For Anyone Who Thinks Washington Heights Is Far North

New York City is an exciting place to live but we all have dreams of going on an adventure once in a while (and we don't just mean going to China Town). That's why we are excited by the newly created blog, The Last Frontier Girls, which features several friends of the Loser's Guide on their road trip to the northernmost stop on the American highway: Homer, Alaska. On the way, they drive through small towns in Canada and Alaska, like Chicken (population of 8), panning for gold, gambling in the early afternoon, watching midnight baseball games in broad daylight and other general merriment that can only be found in the Great North. Here is an excerpt from their last day in Canada before crossing back into the United States via the more low-key Alaskan border. For more on their exciting trip, check out their blog: thelastfrontiergirls.blogspot.com

We got off to a bit of a later start the morning after our gambling/golfing/salooning adventure as can probably be expected. We had planned to cross the border early, putting the chapter of strange Yukon towns and cute Canadian accents behind us; however, we decided to take one last ferry ride over the river to say our final good-byes (ok really just to get food). Lucky for us it turned out to be First Nation Day and we soaked up some sun while enjoying free fried dough and watching little kids trying to jig. A note here, it became obvious that my unique style of dance can now be categorized as children trying to jig. Pressley, one of the young jiggers, seemed to be too preoccupied with his cookie to jig, clearly he was our favorite.

During this time I found $2.50 Canadian money and reasoned (quite logically I think) that the only thing to do with it was to head back to the casino. We waited until 2 p.m. when the casino opened and were the first ones there along with the serious gamblers. We deposited the quarters into what was once thought of by us as a free money machine and our quarters were lost in the endless abyss, reunited with the quarters we had deposited the previous night in what I can only imagine as some giant quarter orgy.

Anyway, soon enough we were off along the dirt road aptly named Top of the World Highway. Because of the winding dirt roads it took far longer than usual to cross the short distance, but at last we approached the flapping American flag. The border consisted of a single dirt road passing a small wooden cabin and a single customs officer. We were home, or at least somewhere where we could no longer respond to the question where are you from with, “The States.”

Read the rest of this post here.

Small Town, USA

This weekend, the boys and I took a trip north to go see what we could see. If you live in the city, you know that sometimes you need to just get out of it. The constant hustle and bustle, crowded streets, sirens and grime can really get to you after a while. A weekend get-away can be the perfect way to recharge, unwind, and enjoy some greenery and quiet for a change.

While our trip ended in bustling Montreal, we had the pleasure of visiting some quaint little towns on the way up. On Friday night, we stopped for dinner in Ravena, New York (population 3,369). We were wary at first, thinking that maybe we had entered into one of those sleepy ghost towns you see in horror flicks. The roads were empty, the lights were out, and the shadowy beat up buildings were giving me the willies. But pretty soon we found that Ravena did in fact host the basic essentials that have become the backbone of any American town: a swinging (if creepy) bar called the “Halfway House”, a generic Chinese take-out shop and a good old-fashioned diner with a pleasant waitress and an endless pot of coffee.

Continuing on, our next stop would be Elizabethtown, New York (population 1,315) where we stayed at a family owned log cabin on a pond. Elizabethtown (note: NO relation to the Orlando Bloom movie of the same name!) has been a favorite of ours for years. It is a town so small that it lacks any incentive to be creative with naming, for it has, at most, only one of everything. The kids learn at a high school called ‘High School’. For field trips, they head over to ‘Museum’. If they have to do some research, they make their way to ‘Library’, and so on. While the town has grown since we first visited, it still maintains that simple charm. There’s still only one traffic light, next to the only gas station, across from the only church, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Our last small town stop before Canada was not a town at all, but a city. However, Vergennes, Vermont (population 2,700) is proud of the fact that they are “The Smallest City in Vermont”. Vergennes is home to windy country roads swinging around lush green pastures and cow farms. On one main street are all the city’s shopping attractions: The Black Sheep Bistro, the Hungry Bear restaurant (where we had lunch, of course), the Busy Bead jewelry store (where the owner will provide you with pretty earrings AND gripping stories of close encounters with bears in Wyoming), and the Daily Chocolate Shoppe. One store that was missing, however was a great grocery shop called the Fat Hen, which we had visited once before. To our dismay, we found out that the owner of this local produce and grocery store had maintained the place for 5 years, and had planned to break even and begin to turn a profit until the economic recession hit, setting her years back financially. Unable to maintain the investment in these economic conditions, she was forced to fold her business, to the disappointment of her tiny city, and its occasional visitors.

As we rumbled past the border into Canadaland, we did so with a newfound appreciation for our own country. America, she’s a beautiful old place, big towns and small towns alike.

PS: the population of New York City is just over 8.2 million people.

- Varun

Summer in the Suburbs

Hello to all you city dwellers! I'm here to bring you my little tidbits about Living in the Suburbs. Sure I'm only a mad dash on the train away, but life on Long Island is still much different than in the City. But hey, at least I'm still considered "New York", unlike everyone north of Westchester. I've seen my fair share of the City, though I've never lived there. Instead, I've experienced the lifestyle that Long Islanders are just too familiar with: a day trip to shop on the Avenues, a stroll in Little Italy for those delicious gelatos and, of course, being there when the tree lights up in Rockefeller Center. Though I've loved the time I've spent in the City, I just can't leave my Island permanently. I've become too accustomed to the cheap bars and the way of life of suburbia.

On the Island, you'll never go a weekend without a party. House parties are the very essence of the Island. Every time I've come into the City, I've had to wear something extraordinary with painful heels. On top of that, I always end up spending obscene amounts of money on taxis, subways, cover charges, and, oh yes, the actual alcohol. And all for what? To have fun with my friends? Here on the Island, I spend a total of $7 and wear my laziest outfit. We play beer pong or flip cup, roast marshmallows by the fire and make smores, have amenities such as Doritos, and there is always an abundance of alcohol that didn't cost us an arm and a leg.

Last weekend was Memorial Day and it was BBQ central on Long Island. Nicely lined up houses all had smoke streaming up from the backyard and the hearty smell of chicken, burgers, and hot dogs spread throughout the air. I spent my weekend BBQ-hopping and enjoyed my fun in the sun. Why wouldn't I ever live in the City? There are no backyards there! The BBQ's, the fires in the backyards, and the pools make summer worth living on the Island. Not only do we have that, we have the beaches! Sure it's no Venice Beach, but it'll do for us Islanders. Enjoy an airshow, watch fireworks glisten in the sky, walk the boardwalk - all that is accessible on the Island.

No matter what you say, you can't peel me away from my life on the Island. The City is glamor and glitz, but maybe I'm more old fashioned and enjoy the more basic amenities of life. The Island is the best place to be during the summer, and I wouldn't change it for a thing.

- Faiza

Trapped in Salt Lake City

With East Coast blood running through my veins, I bring you what will likely be the first of several installments of my strange adventures while Trapped in Salt Lake City. How, you might ask, does a native (non-Mormon) New Yorker end up in Salt Lake? Well the movie rights are for sale and I assure you it's an epic tale in line with your traditional Greek tragedy or modern day F* My Life entry. But until I see some royalties, I’ll keep you guessing.

I want to start my first correspondence to you all by being fair: the scenery here is breathtaking. There are towering snow-covered mountains home to some of the best skiing/snowboarding in the world, lazy rivers that are great for tubing and red rock faced canyons any climber would die for.

Yet, when the sun dies out, so does the fun. State liquor laws cripple any chance of a legitimate nightlife. First, bars are not bars in Salt Lake but rather private clubs. You can’t just walk into a bar and order a drink. Instead you have to actually buy a membership to the “club” before being admitted. I’ll stop for a minute while you wrap your head around that.

Now it actually gets even worse. Recently, I went out with a group of friends and after shelling out for a membership, we all sat down and ordered a round of beers, except one girl in the group who asked for a glass of wine. We were informed that we'd have to move to a different seating location in order for wine to be served. Grumbling, we moved across an imaginary line on the floor to a different table, but were now told we could no longer drink the beer we had purchased unless we ordered food as well.

Visibly agitated, we decided to move back to our original table to finish our drinks and order another round of Polygamy Porter because as their slogan states, “Why have just one?" When the server came over to take our request, she told us she was not allowed to serve us until our friend, who was only half done, finished completely, because no one is allowed to have more than one drink in front of them at any given time.

These are just a few of the ridiculous laws currently enforced in this great city. Be on the lookout for future installments to hear about more crazy practices and ways to get around a them (in case you ever end up trapped here), like ordering a Side Car to sidestep Utah's ban on drinks having more than one fluid ounce of alcohol.

And remember: next time you wind up sitting by a drunk on the subway who smells of week-old McDonalds, just smile to yourself and think of the alternative.

- Josh

Memories From A Boston Ex-Pat

I lived in Manhattan for three years. For me, the city was bodegas, all-night diners (not like I ever ate in one past 7pm, but I liked having the option), the Village Voice (so I could read about all the things that other people might do on a Saturday night), and bagel shops with nearby benches. My idea of adventure was picking a random avenue and walking straight up from West 4th Street to West 104th. In short, I was a New York loser, too.

Now that I've moved to Boston, people often ask me what it was like to live in the big apple, with great anticipation in their voices. In these moments, I know I can either tell the truth and talk about how much food I ate and how many nights I spent sleeping in, or I can embellish. I have found that the latter elicits a more positive response. So here are a few general talking points you can use to make yourself seem a little bit more interesting, whether you’re an ex-pat like me or a current New York loser facing new acquaintances:

1. Be able to mention a favorite paradoxical ethnic restaurant. I use two, actually, though both are Polish and within blocks of each other on 2nd Avenue: Veselka, which has amazing rice krispies treats, and Little Poland, which has a secret Salsa night in the back room on Thursdays after you finish your rice pudding. I never danced there but just knowing about it does the job.

2. Have a hilarious testimony of a "crazy night out" that cannot be replicated. Usually, I talk about an experience at an off-off Broadway play called "Sodom", which I honestly thought was going to be purely biblical.

3. Have one bar that you went to every week. (I actually escaped that one – I didn't turn 21 'til I moved away!)

4. Tell a story about a crazy person who said something weird to you on the street, and a crazy roommate who said something weird to you before bed. This one isn’t difficult.

5. Have a favorite museum and something cultural/artsy that you know a lot about. Mine was Cezanne's "My Uncle as a Monk" painting at the Met.

The next one’s a clincher - a personal favorite technique to look good in front of friends who visited me while I was living in the city:

Have a regular coffee/donut cart. This is a good way to get a really bad cup of coffee and really awesome donut, but more importantly, a coffee/donut cart attendant that will unconditionally hit on you once you go a few times. This will make you look like a hottie in front of others. Men: you might have a harder time with this; female and gay male coffee/ donut cart attendants seem to be scarce.

- Samantha