Joe Ardizzone Probably Shouldn’t Be Bartending

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Since starting this blog, I’ve at times been accused of misogyny. I dunno how that’s possible. In my business, it’s a woman’s world plain and simple. So, to counter my seemingly frequent exploitation of attractive female bartenders, tonight I’m gonna show y’all naysayers wrong and highlight a man wif strumf (in the immortal words of Blaine Edwards). This is fellow Bartender Joe Ardizzone up in the Brandy’s Piano Bar heezy. Joe likes singing – a lot. I don’t know Joe personally, and I’ve never stepped foot in Brandys, but I suspect he also fancies fancy craft beers and extravagant meals at least as much as I do. But, that’s besides the point. Joe absolutely kills Creep in smashing operatic style. At this point – given his stupendous talent – Joe should probably be auditioning for The Voice, backing up Il Volo, or worst case, making serious coin belting out tunes at the West 4th St. Subway platform or something.

I was introduced to Thom Yorke by way of Creep in 1993 – at the height of my “Wolf of Wall Street” penny stock shenanigans out in Melville. That summer, I rented my first house on on Long Island, replete with a half-acre yard and in-ground pool with a spring-board. Hookers, crack, Tony Montana sized mounds of blow, Ciroc, and other Diddy’esque vices is all I knew. I jest – well, kinda.

Anyway, “Creep” and “What’s Up” were endlessly cranking during epic sin-fests in Huntington Station’s own “Ye Olde Grotto.” Fast-forward 20-something years… lo and behold, Radiohead still occupies the upper echelon of my top 10 bands list. Creep still drives me to seek out a cheap prostitute sorrow and tears. I’ve still yet to tap that hot ass trading assistant nor the Assistant Branch Manger’s daughter, both of whom frequently took part in this young broker’s festivities at the time. Obviously, I dwell on that failure till this very day. Oh well. At least I get to fight off their doppelgangers and reminisce about their lovely faces while I get some random strange every now and then. I mean - when I got some random strange. I’m married silly.


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