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Showing posts from February, 2008

The Apple In Winter

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The Apple In Winter: Irish Music in New York.
One of the great lost albums of New York's musical heritage, is recorded 25 years ago on Green Linnet Records.
The man in the middle is Tony DeMarco in 1981.




11th Street Bar, January 2008.
Tony Demarco looks like he could be an associate of the Gambino family, though his line of work is legitimately more lucrative; he is a commodities trader on the New York Board of Trade.
Tony DeMarco is New York Irish though his last name belies his heritage. He grows up in Brooklyn with an Italian father and Irish mother.
Italians and Irish intermarry for generations. Their shared Catholic religion lubricates the relations.
And the Italian women are eager to sign-off their multi-syllable surnames for names like Flynn, as my cousin Diane exchanges for Vigliotti.

I run into Tony a few times around town, always below 14th Street. Last I see him is at NYU’s Glucksman Ireland House for a Brendan Mulvihill concert.
Brendan Mulvihill's father teaches I…

Whack Pack at the Wing Shack

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I go to Hooters for the first time last week. I’ve worked in the building next door for two years, but never visit.

The Hooters founder, Robert Brooks dies last year from natural causes. His obituary tells how he invites the ministers of his church to visit his wholesome restaurants.

Sure enough, there are a bunch of kids running around and their mothers chasing them crawling up the steps.

Is there anything more motherly than mammaries?

I can’t fault Hooters. In fact I like it. The chain is born 25 years ago in Clearwater, Florida, and on Broadway the bright airy restaurant has a sun-kissed Florida feel that doesn’t scream corporate. It's one of the few places in the City where you don't notice you're in New York.

Might as well be Macon, Georgia.

The waitresses wear bright orange briefs; they look like roller derby rejects. I vote for mini-skirts. They might look better with the Miami tan colored leggings that cover their goose bumps. The problem is old as fire itself. From cave…