To Do: Denver

Does Denver have a bad rap? Really, that's a legit question...think about this. What's a negative to Denver? I guess you could say the unpredictable weather, but who doesn't like a little variety? And I'm sorry, does the music scene just offer TOO many options for your melodic palate? Speaking of palates, I guess one could say the insane amount of microbreweries in the area could potentially lead to an awesome overload for your taste buds.

So it's decided then, right? Denver is the place to be? Ok, good. Because I moved there.

When my brother sent me a listing for what can only be surmised as my dream job at the University of Denver, getting the gig seemed farfetched. But when the stars aligned and I got the job, Denver became reality. That nixed any London plans (apologies to my would-be flatmate Sarah, I owe you), but the opportunity was irresistible. Fast-forward a few months later (after interviews, getting hired, giving two-weeks notice in Albuquerque, celebrating, packing, moving, and settling in)—and here I am, in a new house that’s a 15-minute walk from a new office in a new city.

Unlike previous entries, this post will end as purely aspirational—consider it my Denver to-do list (with some action items already crossed off with the help of friends who have been to visit; thanks to Alicia, Kate, Mike and Erin Schelle, Tara, Matt, and Rosie for coming to chill, plus my brother Mark who is usually my pal in painting the town red). In a dynamic city such as this, one can get overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of concert venues, restaurants, bars, theaters, museums, outdoorsy stuff, stores, sporting events, etc. So I’m busting out the post-it notes and creating a 100%-hands-down-have-to-do-this-while-I'm-here list.

But before we get to that list, here are some tried and true locations around town.

To say there are "plenty of bars and restaurants" in the 16^th Street area seems general and hackneyed, but trust me—that's the best way to say it. With tons of options to choose from, you could be bar-hopping for days. Rock Bottom downtown is my top choice, with multiple seating options including a backroom bar, dining area, and patio. The Falling Rock Tap Room prices the menu so with tax it all lands at an even number (great for mathphobics, therefore great for me). If you can withstand some staredowns, The Tilted Kilt is enjoyable. It has a chuckle-worthy name, but the real kicker is that it's a Scottish-themed Hooters. Sitting on the patio in plain daylight (yes, we were day-drinking, don’t judge) proved embarrassing as passersby did double-takes at the servers' attire, or lack thereof...but the British-ness of the joint makes it worth a pit stop.

The Rio offers delicious Mexican fare and uber-strong margaritas that rival Del Charro. At night, it transforms into a trashy disco, so grab a drink at dusk and then hurry across the street to Freshcraft before the sun goes down. The beer selection is staggering, and they offer smaller ounces to get a sample taste. The Yardhouse will be opening up the street in December, and that's a favorite from Phoenix.

Near DU, Jordan’s is slightly overpriced with hit-or-miss service, but the cozy atmosphere and Strongbow on tap make me forget about its indiscretions. For cheap eats and drinks, Pioneer boasts an incredible happy hour, with $3 pint-size margaritas everyday until 7 (plus, it's walking distance to my house...score one for Pioneer). When giving directions to my house, I have the classy privilege of saying "hang a left at Spanky's Roadhouse." This place is far more couth than the name implies, with mouth-watering burgers and a wholesome feel to it. But if you want to get really townie, hit up Smugs around last-call.

The concert and sports scenes in Denver have yet to disappoint. From Ben Folds alongside the Colorado Symphony Orchestra to Ozomatli at The Ogden, from the New York Knicks v. the Denver Nuggets basketball to DU v. Boston College hockey, Denver entertainment keeps my calendar full (with an adverse affect on my bank account).

DU itself is breathtaking. I walk through the green, perfectly-manicured campus with the staggering mountains in the background and I'm truly thankful for living where I live—especially since I can walk to work through quaint, quiet neighborhoods, yet still be a mere 7 miles from the action of downtown Denver.

But enough with the gloating. Without further delay, here is my forever-fluctuating list of things to do in Denver. If you have any suggestions, be sure to let me know! Consider this a living document, in more ways than one.

Concert Venues
Fiddler’s Green
√ Ogden Theater (Guster in January)
Invesco Field at Mile High (U2 in May)
Bluebird Theater
Fox Theater
√ Boettcher Concert Hall

Restaurants
√ Little India (live sitar music and delish chicken tikka? Yes, please!)
Mustard’s Last Stand (have to go for the name alone—it’s a hot dog joint)
Cherry Cricket (featured on Man v. Food)
Snooze (breakfast of champions)
Undici (gotta wait for the parental unit to foot that bill)
√ Le Central (French food and flair at its finest!)
√ Café Berlin (Ich liebe Deutchland!)
Helga’s (my constant craving for German food can finally be satiated)
Twin Dragon (best Chinese restaurant in Denver? We’ll see.)
Middle Eastern Row (a block of Middle Eastern restaurants on Colorado Blvd.)

Bars
Streets of London
√ The Fainting Goat
√ Pint’s Pub
√ Jordan’s
√ Crimson and Gold
√ Pioneer Pub
The British Bulldog
√ Bull and Bush Pub
Campus Lounge
Stadium Inn
√ Spanky’s Roadhouse
Bonnie Brae’s
Hade’s

Museums
Denver Art Museum (DAM!)
Colorado Ski Museum (Vail)
Denver Firefighters Museum
√ Santa Fe Art District

Outdoorsy Stuff
√ Washington Park
City Park
Mountains (not quite sure how to enter that in my GPS, but we'll find out)
Vail
Idaho Falls
√ Boulder

Stores
Googie
√ Tattered Cover Book Store
Wax Trax Records
Twist & Shout Music
Cherry Creek Shopping Center
Dave-Co Liquors (Biggest inventory in CO)

Sporting Events
√ DU Hockey
Rockies Baseball
Broncos Football
√ Nuggets Basketball

My Two Cents: The TSA Controversy

In 2006, I wrote an op-ed for The Arizona Daily Star, imploring the TSA to enforce the established airport security rules. The liquid regulation had just taken effect and the PA system continuously reiterated the need to dump your liquids, gels, and aerosol cans. In the article, included below, I indicated that the TSA was always reactive opposed to proactive. So now, four years later, when the authorities are finally being proactive in their approach, I stand by them.

The TSA is catching national flack for invasive pat-downs and incredibly detailed body scanners. My only gripe with the scanners is the potential health risk, which has been debunked considering your flight emits 150 times more radiation than one time through the scanner. I've been through a body scanner more than once at ABQ. Sure, there's an added ten seconds of standing with your arms in the air, but I'm not about to boycott a system that has been established to ensure my safety.

However, I'm not the target market for TSA body scanner protests. I fly about 10 times a year, which is minuscule compared to Up in the Air, but more than the typical family of four who embark on a runway annually for the winter holidays. The people who are enraged over the TSA pat-downs and full body scan system don’t seem to be regular travelers, and their delusions of bunking the system is laughable.

The instigator of the body scanner boycott explains on optoutday.com that they "want families to sit around the dinner table, eating turkey, talking about their experience." Well, that’s not going to happen. If these people opt out, the inevitable delays caused will require them to eat Cheetos from the airport vending machines when they miss their flight. Enjoy Thanksgiving, kids.

There have been reports of improper searches, and it's unfortunate that some TSA employees don't take the moral high ground. However, it also a misguided sweeping generalization to imply all TSA pat-downs are uncouth. While the masses complain that the screening process is inconsistent across the country, I wonder when it has ever been completely standard. I know I can get through TUS faster and with more leeway than PHX. MDW is easier than ORD. LGA is a breeze compared to JFK. ABQ is a delight over DEN. That doesn't make the inconsistency right, but it certainly implies a widespread variation of techniques that work for each individual airport.

This TSA ruckus has obviously turned political, as complainers incite the constitution and their right to a reasonable search. While I understand this argument, it's also ridiculous. You are choosing to fly and therefore choosing to undergo a search. If you refuse the full body scanner, you are subjecting yourself to a pat-down. A simple solution to avoid this: don't refuse the scanner. Empty your pockets. Take off your belt. Avoid carrying change. Don't be a jerk. And if you’re still afraid of ten seconds in a glorified revolving door because one official will see under your clothes? Don't fly.

Airport security has been too lax for too long. And while my tune may change the minute I'm forced into an uncomfortable enhanced pat-down if something goes wrong with the body scanner, for now I thank the TSA for finally being proactive. I prefer an added twenty minutes of inconvenience and a fleeting moment of a stripped scan over the potentially fatal alternative caused by negligent security.

Travel Rules Need to be Enforced;
Published September 2006 in The Arizona Daily Star

Travelers were quickly downing their coffees for the 7 a.m. flight to Los Angeles two weeks ago as the repeating PA system warned against bringing "liquids, gels, or aerosol cans" on board. But passengers were not greeted with strict security as we were led to believe over the past few weeks since the latest liquid rule.

Security on the West Coast was meek Labor Day weekend. It was as if homeland security relaxed the rules instead of strictly enforcing them as made abundantly clear by recent media. It is especially important to have higher security standards when headed to such a busy hub like LAX, which was more stringent than Tucson International Airport when it came to security efforts, but still did not live up to expectations.

Homeland security is always a few steps behind the terrorists; when the shoe bomb threat was thwarted, we took our shoes off and when dangerous liquids nearly made it on board, we dumped our water bottles. Security should be proactive instead of reactive.

Airports across the board cannot simply rely on passengers to adhere to requests to take out liquids or gels opposed to thoroughly checking bags. Terrorists will not feel compelled to throw away any dangerous items before they board because an automatic announcement politely instructs them to do so.

Americans say they are willing to sacrifice a few personal liberties as a way to protect U.S. soil—and skies. That should include time and effort at the airport. Travelers should expect to arrive early to flights so security can do its job. And that job should entail more than a smile and a glance as passengers walk through metal detectors.

Meticulous baggage checks should be administered for all travelers, especially now with the new restrictions against liquids and gels—as ridiculous as that rule may seem to some. Perhaps two check points should be implemented, along with a valid ID check at the gate with the boarding pass. Bags for flights should be limited to one, small, carry-on for essential items only, the rest should be checked.

The x-ray machine should not be the only form of vigilance as passengers go through check points; random searches would be extremely beneficial and that applies to baggage going into storage as well. Society’s slant toward technology could also put safety in jeopardy. E-tickets or automatic check-in counters at the airport are just one less step rebels have to take to get on board without face-to-face interaction.

Though these strategies would be inconvenient for frequent travelers, if homeland security is going to demand harsher rules, then they should be effectively enforced.

Loading Up on Fun: Fort Walton Beach

Once you show proof of identity, get passed the armed guards, drive along the exercise mud pit, and sneak by the explosive device detonation area, you’ll find yourself in Ammo Country. Of course before all that, you need to get to Fort Walton Beach, Florida. And it might help to have a friend in the Air Force.

For the second time in 2010, I found myself walking along the beach with a Starbucks in hand, and this time I was in northern Florida. My Fourth of July weekend exuded patriotism: fireworks by the beach, an American-style cookout, and lots of beer. Can’t say I’ve done all that before, and there’s no other person I’d want to celebrate our country with than my pal Jo, a Second Lieutenant in the United States Air Force (you may remember her from stand-out trips such as Nice, Paris, Grenoble, Dublin: Round One, and a recent stop-by in Denver).

Flying into Pensacola a day late, thanks to an impromptu stop in Abilene to refuel that resulted in a missed connection in Dallas, I was thrilled to touch down along the coast. Pensacola came across as fairly flat and industrial. Surely there are some more impressive parts to it (surely? Maybe not…I don’t know why I’m giving it more credit than it likely deserves), but either way I was pleased to head about an hour east to Fort Walton Beach.

The view from Jo’s house is that of pure envy for anyone who values beauty and seascape. With waves lapping up along the sandy white coast, boats zooming by at high-speed, and sun-bathers lounging on the shore, it was almost hard to believe that the devastation of the BP oil spill was approaching Jo’s backyard. A deep sniff of the seasalt air revealed a hint of oil fume mixed in, and it was a glib reminder of the struggle going on in Florida, Mississippi, Louisiana, and beyond.

Along with a whiff of oil in the air, there was also a noticeable hint of anger from the locals; anger towards BP, the state and federal governments, and the media. Trucks sported signs on the windshields with the number of days since the spill scrawled out, tee-shirts damning BP were selling on the streets and in stores, and beaches were far less populated than a holiday weekend would normally pull in. Jo and I vigorously discussed the overarching issues related to the spill, particularly the response time and steps being made toward resolution. As always, we decided to put politics aside for the rest of the trip—but there’s no denying on either side that the BP oil spill resulted in far-reaching, earth-shattering devastation. You can donate to the Gulf Coast Oil Spill Fund here.

Fort Walton Beach and Destin were still unaffected, but the proper authorities were gearing up for the worst. Areas in Pensacola were already closed, and it was only a matter of time before the oil made its way to Jo’s neck of the beach. We took advantage of the untainted waters for what little time remained.

I don’t subscribe to the no shoes, no shirt, no problem philosophy, so my flip-flops and tee-shirt landed me in the minority while walking along the Destin boardwalk (apologies if “Under the Boardwalk” is now stuck in your head). Plenty of scantily-clad individuals were hanging out on boats, enjoying mid-day margaritas, and making noise on jet-skis. Deemed the “Red-Neck Riviera,” Destin certainly lived up to the stigma. This kind of thing isn’t my scene, but the experience is one worth having every now and then simply to confirm my prejudice remains intact for good reason.

So skip the ski-dudes or whatever they’re called, and go to Destin for the only thing worth going to Destin for: McGuire's Irish Pub. With nearly $1 million worth of singles on the ceiling and walls, this isn’t a classy joint—and that’s fine by me as long as good beer is involved. Jo and I rocked a pitcher of the red microbrew, and got down to business with some custom burgers. From the Skippy peanut butter burger to the hot fudge sundae burger, you can get pretty crazy in your ordering technique. Or you can put on your fancy pants and get a $100 burger that’s fitted with caviar and a bucket of champagne. My $9.99 sharp cheddar and bacon burger suddenly didn’t seem quite as adventurous. Also of note: the 18 cent bean soup…$18 if that’s the only thing you order.

After an obligatory stop at Starbucks, we headed to the ocean. Now, I’m not a very exciting person. It’s ok, I can admit it. I like reading and television and leisurely bike rides. I don’t like surfing or snowboarding or bungee-jumping. Geez, I don’t even have my ears pierced. So taking a quick, unscheduled dip in the ocean fully clothed is as crazy as I want to get, and Jo always brings out the crazy. Of course, three days later I paid for this spontaneous act and needed to get my ears professionally drained at Urgent Care, but whatever. I may not be exciting, but I’m not a fuddy-duddy. Although, I suppose using that turn of phrase automatically makes me one.

Enough about burgers and beaches, let’s get to Ammo Country (aka Eglin United States Air Force Base). It has all the necessities you’d expect at a top military outlet: state-of-the-art gym, gigantore AF flags, and an immaculate commemorative area dedicated to defunct airplanes and helicopters that played integral roles in past operations. It’s all very humbling and I want to express my respect for past and present American armed forces around the world—thank you for all that you do.

That night we enjoyed some flashy fireworks and perfectly grilled steak on the deck, making it the ideal Fourth of July. The next day we crawled our way to The Donut Hole, a hotspot for locals and visiting celebrities alike. About 30 minutes worth of waiting in line proved worth it for some top-notch donuts and coffee. With that, we were all caffed up and raring to go...just in time to head to the airport. My weekend of Fort Walton fun came to a close as I found myself sitting in the Pensacola departure lounge (sunburned) and reading some terrible airport-only book.

Though I don’t anticipate more trips to Florida in the near future, I did enjoy this one. Long holiday weekends and Fourth of July in particular are best spent in someone’s backyard—especially when that backyard is Jo’s and it’s looking out over the ocean.

So Long Smooth Sailin’: Expect Delays

Gone are the days of no delays and easy flights. If you can find a flight that isn’t running late, overbooked, or generally hellacious—I applaud your good fortune, and beseech you to be my good luck travel buddy.

Unfortunately, I’ve been on a lot of trips this year that have gone awry. Nothing catastrophic, but little inconveniences that add up to a giant mistrust of airlines.

Take my flight from Chicago to Denver for instance, during which the captain uttered the words, "Well folks, this has never happened to me before…"

Or a leg from Albuquerque to Dallas that diverted to Abilene for more fuel, then missed the connection resulting in a discounted night at Motel 8 along President George Bush Turnpike.

And then, there’s the impromptu plane-swap in Minneapolis en route to New York City after firetrucks escorted us from the runway back to the gate.

Some of the aforementioned situations were handled with grace, others with demonstrated frustration—and I’m talking about the crew, not me. I try not to make crying in airports a habit (save for my first solo trip to Nice).

So with all the obstacles we face while flying that we can't control, here are some tips to ease the experience that we can control. For the frequent flyer, these are pretty obvious tips, but if it saves even a minute or an ounce of frustration, it’s worth it.

• Never store your carry-on bag in the overhead compartment behind your seat. The ideal sweet spot? Two bins up from yours.
• Don’t fly via Dallas in the summer, Chicago in the winter, or Denver ever.
• Carry a few granola bars as sustenance for when you’re stuck in the air or on the runway—even short flights can have long waits. The exorbitant food prices in airplanes and airports will blow your mind (or at least your wallet).
• Take two books of different genres to cure boredom. Also, take a serious book to cover up that embarrassing Nicholas Sparks novel you’re sporting.
• Never book the last flight of the day if you can help it, and that includes connecting flights. You’ve got to leave room for error, as it seems to be running rampant lately.
• If you’re facing a massive delay, make the decision early if you can take the hotel and voucher deal if offered. People literally jump at the chance, so if you snooze you lose.
• Avoid ice in the drinks for sanitary reasons, but also to avoid spillage and excess liquid. More often than not, the service comes through faster than a college kid can take a shot of Jaeger, let alone allow time for you to finish a full glass of soda.
• Store wheeled suitcases above the 3-seat areas, wheels first. Plus, don’t be the wannabe-macho guy who tries to stuff it in there.
• Ladies—wear pants or long skirts or leggings. Think how many backsides have been in the chair you’re about to cozy up in.
• Long layover? Use Facebook to find friends who might be stuck in the same place. Or better yet, arrange a meet-up with a friend who lives in that city, like Jo and I did in Denver last month.

• Post-trip, use disinfectant wipes to clean up the bottom of bags and purses that hit the ground at any point during the trip.
• Load up the ipod with tunes and juice—there are usually outlets by the check-in counter or by water fountains.
• Shut your phone off before you board, when you have elbow room to find it. Bonus! You won’t be that annoying passenger talking on a cell phone!
• As for shoe wear, aim for comfort and convenience. No flips, tie-ups, heels, etc. The convenience factor is big for the people behind you in the security line, waiting for you to loop the rabbit ears. And the sound of clicking heels running through the corridors might act as a good warning system for people to move out of your way, but how comfortable could you possibly be?
• Book your seat in the back of the plane for a better chance of snagging an empty one beside you, plus it’s safer.
• Check the seatback ahead of you as soon as you sit down, if your magazine is missing, steal your neighbor’s before they show up.
• Never open Sky Mall. The temptation is too grand, and so are the prices.

The ultimate tip? Keep cool when faced with a nuisance, as there are bound to be plenty of them. Control what you can, and if you see me on your flight, expect delays. Happy flying.

Finding Leisure on Business: Chicago

Ferris Bueller. Pizza. Oprah. Hot dogs. Barack Obama.

Ok, that’s the list. That’s all I knew about Chicago before I landed at Midway. Terrible, isn’t it? Food, a fictional character, and someone who wields more power than most countries combined (I’m talking Oprah, not Barack).

I’ve flown via Chicago many times, but for all the landings and take-offs made at O’Hare and Midway, I never stuck around to explore the city itself. Up until June, my only views of Chi-Town were through the eyes of Steve Urkel in Family Matters or through the eyes of an E.R. in well, E.R..

Cue the Internet Retailer Conference & Exhibition.

Earlier this month, my company sent me to Chicago for the IRCE—a gathering of about 7,000 nerdy internet-lovers who sell random stuff online (from scuba gear to underground swimming pools, wrestling shoes to jewelry). Though I spent most of my time in an overly air conditioned McCormick Place convention center, I did manage to escape at night and do my duty as a travel blogger.

Our hotel, the illustrious Downtown Travelodge, was about a 20 minute/$30 cab ride from the airport. Not to say I highly recommend it. Reading reviews the night before proved to be a mistake, as they lamented the place for the bedbugs and rude staff. I was on edge all night, wondering if the mysterious little bed monsters would attack, but luckily, there were neither bedbugs nor discourtesy. But keep in mind, the place isn’t exactly Shangri-La.Its one saving grace was the excellent location—smack dab in the middle of the Columbia College scene, the area was brimming with youth. With a Starbucks around every corner and a group of twentysomethings carrying lattes around every other corner, it was a fun vibe. Restaurants were everywhere and the Hilton up the street had a shuttle to the convention center (I lusted after the glorious Hilton, clean and lavish and out of price range).

Though you’re surrounded by brilliant architecture and honking cars, you’re also not far away from nature with Lake Michigan splashing up on the shores of downtown. Leafy green parks abound and there’s an odd sense of calm throughout the third busiest city in America. Until, of course, the Blackhawks win the Stanley Cup and all hell breaks loose.

I started to fall in love with Chi-Town as soon as I took to the streets—they were clean and seemingly familiar, with interesting storefronts lined up along the broad avenues. Even abandoned spaces for lease were interesting, as they became makeshift art galleries for local artists. And the people? Couldn’t be more pleasant. It seems like a half-hearted, lackluster statement, but honestly, Chicagoans were incredibly nice. But before I fell completely head over heels, I had to sample the food. …and it passed with flavorful flying colors.

From deep-dish pizza at Lou Malnati’s to a pub-style dinner at Miller’s, from heaping bowls of pasta at Oprah’s favorite downtown haunt Pizano’s, to delicious green curry at Tamarind, the food scene was delectable and affordable. Every meal tallied under $20, including beer or wine, and nothing fell short of the high expectations I assigned.

Chicago is also home to a few eminent entities: the Cubs, the White Sox, and my friend Anna of blogging fame—we might be the only two people from our senior capstone class to keep up with our assignments; see her awesome music blog at http://popapocalypse.blogspot.com/.

Anna and I met up at the overpriced, over-the-top, over-hyped BIG Bar in the Hyatt Regency hotel. The view was spectacular, the inappropriately named “big” drinks were not. We risked looking like the sorority-type girls we disdained in college and ordered cosmos. At $13 a pop, you’d expect a bucket of booze, but when the rinky-dinky martini glasses arrived, it was a reality check that we were in the middle of a city. Of course they were $13 a pop. Of course they were tiny. It was downtown Chicago and happy hour isn’t in a hotel bar’s vocabulary. We switched to beer and I was grateful for my per diem.

I always appreciate being in a place where you can hail a cab the minute you step onto the sidewalk (especially after a martini or two, no matter how small they are). Chicago was chock full of cabbies, but had several alternatives to the typical taxi route. Downtown was certainly manageable to walk, and even though the CTA trains had a knack for waking me up every hour on the hour, the benefits of such an extensive public transportation system didn’t escape me.

You could rack up dozens of culture points in Chicago, with the Museum of Contemporary Art, the Museum of Science and Industry, and here in Chi-Town, even improv comedy troupes could ramp up your cultural score. The Second City comedy enterprise originated in Chicago, and churned out the likes of Steve Carell, Chris Farley and my personal hero, Stephen Colbert.


Going on a trip without any prior knowledge of the city you’re landing in (beyond the fictional and celebrity-fused tidbits you pick up throughout a lifetime), is actually a refreshing concept. I’m so used to rigorously searching Wikipedia and planning details from beginning to end online, that doing it the old-fashioned way was fun and invigorating. Perhaps, that’s just the “Old Chicago” way.

New York: At Night

When your high school buddy/college roommate is planning to get married, an epic pre-wedding bash must go down. I was lucky enough to be a bridesmaid in my friend Whitney's wedding (it was amazing by the way, but more on the Ruidoso weekend in the next blog post). Being a party-throwing specialist, the duty of arranging a legendary bachelorette weekend rested upon me. After a flurry of e-mails with fellow bridesmaids and a rigorous debate about the desired location, we all agreed on New York City.

There’s a vibe in NYC that keeps you electrified. A buzz, a current, a momentum you can’t feel anywhere else. I used to think that was bullshit, but a couple nights in the city for the bachelorette shin-dig changed my mind. I’m still not a Big Apple convert; my favorite cities remain to be London (Big Ben), Toronto (Big Tower), and Paris (Big Museum)…no big apples in sight. But I’ve warmed up to the city that never sleeps…it might be lukewarm, but that’s still better than ice cold.

Last time I hit the streets of NYC was the summer of 2007, so it was due time I returned to get my decent pizza fix. On Friday we all swarmed the city at various times from various directions. A delayed flight in Minneapolis due to a broken plane (yikes!)* got me in around 6 p.m. so I headed straight for the taxi line. I chose to fly into LGA on account of the cheap $230 flight I booked via Expedia.com and its proximity to our hotel. One $25 cab ride later and I found myself at the Eastgate Tower Hotel.

*props to Delta, who not only gave each person a $100 voucher due to the inconvenience, but also provided us with free wine once we finally made it to 32,000 feet.

A small lobby and an old-fashioned interior had me worried at first, but then I laid eyes on our two-bedroom suite booked for around $340 per night: a kitchen, large living room with full dining table, two bedrooms, and two bathrooms. For eight girls, we had just enough bed space to be comfortable. And the best part? Location, location, location! We were a brief walk away from Grand Central Station and had we all worn sensible shoes, we probably could have walked to Times Square.

After a quick post-plane make-up check, we hopped on the subway for $1.25 one way. If you plan on using the subway throughout your stay, invest in a multi-trip metro card for the duration. But also keep in mind that taxis? Not that expensive. Really…they’re not. Especially if you’re on the subway, realize you’re going in the wrong direction, and need to use up another one-way ride. Mistakes like that can add up, whereas taxis know where they’re going (usually).

Times Square screams consumerism. There’s glitz and glamour and a whole lot of electricity pumping through the veins of the heart of NY, and it’s all worth it for the utterly stupefying scene. Once the sun sets, wander around in awe among the throngs of people. You can spot the tourists straight away—they’re the ones with their mouths open and heads up, staring at the modern age in all its ridiculous glory. Stop in to the Times Square Visitor’s Center and catch a glimpse of the not-so-massive-in-real-life New Year’s Eve ball.

Tickets to a Broadway show were close to sold out, so we spent $30 on an improv comedy act at HA! LMAO (163 W 46th Street)—well, somehow I got in for free, but don’t count on sneaking in with a gaggle of girls who already pre-paid. There are tons of criers along Times Square shouting at you to attend (here’s a hint to shut them up: say you already went the night before and it was hilarious). It was surprisingly funny, albeit brief, but the best part was the $10 long island iced teas with at least $20 worth of booze inside. We appreciated the improv guys calling on our bachelorette to join them on stage, but due to the family-friendly atmosphere, the content was fairly tame. If you want to rock a riskier comedy club, I recommend a late-night show that isn’t afraid to drop an F-bomb when necessary.

Per the advice of one of the stand-up comics, we hit up Bourbon Street (346 West 46th Street) a few blocks off Times Square. The joke was on us because this wannabe-trendy bar looked like a hyped up TGI-Friday’s with louder music and a restaurant vibe. We did an about-face and wandered a bit aimlessly through the streets of NYC (during which we encountered delicious pretzels, nice old ladies, and plenty of amused stare-downs considering Whit was in her bachelorette veil).

Just when we thought our meandering was fruitless, we stumbled upon the coolest place to be in New York City; a new, hip bar? No. A crazy dance club? Nope. A fusion of the two? No way. It was the FDNY at 51st Street and 3rd Avenue. We only wanted directions and ended up staying an hour; what a sight to see: a massive group of dolled-up gals in heels chatting with real life NYC firefighters. Passersby were taking pictures of us, as we snapped pictures of one another sliding down the pole and posing on the truck. One of the guys even walked us over to a nightclub and got us in past the huge line. Now that’s service.

The night led us to Bar 515 (515 3^rd Avenue), a crowded bar with decent Cape Cods and a forgettable atmosphere. The most memorable part about this place was the bouncer—a guy who grew up 10 miles from my hometown and played basketball with my brother. It’s amazing what you can discover with a little chit-chat while checking ID’s.

Joshua Tree (513 3rd Avenue) next door was far more raucous, with a rockin’ 80’s theme and plenty of sing-along dancing to go around. It was that perfect balance of bar and club, in that I didn’t mind being there and the bouncy girls that joined me seemed to hit their dance quota for the night.

We got a late start the next day, had our caffeine fix at a Starbucks up the street, and then headed to the MET. Here’s a tip: it’s free to get in, but there is a $10 suggested donation for students; and in cases such as these, I’m always a student. Funnily enough, I saw the same exhibit the last and only time I was at the MET, and that was the Egyptian mummies in 1995. But it’s always a pleasure to wander through the MET.

After receiving some cultural points, we hurried over to the event of the day: the Sex and the City Tour. It had everything you would expect: a long line of trendy girls, a peppy tour guide, and stops around NYC that were featured in the TV series and films. It included a free cupcake and there were discounted cosmos at “Scout,” a bar seen in the show. If you’re a die-hard fan, I’d recommend it. If you’ve only caught a glimpse of SatC, skip it and save your $40 for a cute pair of shoes (Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha would all approve).

Back to NYC nightlife. The main event ended up being the most disappointing; we had 10 p.m. reservations at Lucky Chengs (24 1st Avenue), a drag-cabaret-dinner show. Oh yes…all three, wrapped into one. There were hoards of people up front and we weren’t seated until 10:30. Being there were ten of us, we were forced to select from a family-style menu of mediocre, heart-burn-inducing food. The “show” itself consisted of a screeching transvestite reiterating expletives and lacking any wit. They primarily relied on audience participation and awkward lap dances ensued. Lucky Cheng’s is not for the faint of heart. It’s also not for a boozed-up bachelorette party, apparently. An exorbitant bill confirmed suspicions that this place is a huge rip-off and should be avoided like the diseases one might find in their lackluster bathroom.

Surviving Cheng’s called for a major change in atmosphere, and we got one at Ella (9 Avenue A) in the East Village. A long, narrow bar up top and a small, crowded dance room below brought about an interesting mix of people. Up the street, we came across One and One (12 1st Avenue), another bar/club combo that could appeal to all tastes within our party. While there, I met up with Alana and John, two friends I grew up with in Morris, NY. It has become somewhat of a tradition to rendezvous in the city, and I appreciate their effort to find the random bar I happened to be in.

Only in NYC can you meet friends at 2 a.m. and proceed to bar-hop into the morning hours. There are two sister bars on 1st Avenue that are worth checking out; one is called Karma, the other is Sutra. We tried the latter and discovered it was also a hookah bar, allowing for a quieter, more relaxed ambiance.

But truly the best experience came in the form of late-night NY-style pizza. There’s nothing else like it the world over; I wake up in the middle of the night craving the cheesy, crusty, carb-loaded stuff topped with pepperoni that overflows with pools of grease. If you’re the type to dab your slice with a napkin to soak up the extra oil, don’t waste your time on NY pizza. If you like to load your pie down with buckets of toppings, rendering it more like a glorified stir-fry, skip NY pizza. If you find Domino’s and Pizza Hut pay homage to truly authentic Italian cuisine, NY pizza is not for you. Any of the aforementioned faux pas are insults to New Yorkers.

By 4:30 a.m. the streets grew a bit quiet, but there was still a palpable buzz. People roamed the roads and occupied taxis flew by in a whir. We hailed a cab and jumped in; my outdated logic of carrying around stockpiles of cash was debunked thanks to the handy credit card swipe machine in the backseat. Oh, technology. You rock.

As I made my way into the dark hotel room, I crawled into bed and stared up at the ceiling. I was jazzed. Electrified. Completely and utterly enamored. Had I just fallen in love with New York City? No…it’s not possible, is it? I’m an upstater through and through. We don’t like the island to the south, it’s not our thing.

But I knew I was in trouble when I even enjoyed my time at La Guardia airport. That just borders on insanity, but it was true. The lines were organized, the crowds tame. The workers even smiled in my general direction from time to time. Reading the New York Times at an airport Chili’s never felt so relaxing—not a word commonly used in conjunction with NYC airports.

The whole two-day trip was a bit of a blur, and that’s probably why I enjoyed it so much. I didn’t have time to notice all the things I typically hate about NYC. The key to a successful trip? Keep it short. One day too long can ruin a good city; I’d rather not have enough time and crave more than have too much time and never want to return.

But no matter what your opinion is on NYC…that buzz? Can’t be denied.