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Pool is weird. Back
in the day I used to go to Hollywood
Billiards, managing to play at a table right next to Will Smith,
and often scratching as young actresses bent over to retrieve their
balls. Amsterdam Avenue is a far cry from Hollywood Boulevard, and
Mr. Smith and my hot actress friends couldn't be further from this
joint if it was a gallon of full fat milk. This place looks more like
a Dungeons and Dragons convention than a Baywatch audition--complete
with ponytails and collapsible staffs. The difference here, besides
the lack of females, glut of pleated khakis, and the many Rush CDs
hidden away in Jansport backpacks, is that these guys take the "sport"
seriously, while the folks in L.A. just play to have something to
do before going out drinking, carousing or generally doing something
ultimately more satisfying. Carrying a pool stick in a little leather
case says to girls the same thing a box of tissues and giant pump
bottle of Jergens by the bed do: I haven't been on a date with a woman
ever. There's just something sad and desperate about this place, and
the little nooks with their couches and televisions don't exactly
cry out to the ladies. The odd thing is the attractive, but slow,
barmaid who must get entirely sick of the dudes in their "I Love Trinity"
Matrix t-shirts staring at her like she was a mint condition Boba
Fett in its original packaging. [MF]
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