Taking a Dive: THE RACCOON LODGE

Paid a visit to one of New York's true dive bars last night, The Raccoon Lodge, on Warren Street and West Broadway in the Financial District. Only four or five blocks from Ground Zero, it fits the description of a classic dive. Lots of animal heads on the walls, and the overall feel is kind of cross between a hunting lodge and junkyard garage. If taxidermy is your thing, this is the place.

One of the great mystery bookstores in the world, The Mysterious Bookshop, is across the street and I was there for a reading by two up and coming mystery writers from Boston. After the reading we walked in to the bar hoping to catch the last of CNN's coverage of the Saints' Super Bowl Parade in New Orleans. The staff obliged, and as we watched Drew Brees tossing out Mardi Gras beads to thousands of Saints fans on Bourbon Street, all seemed right with the world.

I ordered Bushmills ($5), and the bartender smiled widely and exclaimed "That's MY drink!" From what I observed the staff attire for ladies was skimpy tanktops with ample tattoos, frosted hair, and heavy make-up. Classic. Drinks are cheap, especially beer - cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon are $2 - and the bartender even asked if we wanted tortilla chips from the Mexican restaurant next door.

The crowd was an interesting mix of working class heroes and suits, young and old, and the mood was upbeat and friendly. No loners crying in their beer in this joint. I noticed a few bookish types from reading also wandered over and were deep in to conversation and Budweiser. My companion was sporting a black Who Dat t-shirt with gold scarf, and it brought smiles and comments from just about everyone. The Big Easy spreading a little love in The Big Apple.

The pool table cracked, video games played, and a loud jukebox pumped out rock hits from the 7os. When Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" came on, the woman next to me at the bar shouted "I fucking love this song!" She sure did. She could have added: "I fucking love this bar."