After a pretty eventful Friday evening filled with libations and hardy conversation with friends, I wasn't too excited about the thought of waking up at 8am on Saturday morning to open the InkTank doors and let Dick Hague, poet and longtime Purcell Marian English teacher (and InkTank board member!) and his long-time friend and fellow poet/musician Mike Henson practice their one-hour long rendition of "Where Drunk Men Go". I thought I already knew the answer to that..."back to bed!" But as the temperature inside climbed to a balmy 55 degrees (I promise it will be at least 70 during the event) and I settled onto the big comfy couch, I was instantly mesmerized by the highlonesome sound of Mike's voice singing a verse of "Working on a Building" that likely had the late Bill Monroe hitting the high-harmony from his resting spot.

It was then that Dick began reciting his poem, recalling the euphoria of those first couple of drinks that always leads us to that crucial point in the evening when we've either convinced ourselves that we've had just the right amount..."one more and it's off to bed", or "one more and it's going to be a long night!" Of course I answered the latter on Friday, but still I was able to capture a degree of solace through his words. I'd long forgotten about Mike over in the corner there with instrument in hand until I though I heard Hank Williams' ghost singing "My Bucket's Got a Hole in it". I was then reminded instantly of my much younger years when two things were pretty consistent in my life: #1 there wasn't enough booze to last throughout the evening and #2 neither myself nor my friends could scrape enough change together to buy more. Before Dick even started reading again I already knew what was coming next...that long,dreadful, and seemingly unending sensation that one gets after a weekend bender which, often more times than not, leaves us running the gamut of emotions ranging from despair to rage.

By this time my physical anguish was beginning to ease but, at the same time, I began to bristle at the fact that I had, once again, wasted an entire evening more focused on keeping the libatious spirit alive than doing something the least bit productive. Pissed off at Dick for not allowing me to stir my own emotions, the poem took a more serious turn...Dick's words quickly reminded me of a place that many of us weekend warriors fear the most--the purgatory of addiction. I couldn't help myself from walking to the window to see if anyone was out there on Main who could identify with these words much better than I could. As soon as I spotted the middle-aged man coming out of the corner store with a brown paper-bag coozie I instantly felt grief for those who struggle daily with keeping their "good times" in check. Before I could even turn around and mope back to the sofa my eyes were starting to well at the sounds of another Hank Williams standard, “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry”.

Great, just what I needed! I already apologized to myself for wasting away the previous evening, and the many sporadic weekend that preceded it. I didn't need to be reminded of some guy's typical story of his battle with addiction. Yet, for some reason I was now more enthralled with this man's troubles than before. He was soberly explaining his inebriated situation to us. He wasn't looking for sympathy, or even trying to defend his situation...just a man trying to recount the steps that led him to this place. As his dispirited conversation with himself continued, I knew what was in store. Dick didn't have to tell me what was going to happen next. Mike's version of “Take Me Home, Saviour” did it for me. Although Dick continued reading after the song was played, I heard nothing but the sound of my own thoughts as I quietly apologized to all of those who had lost the battle with addiction as well as those still struggling with it. I was drained by the end of the performance--so much so that I hardly even noticed Mike marching around with his drum singing..."if I was a drunkard...tell you what I'd do..." but then I realized that the highlonesome sound was coming out of my mouth too...

For nearly an hour I had been almost completely devoid of any thought outside of what was happening to some guy who I didn't even know in some poem that I'd only heard about from one of Dick's friends. From 8am to 9am I ran through nearly every emotion possible: from feelings of excitement that we get during a night on the town, to the extreme sorrow that we feel when we finally admit that we, a friend, or a family member is no longer drinking to have a good time. When it was over and after I had gone home to sleep off what was left of my hangover, I awoke with a more clear understanding of Where Drunk Men Go...I now know exactly where it is (and you probably do too)but I don't think I'm going there anytime soon. Come to Final Friday on January 30th at 7:30pm and prepare to have your senses cultivated and your emotions interrogated by the words of Dick Hague and music of Mike Henson.