Disclaimer - if you are a female reader of my blog, the following passage deals with the admission of behavior by men that women generally hate, if boorish male behavior offends you, don’t read it! Skip to the next entry or come back in a week or two when the thing has been bounced to the archives.

Note to self: You are over 40, your body will no longer tolerate the punishment you heaped upon it in earlier years.

So, this week was interesting in that the hurricane that had been disrupting things for the better part of the last few weeks finally abated to a certain extent. After a day of recovery, I managed to get quite a bit done on Wednesday. Thursday was a whirlwind of activity in the city. Friday is where the reminder comes in.

On Wednesday during a trip over to Port Chester I managed to drop in to Pat’s Hubba Hubba which I have mentioned previously. Pat’s is one of those places you go to at about two in the morning when your looking for something particularly foul and greasy to take your mind off the fact you’ve indulged in far more alcohol than you really should. Rather than take that trip over to Pat’s, I actually managed to get their signature chili for takeout.

Pat’s chili is something unique. It has the mark of all good tasting food that’s incredibly bad for you - the rich orange oil that oozes around it. It’s hot and somewhat greasy but, it makes a good condiment for hot dogs and fries (two other power foods in the PJ diet).

Anyway, in the middle of the afternoon on Friday, I managed to sit down and have lunch (which was the aforementioned chili dogs and fries), I don’t do it often but, I did it Friday afternoon.

Friday night it was into the city for Jack’s bachelor party. I tried to help Jack organize something - I’m not the best man or anything (his father is) but, I like Jack and I knew he wanted to do something before he got married. Here’s the rub though, over the last few years I’ve become much more of a homebody. I don’t really go out in the city anymore (not like I used to anyway) so, my memory of places to go is somewhat dated.

We started out at the Jade Lounge (which used to be the East Side Ale House). Now, the Jade Lounge is nice (actually, quite nice) but, it wasn’t what the East Side Ale House was. Anyway, during our sojourn at the East Side Ale House, it became apparent that our next stop for the evening (a topless joint) had closed at some point. It was a place Jack and I were both familiar with from our days at Grey but, I guess that’s a lot longer time ago than I realized.

In any event, maybe it’s a good sign I don’t know where there are topless bars anymore. My favorite place - Billy’s is now a bagel store - as much as I liked Rudy that’s just a crime. Well, one of the guys suggested Hooters and off we went.

Hooters was actually quite the disappointment. Contrary to what I had imagined, it was actually quite (for lack of a better word) stale. Hooters actually made me pine for the days when there was a Playboy Club up on 60th Street. Hooters is famous (among other things) for it’s wings and of course, we ordered a big plate...

...and that’s where the problem came in. I’m just not a kid anymore and I don’t have an iron gut. I didn’t chow down or anything, I had maybe four or five wings (a mixture of the hot and the medium) but, coming on top of the chili I had had earlier in the afternoon, the combination was akin to setting off an atomic bomb in my stomach which remained with me for the rest of the evening.

Combine this with what seemed to be an incredibly hot and sticky night for New York in September and I can honestly say I wasn’t a happy camper walking around the streets of New York looking for a bar to get Jack a lap dance in.

We wound up checking out three places. Put off by the cover charge of the first two, we wound up in the bar which for months I would look down on from my window at my old job. We went in and all the women were beautiful, all nude and looking to separate a fool from his money.

No alcohol though and nowhere near the ambiance of Billy’s.

Everyone bought Jack a lap dance (in some cases more than one) and by the end of the evening he had been satiated in a way only men can understand. He had the stupid, mindless grin of a man who has succumbed to his libido.

It was a good thing we wound up at the place as I think it salvaged the evening in a big way.

Me, I like looking at naked women - there I said it. I’ve liked it ever since art school (and before that I’m sure), women are just a lot of fun to watch (although, it does seem that many more women have breast jobs now than I could ever remember - it makes the ladies without the work stand out all the more).

At the end of the evening, Jack seemed pretty happy so, in that I guess it was a big success.