He really does have a tiger in his tank!. The continuing saga of Tiger Woods and his friends will get sadder. As I mentioned Monday, people are telling me that the Rachel Uchitel "scandal' is just Tiger's toe in the water; the media will keep running with this story, and by the end he might be in over his head. Apparently a second gal has come forward, and where there are 2 there are often 200. And now, Tiger says, "I have let my family down and I regret those transgressions with all of my heart. I have not been true to my values and the behavior my family deserves." There you have it. I don't do gossip, so I traveled out to Brooklyn to attend a Fader magazine party at Brooklyn Bowl and to meet up with some journalist types who wanted to get some names of some dames that tell tales that make Rachel look like Mother Teresa in comparison. I'm just trying to figure out who's going to give Rachel a club to run so she can cash in on her "good" name, which suddenly became great.
My weekly excursion to BK took me to Lodge at 318 Grand Street in Williamsburg where I hung with my pal, manager Jamie Lynn Rowe, and owner Dan Cipriani. I ate turkey pot pie while I prepared for a serious skee-ball competition next door at Full Circle. Three months ago I wouldn't have been caught dead in Brooklyn, but now it's one of the few places where I feel alive. Full Circle was kicking as part owner/manager/bartender/all around nice guy Michael Doherty assured me that his supply of Powers Irish would not run out this evening. I took him at his word while attempting to prove him wrong. Barkeep Amy was on hand to keep my shot glass relevant, while Michael and everyone else in the joint took turns beating me at skee. A close friend has proposed to me that if I am to seriously write I must take drinking more seriously. This morning I do feel a bit more like Hemingway and Fitzgerald -- like I have been dead for 50 years. The skee-ball was fabulous ... I lost every game. Jamie was amazing at it. I asked her how, and she told me, "I'm from New Jersey!"
My search for the right night took me to West Nanticoke, Pennsylvania, over the long weekend to find antiques for Scott Sartiano and Richie Akiva's 14th Street supper club and to visit a couple of pals I went to school(schuyl)with. I met Goobs and my pal Leo at Leo's Roadhouse on Route 11. I dodged a big buck -- Goobs said it was a 10-pointer -- just outside the joint. Leo's is a no-nonsense hole in the wall. Some bright crooner once said, "The fundamentals still apply as time goes by." At Leo's it's the basics: friendly bartenders, loose women, and cheap booze. A blue collar good time was had by all. The sign on the door said "Miller Lite bikers welcome, please remove colors," and the jukebox which made the girls sway had a sign that said "No hip hop, no rap, no R&B unless specifically requested, or you will be tossed." The bar hangs in the middle of the room with no back to it or barriers to stop peeps from going behind. They keep it simple at Leo's.
I often listen to complicated schemes as nouveaux owners try to re-invent the wheel. If you get the fundamentals right, the rest tends to happen. The roadhouse floor was plywood stained only by last drinks, and I was surprised to see the Christmas lights up so early. I was told they were up "from last year ... or maybe the year before." They all thought it was great that I wore a plaid shirt to fit in, and all I needed was a trucker's hat. There are few trends noted out in West Nanticoke, but they get it right. The place makes money and provides a home away from home and a living for many. In a place where bottle service is Rolling Rock, Bud, or Miller Lite, and they don't charge extra for the table, chair, or the friendly smile on delivery, you could see how the booze business simply works. This saloon was rocking, and I had a blast. Next time I go, I'm going to dig up my John Deere hat and really impress them.
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