Thursday, November 4th, 2010—Bar 298

Day 298—Wednesday, November 3rd, 2010
Molly Wee Pub (Originally Headed For Harrington's Bar & Grill)
Yesterday I got an email from someone I met on the bar crawl back in May. I went to the Mug Lounge on May 21st and had a nice conversation with the gentlemen seated next to me. His name is Handel and we had a nice talk at the bar. Well, today Handel sent me an email asking if I had heard that Ruby’s Coney Island Bar is being forced to close by the asshole powers that be at Coney Island. I had heard the sad news from the Grub Street blog the other day. It really sucks, not only are they going to get of Ruby’s, nine other businesses on the Board Walk aren’t getting their leases renewed either. Grub Street has renamed Coney Island, Phoney Island. I thought, “Well, that’s it, another great place gone” and thought there was nothing I could do about it. Well, after reading Handel’s email, I realized there is something that not only I can do, but so can you. There’s a petition out to keep it alive and they’re trying to get at least 10,000 names on it. It literally takes about two minutes and if you’re reading this, would you please click here and sign the petition: Petition to keep Ruby’s Coney Island Bar alive. Thanks and thanks to Handel for the hat tip on the petition. I’ll keep you informed and here’s a link about Ruby’s and the rally they are planning: Amusing The Zillion.

Okay, on to bar business. Today was my first day back to work and I’m here to prove that karma does indeed exist, because tonight it kicked my motherfucking ass to the ground. Last Monday I tauntingly wrote the following words: “Are you at work right now? Too bad for you, because I've got the day off! So I slept in...” I’ll never brag about having the day off again, tonight was a nightmare, rush jobs and a lot of work. It’s a little after two in the morning and I’m just now getting out of here. I was out late last night and had to get up early, so I was hoping for an easy night, but no such fucking luck. Luckily there’s that stretch of bars just a block from where I work. As I’ve written about all of them before, they’re all just pretty much your standard, ordinary bars, they all have one thing that appeals to me on a night like this: They’re all about two minutes away. Let’s go before I collapse.

This is the last bar on the strip that I haven't gone to. It's kind of a generic bar, but I called them about an hour ago and they said they were open until 4am. So let's go get this thing over.

There's just one little problem though, it's closed. Motherfucker! I called and they said they'd be open. You know, I don't mind if you bill yourself as a four o'clock bar and close early because it's slow, but if someone calls have the fucking courtesy to say you're not going to be open. What an asshole bar this place is. Fuck them, they look like a retarded Applebees anyway. Luckily I know of another bar right down the block, let's hope this place is open or I could be searching for awhile. Oh...FUCK YOU HARRINGTONS! You monkey-fucker of a bar, you!

Ahhh, the lights are on at the Molly Wee. Too-rah-loo-rah-loo-rah!

And there's a decent crowd in here for this early Thursday morning. My kind of people!

Paul was the friendly bartender on duty who not only posed in action behind the bar...

He came around to the other side to have a picture taken with the lovely Adriana and Andre who were visiting New York from Brazil. I told them there were many followers of the 365 blog in Brazil, so it was nice to feature them here.

And not to be outdone, I posed with the Brazillian couple as well. Hey, what's that white dot on my forehead?

Wooden tables and chairs line the wall opposite the bar.

Uh, Molly Wee? Halloween's over, time to trade those pumpkins in for turkeys or something else.

A different kind of wearin' of the Guinness.

Here's Andy, Kendall and Joe who were seated next to me at the bar. They wished me well on the 365 journey.

Here's a shot of the bar from the opposite end. Let's go see who this guy is.

It's Jim, who was having a quick beer before getting his train back home to Long Island. He told me he had had a long day and I told him I knew how he felt.

All of a sudden this guy came in. He looked like a cross between a leperchaun and one of Santa's elves that had just escaped an alcohol intervention.

Of course since I attract freaks like a magnet, he sat next to me. He babbled in my ear, but I'm not sure what he said because he had a thick Irish accent and I think this was his 345th drink of the night. He toasted to no one, but I'm sure it didn't matter.

And then, I swear I'm not making this up, he put on every song by Abba on the jukebox and started to dance to the tunes.

Sometimes in the night things happen and you know it's not going to get any weirder than this, so you might as well just go the fuck home and get some sleep. This was one of those moments.

A quick look out the window and I'm on my way. Goodnight, everybody!

Review

Okay, I have to get back to work and hopefully the hours won’t be too bad tonight. But once again I’m running late, so I’ll post a review of the Molly Wee from New York magazine.

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If Michael Flatley sold time shares in Boca, he'd close his deals here. Back in the Dinkins era, this was a grittily authentic and scruffy Irish bar. Scrubbed down and cleaned up, much like its Penn Station surroundings, Molly Wee now sports a character so neutral that its Irish flavor seems more a corporate gimmick than a palpable identity. Bright and airy, with spotless tile floors, six noiseless TVs and a digital jukebox whispering Van Halen and Bon Jovi, Molly Wee salutes its roots with 15 tap selections covering a predictable range of big-name Irish brews like Harp, Guinness, and Bass. More Sbarro-meets-Bennigan's than Tommy Makem's, Molly Wee primarily draws a post-MSG crowd nowadays; the countless 9/11 memorial tcotchkes hanging from every shiny surface might be the most prominent reminder that you're still in New York City. — Robert Bourne

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And suddenly...work. Fuck. Sneeze you tomorrow.

Molly Wee Pub
402 Eighth Ave. (@30th St.)
212-967-2627