrill of a good Thursday night, you shall never be forgotten.