Walking (the Line) in Memphis

Smoky barbecue goodness wafting out of a small alley off Union Ave. between Second and Third streets can only mean one thing. It's time for a Rendezvous, arguably the most famous (and best) barbecue joint in Memphis. Our night started with a full order of pork ribs, cole slaw, chicken nachos and Heinekens and it only got better from there. By the way, the wait at Rendezvous is very, very long. We waited about an hour, but it was very much worth it.

Feeling sleepy from full bellies we were about to call it a night. Yes, we were sleepy and were considering passing out in our very comfortable beds at The Westin Memphis Beale Street. (Guests should ask for Joan, the concierge, who is a fountain of Memphis knowledge.) But first we wanted to see what all the fuss was on Beale Street. Oh my. The cop-guarded street is closed to cars and revelers are stopped on their way in for a quick ID check. That's right. We got carded to walk on a street. Why? No open container laws on Beale Street. I knew we were in for an adventure.

We donned the Beale Street badge - a giant cup of Bud Lite (there are beer carts all along the street and most giant beers cost $5). From there we walked up the block as the soulful sound of Blues poured out from every venue. If you're thinking Beale Street is just for tourists, think again. Packed with locals. And everyone wants to hear who is performing. To play on Beale Street is really to have made it.

We were lured to a small stage in a small pavilion. After watching the guitarists and sax player jam for a while one of the two guitarists motioned to me...to come up on stage. Now, I am not into being in front of people, but I thought 'what the hell' and headed up the steps. The guitarist handed me his instrument and I held it flat out in front me as he proceeded to pick and play it while it was in my hands. Probably one of the coolest things I have ever seen. Saskia and I waited around after the show to say hello to him. Turns out his name is Johnny Holiday (not his real name, but I promised I would keep his real identity a secret). Why Holiday? "Because I'm always on vacation," he told us. He is the unofficial mayor of Beale Street. Everywhere we went with him folks were calling out 'Hey Johnny! How you doing?' We felt like Memphis royalty to be in his company.

Slipping past cover charges (I was introduced as his wife) we made our way into Ground Zero, a club on Beale Street owned by Morgan Freeman. This was to be our hangout for most of the night, as Johnny was to play there at midnight. A voluptuous woman belted out the Blues on stage as we knocked back beer after beer (and maybe a shot or two of Jim Beam, after Saskia opted for that over tequila).

As the night got fuzzier and we all got friendlier it was revealed that Johnny actually held a role in the 2005 movie, Walk the Line. He plays Carl Perkins, if anyone is interested.

The night ended in haze of dancing, singing and some killer solos by Johnny. Memphis, you may have climbed your way into my Top 5 Places in the U.S.



Check out the videos of Johnny at Ground Zero

18 Hours in Nashville

After almost 900 miles on the road we were ready to blow off some steam. Newbies to Nashville on a short stay can't go wrong with Broadway between First and Fourth avenues. We had a few must-sees on our list recommended to us by a friend who grew up in Nashville, but first we decided to do a little exploring on our own.

These three blocks are a smörgåsbord for the senses - bright, flashing lights; the succulent smell of grease and fat dripping off of roasting meat; and that familiar twang of country music. We spotted a sign that said "70 Beers on Tap" and there was no question where the night was going to begin.
Broadway Brewhouse Downtown (317 Broadway, there's another one at 1900 Broadway, as well) is a comfortable sports bar-meets-saloon with wide, open windows and very friendly hosts. Saskia and I tried the local Nashville brew, Yazoo. I had the Pale Ale and Saskia opted for the Amber. In all honesty, while good, they weren't very memorable so after one each we switched to old favorites - Red Hook and good ol' fashioned Bud Lite. Hey, at least we tried.

After knocking back a few of those it was time to eat and we heard there was no better place than Jack's BBQ, also on Broadway (so good, in fact, that when we told the bell hop we were going there he felt inclined to remove his hat and exclaim 'amaaaaazing!'). And he was right on the money. We had barbecue brisket sandwiches, mac and cheese, potato salad, cinnamon apples and two Yuenglings. That food didn't stand a chance lasting on our plates.

Next stop? Robert's Western World, next door to Jack's. This is the one-stop-shop for country music. Even Saskia, a claimed non-fan of country (cut to her eye rolls as Garth Brooks played in the car) seemed to enjoy herself. We befriended a 78-year-old oil tycoon and his family. Their names escape me but I think that has more to do with Bud Lite than them not being memorable. He offered to teach me how to dance but I respectfully declined. I don't need to embarrass myself in front of an entire bar of two-steppers.

Lastly head over to The Stage if the sound of country gets to be too much. This bar is great for rock and roll and yes, more dancing. Saskia and I enjoyed some Fat Tire beers before we called it a night.

And that, my friends, is how it is done in Nashville.

Live music at Robert's Western World

The Good, The Bad and the Ugly American

There comes a time in every tristate area-er's life when a certain rite of passage ought to be made - the journey to Atlantic City. I had such an opportunity this weekend.

A couple of months ago my good friend, Michelle, suggested we take the trip to Atlantic City (or "AC" as the pros call it) to see Third Eye Blind for her 23rd birthday. Having never been to AC and loving Third Eye Blind from the days of listening to z100 on my way to middle school, immediately my answer was 'yes'. So we boarded the Atlantic City Express Service train at Penn Station, popped some champagne and waited.

Before I go any further let me just make it clear that I am the most unlikely candidate to travel to Atlantic City. Sure, I like my bars - but I can fit in at a bar anywhere. But I don't gamble, clubbing isn't my first or second choice for a fun night, my feet hurt when I wear heels for too long and I've never been to a strip club. (I'll admit I've been curious about that last part and almost went into one a couple years ago, but that was mostly to try and impress a guy I was with.) I was in good company though. Michelle and our other companion, Stephanie, are of a similar nature.

Okay, so let's go down the AC checklist, shall we? Did us three AC virgins manage to do it right?

1. Drink - yes. We most certainly got that part right. Cut to the next morning when an empty pizza box, mascara-caked eyes and a string of missed phone calls helped us piece together the end of the night.

2. Live large - sure. We spent more money than we had, ate a very fancy meal at the Taj Mahal (I wanted to live like a Don. I was getting steak and that was that.) and I'm pretty sure I'll be eating cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner until payday.

3. Gamble - not really. But in our defense we definitely tried. In a drunken stupor we wandered into a casino (the name escapes me) and tried our luck at the safest form of gambling for newbies - the penny slots. But the machines kept spitting back our dollars. Each one we tried was not having it. It wasn't until our second attempt in the clarity of day that we realized that the machines won't accept bills lower than $5. Sneaky, sneaky Atlantic City.

So would I go back? Maybe. I won't rule it out. But I think I've had my fill. One too many mammoth-sized ladies on motor-scooters shoveling funnel cake into their already full mouths, and four-out-of-10 women with their ass cheeks hanging out of their shorts will kill that glitz-and-glam dream of Atlantic City.

Oh and in case you were curious about Third Eye Blind, the show was phenomenal. The middle school girl inside of me who didn't understand the meaning of the lyrics to Semi-Charmed Life was happy. Check out the videos below!

Hidden New York

A few years ago "hidden" New York City watering holes became trendy. The return of the speak-easy, if you will. I'll admit that at first I was skeptical. I mean, is it really that much cooler to go to a bar whose door is hidden underneath the second trash can, five paces from the entrance of the Whole Foods, where you have to ring a door bell and climb down a ladder two rungs at a time? No thanks. I'll just walk into any bar where I can get what I came for - a beer.

Or at least that is how I first approached the subject. But it turns out after visiting a few of these secret spots (which are becoming increasingly more well-known), that they are actually pretty cool and can be impressive places to take your out-of-town friends.

1. PDT. Okay, for all you New Yorkers-in-the-know, you could sense this one was coming. By far the most popular of hidden New York spots, PDT (short for Please Don't Tell) is located behind the popular hot dog joint, Crif Dogs at 113 Saint Marks Place.

How to get in: Walk down the four steps into Crif Dogs and look for the wooden phone booth. Enter the booth, pick up the phone and press a button. Obey the rules of etiquette posted nearby. I'm telling you. They mean business. This speakeasy is at the bottom of my list. Why? I didn't get in. Probably because I didn't obey the rules. But hey, maybe you'll have better luck.

2. Dutch Kills. I rarely venture off of Manhattan. If I do it's probably because I'm visiting some friends who have made the move to Astoria in Queens.  On one particular visit they led me to Dutch Kills in Long Island City, Queens. On an industrial street with practically no signage, this bar stands unassuming at 27-24 Jackson Avenue. Pay no attention to the surroundings. Knock on the door and be prepared to take a time warp back to the 1920s. Waiters dressed in full flapper garb (spats included!) prepare specialty cocktails while a scratchy jazz plays on what sounds like a phonograph. I love this bar.

3. Cabin Down Below. Besides beer one of my other great loves in life is pizza. So when I heard that there was an underground lounge under a pizza joint, I had to check it out. Head to 110 Avenue A. Here you will find The Pizza Shop. Wednesday nights through Saturday nights from 10 p.m. on, the men behind the counter will let you through a dingy door. Head down some stairs and emerge in an ultra-swanky underground lounge. Keep in mind that drinks are kind of pricey, but I think it's worth it. This little gem is really off the radar, so it pains me a little to share its location, but I think you'll get a kick out of it.

4. Sakagura. Okay, let's throw a restaurant in for good measure. That's right. A secret restaurant. If you're in Midtown and in dire need of some Japanese food, I wouldn't point you any further than Sakagura, located on the basement level of an office building at 211 E 43rd Street. Head down the service stairs and open the door. It opens up into a Japanese garden, decked out in wood and bamboo. This is some of the most authentic Japanese food I have ever had (and their sake list goes on forever).

In the Spirit of St. Paddy

So we're coming up on St. Patrick's Day in a few days and in the spirit I thought I'd share some videos my good friend Becca recorded when we were in Ireland in 2006. Enjoy the craic! (That's Irish for "fun".)



This video was taken at the Pikeman Bar at the Grand Hotel Tralee in Tralee, County Kerry. Traditional music is very important to the Irish culture. Common instruments include fiddles, accordions, guitars and flutes (and/or tin whistles).



Now, I can't stand group tours, but the Musical Pub Crawl in Dublin is surprisingly fun and not cheesy. Professional musicians guide you to several of Dublin's bars and entertain you with popular Irish tunes. Here we have our musicians playing "A Pair of Brown Eyes" by The Pogues. It's suggested that you have a drink at every bar, and this was our last stop. Thank goodness I have this video otherwise I'm not sure how much of this great performance I would remember.

What's Up in PR

The most I know about Puerto Rico comes from that time I stayed at the El Conquistador Resort with an ex (ahh...memory lane), and getting drunk at the airport on a four-hour layover.

So I was pretty excited to head to a luncheon today hosted by San Juan Marriott Hotel & Casino. I wanted to know a little bit more.

The luncheon was held at Bobby Flay's Manhattan restaurant, Bar Americain (a restaurant I had once visited with said ex...what is is about Puerto Rico and Bobby Flay?).  As I scarfed down steak tartare and several glasses of white wine, I learned a few things about the hotel that you may find of interest.

First, the hotel has installed its own "YouTube concierge," as part of its "Wish You Were Here" campaign. This takes postcards to the next level. Guests can professionally record 30-second clips of themselves at the hotel and stream it on Marriott's YouTube channel. I'd rather watch my friends getting drunk than read about it on a smeared postcard that arrives two weeks after they have already returned home.

Guests can also book a kayaking trip in one of Puerto Rico's three bioluminescent bays. These bays give off an eerie blue light created by living organisms. It's a surreal experience to paddle through dark caverns while your kayak is halo-ed in a shimmery-turquoise glow.

If you're looking for a little nightlife, you don't have to go much further than the hotel's Lobby Lounge. On Thursday nights through Sunday nights the hotel serves cocktails against a backdrop of live music. The director of sales for the hotel put it best, " The Lobby isn't the prettiest girl at the party, but gosh she knows how to party."

Finally, the general manager of the hotel offered me a little tip on a favorite spot of his for travelers looking for a taste of Old San Juan. Mallorca is a coffee shop for an excellent cup of something hot, a great atmosphere, and a tasty Puerto Rican breakfast.

On my next trip to Puerto Rico, hopefully I'll make it off the resort and away from the airport bar.

What Have I Been Missing?

I just got back from my "doomed" trip up to Syracuse, which in hindsight, really wasn't so terrible. Maybe I was being a little melodramatic. I've returned to you a little more worn out, a little more broke, but also a little more enlightened.

Turns out, I did not go to real college.

NYU students always joke that we didn't go to a real college. No campus, no center of community, no sports. Turns out the addition of those three things can make for a much different college experience. Especially the sports. Now, don't get me wrong. NYU was the best four years of my life and I wouldn't be where I am now without it. But damn...there is something to be said for a real college sports scene. Enter Syracuse University.

This past weekend happened to a huge weekend for college sports. Syracuse was vying for the number one slot in the country for college basketball. They were playing against Villanova and the on-campus crowd expected was the largest in college basketball history. And I was there for it. Now, you may recall from my last post that I was not thrilled about this. But, f*** it, I said, and was determined to make the most out of it.

I headed towards Syracuse's campus and literally had to fight my way through throngs and throngs of people. Traffic was at a standstill and all you could see were hoards of orange-clad (Syracuse's color) fans scuttling their way up Syracuse U's hill towards the Carrier Dome.

I wound up at a bar called Lucy's Retired Surfers Bar on S Crouse Avenue. Picture a dingy beachside hangout, complete with surfboard tables, license plates on the wall and even a lifeguard's chair. Add to that $3 beers and about 150 college kids and alum decked out head to toe in bright orange, all screaming "LET'S GO ORANGE". The most sports exposure I ever got at NYU was drinking a 40 out of a paper bag in the bleachers at Chelsea Piers while watching our club hockey team with about 30 other people (mostly parents). Dorothy was not in Kansas anymore.

Now don't get me wrong. I wouldn't change my four years in New York City's scene or nightlife for just a sports team, but it was nice to have a night in frigid upstate New York, crammed like a sardine into a college bar and cheering on a school sports team with fans who were all there for the same reason.

Debunking NYC Travel Myths

Being born and raised in New York, I never thought about it as a travel destination. I always brush off the wide, blinking eyes and dropped jaws from people I meet on my travels when I tell them I am from New York City. It never seems like such a big deal to me. It is just home. But after comparing it to cities all over the world I see that there really is no contest, if you know how to do NYC right. So here are a few tips from a local to help you get the most out of your Big Apple experience.

1. No one from New York calls it the Big Apple, so before you set foot, be sure to eliminate that phrase from your vocabulary.

2. Subways after dark are harmless. You may hear the shadow of a quiver in the voices of your elders, warning you about taking the subways at night. But these pearls of wisdom are coming from a generation when crime was rampant and hookers hung out in droves on the corner where my freshman year college dorm now sits (Third Ave. and East 11th Street, Third North, NYU....go Violets). Now, let me be clear because I don't want any fuming e-mails from people saying they were mugged on subways after dark. Be smart about it. Don't travel to neighborhoods way out in the outer buroughs. And ladies, don't stumble on drunk with your purses hanging wide open.

3. Times Square doesn't exist to New Yorkers. It's a blank spot on a map, a black hole to be avoided at all costs. The only time a true New Yorker goes to Times Square is when connecting to another subway line (Times Square is a major subway hub, home to the 1, 2, 3, A, C, E, N, R, Q, W, S and 7 trains), and even then they never surface above ground. If you are going to go to Times Square, you might as well stay in suburbia where you can still eat at Applebee's or Olive Garden.

4. It's okay to spend $6 on a beer. When Paul Rudd mocks "$9 beer night" in the movie 40 Year Old Virgin, he wasn't far off from describing New York. Now, I don't expect you to know where to go to find the best beer deals on your first trip to NYC. While they definitely do exist (another blog post for another day), some of the best bars that I know have a pretty pricey menu when compared to bars across the country (I'm thinking of you, $2.50 Heineken at Snyder's Tavern in West Shokan, New York). Your best bet is to start at Happy Hour (typically between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m.), when there are often two-for-one deals.

5. Williamsburg sucks. That's right, I said it. For those of you who aren't familiar with Williamsburg, it was once a seedy, blue-collar neighborhood in Brooklyn, right across the East River. Slowly more and more young people moved there to take advantage of the low rents. It became a trendy, artistic community, which at one time was probably a funky and bohemian scene. And then word caught on. Gentrification reared its ugly head and rents sky-rocketed. And now? Williamsburg is a breeding ground for the uber-hipster - the kind that spends a ton of money to look like they have none, and in an attempt to be different from everyone else, they all look the same. Don't let anyone tell you that you can escape Manhattan by heading to Williamsburg. Try other neighbs in Brooklyn like Fort Greene. And on a short trip, you really can't go wrong just staying in Manhattan. There will be other visits to the city, I'm sure.

6. Don't let a cab driver tell you that his credit card machine is broken. It's not. They just want tips in cash. If they tell you it's broken from the get-go, get out and find a new cab. If they don't tell you until the end of your ride, that cab trip is on the house, baby.

These are just a few tricks of the trade that I picked up all these years in the city. I'm sure on your own trip you'll discover a few for yourself. Enjoy.

Cutting Loose in the British Virgin Islands

A lot of my single friends say I'm crazy for being in a relationship. You're 22, they say. You should be out doing the "single & mingle" scene. You're only seeing one guy? Life is too short!

Ok, so maybe they have some points. But, then again, none of them have ever dated a travel writer - and one who just so happens to whisk me off to exotic locations whenever he can. We just got back from a three day tryst to the British Virgin Islands, where we stayed at Scrub Island Resort, a brand new luxury property on a private island. The bill was comped, the booze was flowing and the sun was oh-so-hot. Relationships don't look so bad now, do they?

This is a shot of our one-bedroom suite. The resort wasn't completely finished when we were there (the fella was sent on assignment for the pre-opening to review the property) but all of the guest rooms were complete. Ours was equipped with a full kitchen, living room, two flatscreen televisions and two bathrooms.

Me posing Sports Illustrated-style outside The Baths, huge rock formations that are a major draw of the British Virgin Islands. I'm no 10 out of 10 but come on...now that's a picture. Well done, boyfriend. Well done.

Now, don't get me wrong. Spelunking through The Baths, snorkeling in the crystal clear Caribbean water (swimming so close to neon-colored fish that they practically copped a feel), dining on fresh mahi mahi, seared tuna, conch fritters and endless glasses of wine and spending each day cruising tiny islands on a private boat (with bottomless glasses of rum punch) were certainly highlights. But the part of the trip I'll always remember didn't happen at the resort. Hell, it happened at a seedy boat-house bar where everyone went barefoot and pictures of topless girls and bare man-ass plastered the walls: Willy T's.

As part of the "true" British Virgin Island experience, we were taken to this popular Caribbean hotspot, where nudity (and I'm certain STDs) are as common as the Caribbean mosquitos. Here we downed the traditional BVI drink, a "painkiller," composed of coconut milk, pineapple juice, orange juice and a lethal serving of rum. After several of these and a trip down the slopes with the shot ski (a contraption designed for four people to take a shot at once) I was ready to get a little crazy. Relax, there was no nudity. I still want to make Mom proud.

But I did get inspired to jump off the roof of the boat. Now, I'm no dare devil. I snuck out of the house when I was 16 once...and I walked to the end of the block, got scared and walked back. So this was a big deal for me. And I have to tell you, the rush for the four seconds that I was airborne was totally worth it. I felt invigorated. The fella and I decided to jump at the same time, "you jump, I jump, Jack"-style. We wasted no minutes. One, two, three....jump. That's the memory I'll take home with me.


So for all of you who have written off relationships, here is my word of advice: don't rule them out completely. Just pick a travel writer. Oh...and make sure to fly separately. That way you can feel free to chat up the adorable surfer on his way home from Costa Rica at the Orlando Airport bar...not that I did that or anything.

Eating and Drinking...Mostly Drinking...In the Emerald City

So my good friend Lauren E. is an aspiring chef/food writer/blogger/what have you. And luckily for me she is also afflicted with the travel bug. She was recently on a trip to Seattle and came back with some tasty details of her culinary journey. So may I introduce the lovely Lauren E. (Like what you see? Read more about her epicurean adventures here.)

When I first met my friends who grew up in Seattle, they talked about it like you might describe a long lost love. No city is as amazing, beautiful, intelligent, desired, as this city. Flawless, one might say. I didn’t believe it. In fact, I even promised them I’d hate it just to spite them. I ate my words. And then I ate everything in sight.

Seattle is a foodie’s dream. Locally grown, locally prepared, locally admired. They are proud of their food sources, their culinary stars, and their seafood (mention how much you like Atlantic salmon and you can expect to get the stink eye), and there are restaurants around every single corner. I was only in town for four days but I had one thing on my mind: eating. Below, some highlights.

Serious Pie Truth be told… this is what our leftovers looked like. I was so ravenous by the time we sat down in Tom Douglas’s dark little pizza shop, I inhaled those suckers. Serious Pie does a Happy Hour from 3-5 p.m. Monday through Friday where each of their famous little pies is only $5. Madeline and I ordered four between the two of us and we managed to save a few pieces to take home.



On the menu: Yukon gold, rosemary, olive oil 

Guanciale, soft egg, dandelion greens
 Roasted chanterelles, truffle cheese

Penn cove clams, house pancetta, lemon thyme

Verdict: DELICIOUS. This place was on my radar because the truffle cheese pizza was featured on an episode of Food Network’s “The Best Thing I Ever Ate” but truth be told, the guanciale, egg, and dandelion greens blew everything else out of the water. The crust was delicate and salty, the perfect vehicle for the smooth egg, spicy greens, and shaved parmesan cheese on top (I think it was parmesan… whatever it was, it was like little slivers of heaven). This place is a perfect lunch spot, and if you’re fortunate enough to make it to happy hour, you can sample it all.

Dahlia Bakery Another spot I neglected to photograph on site. So help me God, you walk into this tiny shop, also owned by Serious Pie’s Tom Douglas, and the smell of donuts takes up every inch of available brain space.

On the menu: Cinnamon sugar donuts with vanilla mascarpone and apple butter dip
Coconut cream pie bites

Verdict: HOLY HELL. I’m a donut snob. “Is this the best donut you’ve ever had?” Madeline asked. “It’s the best yeast donut I’ve ever had,” I answered. What a tool.

Honestly, though. Crackly on the outside, sweet, doughy perfection on the inside. One word of warning: you have to eat these immediately. Not only are they better hot, good luck making it home with these suckers in the car. The coconut cream pie bites were tasty, but the donuts take the cake. Pun intended.

Red Hook Brewery As much as I love a good meal, I also love a good adult beverage. And no, Dad, I am not an alcoholic. Red Hook gives a $1 tour which is essentially listening to the history of the company while sampling their delicious brews. Five tiny beers for a dollar? Yes, please.

On the menu: Mud Slinger Spring Ale

Slim Chance (Red Hook’s light beer)
Long Hammer IPA (my personal favorite)

Black Hook Porter
Red Hook ESB Original Ale

Verdict: SICK. Not only do I love this beer (all five incantations), the food at the brewery’s restaurant was delicious. Because every minute of every day was filled with eating, my party opted to snack on appetizers instead of gorging on full meals but the burgers that sailed by almost made me forget that I had just eaten a full brunch. We got a plate of the nachos and a bowl of the clams sauteed in butter and red and green peppers. Thank God I had a good food base in my stomach before hitting the tour. Maybe I was buzzin’ by the time the tour was over. Maybe.

Bottom line: I gained six pounds between when I landed in Seattle on Thursday and when I departed on Sunday. In my book? Success.

Living the (Mediocre) Dream at Sundance

For those of you who have never been to Sundance Film Festival, you might have had the same picture that I had: Strolling into movie after movie, unlimited access to VIP parties, making out with celebs. Pretty much living like an A-lister.

So I donned my Ray-Bans and headed out to Park City, Utah....only to find out I was a little misguided.

Saturday: After Friday night's welcome (I used my womanly ways to get myself and three of my male companions into a Stoli vodka party - Dudes, if you're not on the list then always lead with a chick. Ladies, it helps to be slightly bitchy) I was ready to see movies. And here is where my fantasies of celebrity living came to a halt. Picture this: 200 people crammed like cattle into tiny waiting rooms for up to four hours per movie, hoping that enough people with advance tickets don't show up so that you can get in. Odds of that happening on opening weekend? Not very good. I spent a good eight hours in lines and the only movies I saw were the ones I played in my head to pass the time (I know every line of Wet Hot American Summer by heart). By the time 6 p.m. rolled around I hated the name Robert Redford and didn't feel like going out in his city.

Sunday: Trying to make the best of things I decided not to see movies until after the weekend. Instead, my group decided to go to Village at the Yard, a tent full of luxury-brand freebees. A day of drinking free vodka tonics and rummaging Sephora products? Yes, please!

Not so fast, Meagan...Being a newly employed member of society I don't have any business cards, and when attending an event designed strictly for media professionals proof is necessary. Basically no cards, no entry.

I had just about given up on Sundance when I decided that I was going to get in somewhere. Anywhere. I jumped on a line snaking out of Harryo's bar and lounge on Main Street. It was the line to get into the ESPN party for NFL playoffs and you had to be on the list. Now I couldn’t care less about football, but I HAD to get in. So I asked the guy in front of me if he was on the list and if I could be his plus one. And finally my luck had changed. I strolled in to Harryo's, pink wristband firmly secured, and grabbed myself a complimentary Bud Lite. Bud Lite never tasted so much like Champagne.

I spent the afternoon shmoozing (a great Sundance past time) and eyeing Terrell Owens and Aaron Rogers (apparently they are big deals…). As I headed out on my way to my condo I heard a man say, “Those are nice,” referring to my black tights. I smiled and said thank you and it took me all of half a second to realize who it was.

“Excuse me, are you Ian Ziering?” (Being a HUGE 90210 fan I knew immediately that this was Steve Sanders.)

“Yes, I am.”

Now I was at Sundance. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Ian Ziering is a C-lister, at best. But after two whole days of nothing but denials, he may as well have been Brad Pitt.

I spent the next hour wrapped up in a one-on-one conversation with Ian (we’re on a first-name basis). I taught him some writing tricks, he showed me an acting exercise. I briefly asked him about 90210. Tacky, but I had to ask. (By the way, those were the best 10 years of his life.)

And Monday? I saw two movies and a third on Tuesday.

So was it the red-carpet trip I envisioned? Not really. But I did get to see my movies, I hit up a few VIP parties, and as for making out with celebs? I never kiss and tell.