Fubar

My first apartment in New York was conveniently located right across the street -- well within stumbling distance -- from the dive bar Fubar at 305 East 50th Street.

I always wondered how the reputedly rowdy tavern -- which the doorman warned me about on move-in day -- got its trade name past the liquor board.

As the Times glossed over today: "It is a military term that, in its polite form, stands for fouled up beyond all recognition." Or, as anyone who has seen the film Saving Private Ryan (or the Stallone classic Tango & Cash) would tell it: "Fucked up beyond all recognition."

The term was an accurate descriptor of the place -- even before Saturday's horrifying crane collapse, which literally pulverized the whole building.  read more »