TIME OUT

Fresh in from Austin, Patrick wants something “low-key” (this coming from a guy who was once escorted from a petting zoo). So I take my doraphobic friend to the Time Out Sports Bar (1400 Shepherd, 713-863-8865), a bipolar Heights dive with personality to spare. While the stools are usually lined with regulars blue-collar folk with things on their mind and a drink close by the rest of the place is littered with B-movie look-alikes: Frank Stallone is playing pool in Reebok Pumps and skintight stonewashed jeans; Tommy Chong looks pissed losing at the air hockey table; and Tom Selleck (i.e., me) is abusing my friend at the dartboard. Patrick laughs as he finishes the game, pointing out that a) Magnum wouldn’t wear a bright yellow T-shirt from Skin Fever’s ’83 tour, and b) I look nothing like him. Before I can make light of his mother’s lazy eye, I hear a far-off rumble that’s soon drowned out by yells at the bar. I ask a green-eyed Argentinean what gives, and she points to an old sign above the taps: “Hear the train. Yell schnapps. Get schnapps. $1.50.” So I cozy up to the bar and ask for a schnapps that’d please a private investigator; without missing a beat, the bartender sets about whipping up a Washington Apple, heavy on the whiskey. While I’m waiting, Green-Eyes returns unexpectedly, drinks the rest of my water and starts in on some shameless flirting: “That shirt makes you look like an asshole.”

2 1/2 ounces Crown Royal whiskey

1/2 ounce DeKuyper’s Sour Apple schnapps

3 ounces cranberry juice

Dash of olive juice

Pour ingredients together, shake and serve over fresh ice.