Spring is in the the beer aisle.

Good grief, Charlie B.

Spring beers are back and they're bangin'. Whole Foods - spot on. A trip to Pony Bar is in order.

So a guy from Vermont stumbles into a bar...

Sigh.

Here's the sitch - dinner and drinks ends well; post-dinner drinking ensues. Three Sam Adams and one SoCo & lime shot too-many-later and you're conversing with strangers at the bar. Thing is, they want nothing to do with you.

In what what was otherwise supposed to be an evening of much needed calmness, I found myself walking with escorting a belligerent drunk around the Upper East Side. We stumbled for 12 blocks, which is about the same amount of degrees that separated our lives before crossing paths tonight. I meant well. I think.

I learned a lot about Buckshot tonight. More than I'd ever care to know about Burlington's town drunk.


The point is, these lights adorned the 71st Street. Beyond the coffee that Buckshot bought me from the corner bodega, these were the highlight of the night. Yep.

Sigh.

Noted - beer makes old men drowsy.

This week's weather is lined up to be a doozey- hot, humid, and very August-like. This month looks ready to make up lost ground after a cooler than usual July.

Any straphanger will tell you that standing on a subway platform in this kind of heat is borderline insane. Sure, the six train is ice cold when it pulls up - it should be for $2.25 a ride. So instead of waiting in the underground sweat box for an indeterminable amount of time, I decided to take the bus home. Same great A/C available, but the weather above ground was marginally better. And by marginally, I mean I'm still sweating.

This older gent' must have been waiting at the stop for some time, because he was passed out cold on the bench. He was thankful I woke him when the bus promptly finally arrived.

Sometimes, on occasion, one simply needs a strong drink.

Yes, it is Monday. The work week is on the horizon. The past weekend has long faded into life's rear view mirror while the next one is as tangible as a daydream. But this week promises be difficult for me on many levels, so as necessary I will be taking the week off from posting. I'll continue to take pictures (starting with my friend James, here) but will leave my meager attempts at personal journalism for the weekend hours. Thanks for sticking with Catch That - we'll be returning stronger than ever. Who knows what the week ahead has in store for you. Make it a good one.

Cheers.

A classic among a sea of imitators.

BREAKING - dive bars are cool.

They're a dime-a-dozen nowadays, with some 'hoods seeming like practical breeding grounds for the stereotypical local watering hole. Skinny jeans - check. Pabst Blue Ribbon by the can - check. Excessive Desperate efforts to appear dusty and worn in - check. Walk inside one of these establishments and the chatty patrons will most likely be a cross between Williamsburg "residents," NYU poly sci undergrads, and Upper East Side gals out for a night of hipster hunting. Most of the crowd would secretly rather be drinking something of quality (who actually likes PBR?) be it not for the fact that it's the go-to drink of the E. Village. Heck! Why go to any dive when you can throw your next rager at a Superdive!?



But to remain close to the topic on hand, I recently came across a bar that stands a cranky head and shoulders above the rest - McGlinchey's. Enter through the door labeled "bar" and it's like stepping out of a city and into the suburbs (not in the Applebee's/Walmart kind of way). Call me country, but it reminds me of a bar back at home that is no more. The first thing you notice when you walk into the dark, smokey bar is - yup - the smoke. How they get away with it, I don't know and frankly I don't care. Don't get me wrong, I am a huge proponent of smoke-free bars. But this place deserves to remain second-hand unfriendly.

The layout is simple. A rectangular bar sits in the center of the room with a ring of crusty bar stools to match. Around that is another ring, this one consisting of diner-like booths; the seat cushions broken in beyond necessity. Two bartenders, one waitress, bathrooms in the back. The single, poor excuse of a light fixture hanging in the center of the room is covered in schmegma not because it brings character to the place but rather no one cares to clean it. A dozen plus beers on tap, with the closest thing to PBR being Budweiser. Sorry, no Bud Light. A bottle of Yeungling will run you $2.35. A mug? $2.85. The quickest way out of this place is by requesting an Appletini.

My favorite characteristic of this place is the simple fact that people are minding their own damn business. You don't meander into McGlinchey's to be seen or heard; you're there for the company of good friends and cold, cheap beer. What more do you need?

Non-pretentious booze fueled hang outs. I'm beginning to see a theme here...

Ohhh midtown.

With the week almost over it was time for a drink or two. I hit up my colleague's favorite midtown west/Times Square-ish bar Faces and Names. Nice place if you're ever in need of a good pint and happen to be in the area. Just above Times Square (54th St), I grabbed a quick photo on my way to the RW stop at 49th and 7th.

click to enlarge

You scream, I scream, we all scream for...decent parenting!

The work week is over and what better way to celebrate than with a Mr. Softee ice cream cone. Delicious, satisfying and definitely recession friendly. If parents have their way in Brooklyn however, Mr. Softee’s treats might be heading the way of old Coney Island.

Don't mind me while I get up on my soap box.

What is wrong with people?!?! The Daily News [via Gothamist] ran an article about parents complaining about Mr. Softee’s seemingly permanent hold up outside their neighborhood’s schools and park

Publish Post

s. Complain about the incessant jingle if you want, that's fine. But this was too pathetic good to pass up. Let’s start with an excerpt from Parenting 101, shall we?

“It’s very frustrating that they’re here every day. You’re a trapped audience. It’s hard to say no to your kids.”

Oh really? It’s hard being a parent? You seriously didn't decide to have a child because you wanted a best friend, did you? If you wanted a friend, you should have gone with a cat. Maybe a dog if your landlord allows it. It's called parenting, people. Had I been allowed to get ice cream every time the Good Humor truck rolled in to the beach parking lot I'd be as wide as I am tall (okay that's not saying much) and my parents would have been asking the driver if he took MasterCard. But I was told no. Do you know what I did when I was told that? I pouted for .04 seconds before grabbing my shovel and continuing on my sandcastle.

But Mom of The Year wasn’t done yet.

“I’ve had fights with my daughter in the past about it. You kind of feel like it’s pushed on you.”

Pushed on you, huh? Do you know what’s pushed on you? EVERYTHING. You live in New York FREAKING City, where every possible inch of real estate is plastered with advertisements. Hell, there’s a neighborhood that is famous for its ads. I can't walk three feet in this town without seeing an advertisement for The Hangover, some overpriced (and vacant) luxury condo, or Bud Light...all while getting bugged by a vegan-only-eating bum for my spare change. Should Jameson be at fault for advertising on your child’s subway to school? Should Starbucks be condemned for setting up shop on every corner in sleep-deprived Midtown? Lady, it’s called doing business. I commend the entrepreneurs who spent thousands of dollars for the right to be next to your precious park. It’s not like they’re selling drugs or anything.

“It’s one thing if they’re just in the neighborhood, but to be here by contract [with the city], they might as well be selling drugs.”

You. Have. To. Be. Kidding.

Let us pause a moment to really let that sink in. Can we move on now? Should we even? We should and we shall.

Not to worry, crappy parents. Assemblyman Felix Ortiz is coming to your rescue.

“If they are not providing different choices and alternatives for our kids, then they do not belong there."

There are different choices. Tell your child, "No you can't have ice cream, dinner is in an hour." Be a PARENT. Mind you, Mr. Ortiz will get behind any "good" cause included but not limited to taxing dancers of the night, terrible parenting (oh the irony), insane campaigns taxes meant to curb underage drinking, and more insane taxes on video games and movies. And oh yeah I almost forgot- alcohol ads on subways are in Mr. Ortiz's line of sight. Pretty soon the only ads you'll be seeing on your ride to work will be for bunion surgery. Are those images not more damaging?

I'll let a random Mr. Softee's driver plead the case of all drug-pushing, chocolate cone-dipping criminals out there:

“We’re not pushing anybody to eat ice cream. As a parent, you have to know how to say no.”

Case closed.

Look at all of the children getting their way!

Jersey for the night, Boston this weekend.

We're heading to Boston this weekend for TK's graduation so I'm home for the night in NJ. I met up with long partner in crime Stevie for a few cold ones. Things have never been the same since Tony & Rosemary's closed, so we gave Falconer's Smokey Joe's NJ Bar & Grill a shot. The newest joint to take over the now defunct Falconer's, NJ Bar & Grill has promise. Hopefully they sell as many entrees as they do Miller Light bottles. But their bread winner might just be their "I love NJ" shirt currently for sale. How many ways are there to say YES?



Today's runner up pictures:

NJ Transit connection in Dover

The 5 pounds of coffee I brought home for the fam.

The obnoxiously large bag I received from the NHL shirt for a lousy t-shirt for no other reason than the fact that it was the coolest bag from a marketing standpoint I've seen in a long time.

Not quite a Hallmark holiday, but a marketer's dream nonetheless.

So today was Cinco de Mayo, a Mexican holiday celebrated in America by millions of people of Mexican decent and millions more who need a reason to shoot tequila on a week day. Chipotle and Qdoba sales were up and Jose Cuervo sold like hot cakes. Wikipedia even suggests that the holiday is anything but a big deal in Mexico, but rather serves as a day of pride for those who now live elsewhere. So raise your nachos and cheese high in the air in honor of another victory over the French. Isn't that really why we celebrate?