Day 167—Friday, June 25th, 2010
Mustang Sally's
Friday night’s have been tough to do since the beginning of this blog way back in January. Most bars are too crowded and noisy to talk to people and take pictures of them. And the one’s that aren’t are a little boring sometimes. Saturdays were tough as well, but I feel I’ve fixed that problem by going earlier and getting a cheeseburger and have that be the main focus of the blog. But Friday’s continued to haunt me (as witnessed in last Friday’s entry.) But I think I’ve finally figured out a way to do Friday nights, get photos, feature a bar and still have it be fun. What I’ve decided to do is to take shots of a bar from that night and the captions will be dialogue from a character in the movie. Just like we’re out drinking with that character. I think it’ll be fun, we’ll test it out tonight.
A couple days ago in the Subway Inn post I mentioned the character Frank Booth from the movie, “Blue Velvet.” I love this movie and Dennis Hopper should be awarded a lifetime Academy Award for bringing this character to life. It’s one of the most twisted and dark movies I’ve ever seen. If you haven’t seen the movie you should, Bravo named it the 84th scariest movie of all time:
And here’s a primer on Frank courtesy of Wikipedia: Frank Booth. Okay, get your gasmasks ready, because tonight, we drink with Frank Booth at nearby Mustang Sally’s!
Hey, no smile for Frank? No? OK. Fuck it. Let's go.
What kind of beer do you like to drink, neighbor?
Heineken? Fuck that shit! Pabst Blue Ribbon!
Don't toast to my health, toast to my fuck!
Where's the glasses? That beer's gonna get warm. One thing I can't fuckin' stand is warm beer. It makes me fuckin' puke!
Shut up! It's Daddy, you shithead! Where's my bourbon?
Suave! Goddamn you're one suave fucker!
Ah, shit, let's drink to something else. Let's drink to fuck. Yeah, say, "Here's to your fuck, Frank.”
I'll send you a love letter! Straight from my heart, fucker! You know what a love letter is? It's a bullet from a fucking gun, fucker! You receive a love letter from me, you're fucked forever! You understand, fuck? I'll send you straight to hell, fucker!
No I want you to fuck it. Shit, yes, pour the fuckin' beer.
Ain't that right, Tits?
Be polite!
Let's hit the fuckin' road!
Now it's dark.
Review
Mustang Sally’s is a little bit like their down the street neighbor, Mustang Harry’s—a little on the bland side. But to some, that’s not always a bad thing. The crowd is a mix of tourists, commuters having a few for the road before they hit Penn Station and people either going to or coming from an event at Madison Square Garden. The bar is long and wooden and there’s giant wooden booths off to the side of it, where you can dine and drink. There’s lots of TV’s for the many sports fans that occupy this joint at any given time. You won’t find any grizzled regulars here, but the mood is friendly and most nights you can catch a seat at the bar.
It’s a full bar and they have a kitchen with a large menu. It’s pretty much your standard pub grub consisting of burgers, wings and chicken sandwiches, but a few things that stand out on the menu are a chicken pot pie, a Cuban sandwich and Irish Whiskey Chicken. Happy hour happens Monday through Friday from 3pm to 6pm and it offers, four dollar orders of wings, four buck McSorlely’s and shots of Jameson for, yes, that’s right, four dollars.
They have Heineken, but sadly no Pabst Blue Ribbon. So I guess Frank Booth won’t be coming back.
Now it’s dark.
Mustang Sally's
324 Seventh Ave. (Near 28th St.)
212-695-3806