Not many people who still value their livers spend Monday night on a solo, self-imposed pub-crawl.
But then again, not many people are Marty Wombacher, the thirsty gentleman behind drinking blog "A Guy walks into 365 Bars."
Actually, of the many rules Marty has been adhering to since his one-man booze quest began on Jan. 11 -- one new bar per night, a three-drink minimum per establishment -- a pub-crawl has not been one of them.
However, that's just what the Peoria, Illinois, native found himself on last night.
After Chelsea lit hangout The Half King barred him from taking pictures of its logo, it was off to find a more hospitable bar, one eager to aid him in his valiant effort to document authentic New York drinking life.
"Let's just walk into the first bar we see," the affable Midwesterner said while ambling up 10th Ave., still sporting a shiner that resulted from a wild Easter Sunday at East Village liquor lair Mars Bar.
Contrary to what you'd think, the battle scar wasn't delivered by one of the infamous dive bar's rough-and-tumble patrons (he'd made sure to endear himself to the inebriated crowd with a couple pies from Two Boots Pizza), but was instead sustained hours later in the safety of his own apartment, after the over-served blogger fell off his lofted bed.
Last night, though, Marty was very much back on his feet, hustling in and out of bars that kept asking him not to take photos.
"You must be a jinx!" he joked, razzing this reporter hitched for the ride. "This is my 86th night on the job and this has never happened!"
Finally, of course, a bar complied, 23rd St's non-descript West Side Tavern, which Marty dug for its laid back crowd and no-frills ambiance.
"I like a bar that's quiet enough to meet people in," he said, taking in the space with an approving nod.
A woman named Siri, fresh off her waitress gig around the corner, sipped a cocktail at the bar and chatted with Marty while she waited for her friend to arrive from London; a foursome took a break from their game of pool to pose around the red felt table for his digital camera; and a trio of dudes -- Bo, Fred and Damian -- enthusiastically discussed what city he should hit next.
Following a few more rounds, Siri’s friend waltzed in and Damian amicably reached over, offering Marty a beer and a shot of Jameson.
Despite the nightly socializing, a year-long imbibing schedule that never sees you hit the same bar twice can be taxing on new friendships.
"Sometimes you form these bonds with people, and they ask you to come back the next night, and all you can say is, 'I'll see you in year!'" Marty said with a smile and a shrug, before taking another slug of his Miller Lite.
