Welcome to Brooklyn.

I'm not quiet about the fact that I spend most of my time not enjoying Brooklyn's finest offerings. CW's birthday a few weeks ago was one of my first adventures into the great unknown of the skinny jean world. Not only did I survive (I'll be honest, I had my doubts), but it made me begin to think that there really is something to this place.

Tonight the bar was raised.

My friend CM and I hit the Brooklyn pavement for what turned out to be a little tour of Billyburg. We started at Spuyten Duyvil, a charming (and packed) international beer bar. We found a corner past the bar to stand out of the way of that constant artery of moving bodies. You know, the one that travels from door to bar to bathrooms and back again; it's the bar equivalent of a riptide.

ANYWAY.

We sucked down a few cold drafts here while commenting on everyone and everything. And by we, I meant me. After I had had my fill of forced irony (and two delicious brews), we were off to what would become an epic journey back to my childhood.

The second stop-off was Full Circle Bar on Grand Street. One click to their website and it's easy to see why we were there (besides the $3 cans of Genny Light) - skee-ball.

I consider myself a pretty humble individual when it comes to sport and athleticism; very rarely will you hear be reminiscing about my adolescent victories, but skee-ball falls into a category of special situation. Understand that I was raised on two things: fireworks and boardwalk games. My grandmother lived in the quiet town of Pt. Pleasant Beach, and I spent many a rainy day at the Jenkinson's boardwalk arcades. Water gun into the clown's mouth? Please, I'll win you biggest stuffed bear. The claw game? Other kids used to give me their money in order to taste victory. Skee-ball? Why don't you ask CM? She learned the hard way.

Welcome to Brooklyn.