Our first order of business, our utmost priority in New York City, was to seek and devour. Our target: The Famous New York Hot Dog. Barb, Jeremy, Meredith and I set out from our hotel at Lexington and 50th and began to walk north. We passed the kosher hot dog stand first -- the kosher hot dog is pure beef, even stuffed under rabbinical supervision. Somehow, they didn't look appetizing enough. But after walk four more blocks, the tantalizing urge for a gaping white bun hugging a fat, juicy dog smothered in cheese, dripping chili, and soaking onions had only grown stronger. Jeremy and I couldn't keep walking. We had to have one.

We were in New York City!

Just six hours ago, we'd been rubbing the grit from our eyes. At 4:30AM, the four of us had rolled up I-25 to Denver International Airport. Lift-off from 16-R by 7:15AM, our sleep washed down in Diet Pepsi and sweet gingerbread biscotti. With hunger pangs already tugging at our stomachs, we had sat through the Q33 "bus tour" of Queens and lugged our suitcases through midtown. It was definitely time to eat.

Engorging ourselves with hot dogs, we continued marching up Fifth Avenue, now towards Central Park. They say that without Central Park, New York would be a completely different city, for the worse. The park allows the urban to ruralize, even tamely, just a for moment. We discovered that Central Park is where the New Yorkers come to breathe. Small sailboats drift on the ponds. Couples in love toss blankets on the grass and daze forgetfully into eachother's eyes. Young kids run after baseballs and dogs soar through the air to catch frisbees. It's almost as if we had left New York all together.

And then it hit me, literally. Posing for a picture with Meredith, I heard something soaring through the air and a loud "SPLAAT!" near by ear. It was the pigeons' way of saying, "Welcome to our city" in the gooeyist way they know how.

The stain was a bygone in less than 30 minutes. We wandered through the Metropolitan Museum of Art, staring into Van Gogh's and Monet's, scoffing at clearly lesser artists like Max Ernst. We were getting hungry again.