Manhattan Me

Upon our arrival to Sweet Caroline's Dueling Piano Bar, I surveyed the room and felt as if I were in some type of parallel universe to my usual go-to luxe lounge. In this Tourist World, people jump up and down singing the words to Bon Jovi at the top of their lungs as if no one is watching. And do you know why? Because no one is watching; they're all too busy throwing their own heads back, closing their eyes, and belting "Summer of '69" at the top of their lungs. For once, the object of the night was not to get dressed in clothing I cannot afford, spend hours artfully applying my makeup and delicately styling my hair, only to sit in a darkened club in a corner "people watching." So maybe the balding preppy guy from Michigan in a yellow striped shirt and khaki shorts jumping and fist pumping was not the epitome of cool, and the girl trying to climb on top of the piano probably would not have done that anywhere else, but it was fun.

All New Yorkers need to bite the bullet and go to the most tourist-y spot they can think of, for one night, and let loose. Because let's face it, there was a time when they too, were a tourist.