Hi, Thursday. Miami is cold and rainy- very strange combo in these parts.
Super gloomsville. You know what else has me reaching for the Paxil? The fact that not only is
Mars Bar closing down, but now I hear Max Fish too ? What? How is this even
possible? Both of these joints are Manhattan landmarks. I know yesterday I
was all agog with glamour, but today I'm here to profess my undying love for
a good, shitty bar. A dive, if you will (I know I would). Growing up in
Philly and attending college there, I can't imagine going through those days
without McGlinchey's and Dirty Frank's, two complete shithouses but cheap,
rowdy, and ten tons of fun. Philly has some of the best dive bars of any
city I've ever seen, and I have always had a fondness for having a drink in
a place that is set up for doing just that- drinking- not canoodling, not
star gazing, and not player hating. Just. Plain. Drinking. Oh, and maybe
feeding the jukebox with quarters, since it's usually stellar at places like
this. Bars like these can't be replaced or retooled. There are no drinks with egg
whites in these establishments. There is no pouty, wafer thin mixologist on
staff. And there most certainly is no velvet rope or talk of summers in
Southhampton. No, friends. These bars are about rock and fucking roll. And
getting surly drunk. These are the bars one goes to for a perfectly poured
Jack and Coke, maybe a shot of tequila, and most definitely, a beer, and
possibly all three. Put it this way- I don't really remember my nights at
the Mars bar (better that way) but there have been more than a few. I do
remember that the bathroom is perfectly fetid and the crowd is shady beyond
belief, thus adding to its appeal. Every time I'm in the city and cruise
down First Avenue in a cab, I always do a kind of mental wink at the Mars
Bar, acknowledging it's decrepit and dingy glory.Pour one out for this spot,
people. What a drag. Which brings me to Max Fish. Max Fish was always very Lower East Side- rock
and roll, a bit druggy/smoky/ hazy, and an awesome late night spot when you
are tired of all the bullshit. Max Fish is high on my list of favs when it
comes to New York bars. Seeing it go will break my heart. Does anyone
remember Siberia? That was another classic lair, underneath the subway in
midtown, as well as the subterranean bar at Three of Cups that always seems
to crank Motorhead, Sabbath, or greasy Stones albums like Black and Blue.
J'adore. St. Jerome's is another great one in the city, also down steps,
also super duper rock and roll (if I'm not mistaken, Gaga's long time love
is a bartender there). The shuttering of these two kick ass bars gives me pause- what on Earth is
happening in Manhattan that warrants the closing of these two spots? I hate
when legends die, especially the ones that lend to the city's long forgotten
seedy past. You can't replace places like this, kiddies. There's talk of Max Fish opening elsewhere, but the original was "the" one.
So now what? (I feel like I need a drink right now with all of this bad
news). What a shame. Where will the next Bukowski get his swerve on for
crying out loud? We'll never know. Please don't take my dive bar away... Cause that's what's up this thirsty Thursday in the MIA. Sigh. XO
Super gloomsville. You know what else has me reaching for the Paxil? The fact that not only is
Mars Bar closing down, but now I hear Max Fish too ? What? How is this even
possible? Both of these joints are Manhattan landmarks. I know yesterday I
was all agog with glamour, but today I'm here to profess my undying love for
a good, shitty bar. A dive, if you will (I know I would). Growing up in
Philly and attending college there, I can't imagine going through those days
without McGlinchey's and Dirty Frank's, two complete shithouses but cheap,
rowdy, and ten tons of fun. Philly has some of the best dive bars of any
city I've ever seen, and I have always had a fondness for having a drink in
a place that is set up for doing just that- drinking- not canoodling, not
star gazing, and not player hating. Just. Plain. Drinking. Oh, and maybe
feeding the jukebox with quarters, since it's usually stellar at places like
this. Bars like these can't be replaced or retooled. There are no drinks with egg
whites in these establishments. There is no pouty, wafer thin mixologist on
staff. And there most certainly is no velvet rope or talk of summers in
Southhampton. No, friends. These bars are about rock and fucking roll. And
getting surly drunk. These are the bars one goes to for a perfectly poured
Jack and Coke, maybe a shot of tequila, and most definitely, a beer, and
possibly all three. Put it this way- I don't really remember my nights at
the Mars bar (better that way) but there have been more than a few. I do
remember that the bathroom is perfectly fetid and the crowd is shady beyond
belief, thus adding to its appeal. Every time I'm in the city and cruise
down First Avenue in a cab, I always do a kind of mental wink at the Mars
Bar, acknowledging it's decrepit and dingy glory.Pour one out for this spot,
people. What a drag. Which brings me to Max Fish. Max Fish was always very Lower East Side- rock
and roll, a bit druggy/smoky/ hazy, and an awesome late night spot when you
are tired of all the bullshit. Max Fish is high on my list of favs when it
comes to New York bars. Seeing it go will break my heart. Does anyone
remember Siberia? That was another classic lair, underneath the subway in
midtown, as well as the subterranean bar at Three of Cups that always seems
to crank Motorhead, Sabbath, or greasy Stones albums like Black and Blue.
J'adore. St. Jerome's is another great one in the city, also down steps,
also super duper rock and roll (if I'm not mistaken, Gaga's long time love
is a bartender there). The shuttering of these two kick ass bars gives me pause- what on Earth is
happening in Manhattan that warrants the closing of these two spots? I hate
when legends die, especially the ones that lend to the city's long forgotten
seedy past. You can't replace places like this, kiddies. There's talk of Max Fish opening elsewhere, but the original was "the" one.
So now what? (I feel like I need a drink right now with all of this bad
news). What a shame. Where will the next Bukowski get his swerve on for
crying out loud? We'll never know. Please don't take my dive bar away... Cause that's what's up this thirsty Thursday in the MIA. Sigh. XO
