Well, that tears it.
If I ever had even the slightest shred of respect for this assface who ended up being the mayor of New York, that scrap has officially been trodden upon, smashed into the mud, dug back up, used as a handkerchief for one of the dirt-encrusted men who sleep on the subway, made into a bird's nest, eaten, digested, and excreted by a large, feral cat, and flushed down the sewers.
Correct me if I am wrong, but might there be more important problems to deal with at the moment than banning smoking in bars? Why, exactly, is this mayoral fuck concentrating on issues like this? Why has he spent so much effort on getting this smoking ban through, but when it comes to an imminent transit strike, the best he has to say is "Ride your bike to work!" (For those of you unaware, as I would have been before I first visited New York, a transit strike means that nobody can get anywhere. Getting to work would involve an hour walk, a theoretical ferry ride, and another hour walk.)
Could it be said that there is nothing I would enjoy LESS than going to a bar, squeezing my way through the crowd, ordering a drink, finding a seat, and then finding that I had to get back up, squeeze back through the crowd, give up my seat, lose my drink, and go outside into the fucking snow in the middle of fucking winter to have a god damned cigarette?
If I wanted my dad to tell me what to do, I would have stayed five years old. New York is going to L.A. in a handbasket.