New York City was more than I expected this time around; however, it was colder than my feet at night. My numb fingers fumbled for my MetroCard, dollars in my pocket, then a beanie for those San Diegan ears of mine.

I must admit, the cold made me homesick the moment I stepped out of the revolving glass doors at the airport, but I’d definitely relive the following adventures:

APT (419 W 13th St.). Nothing’s better than dancing at a club where absolutely no one is standing around. DJ Rich Medina spun unforgettable old-school hip-hop that night. [editor's note: now closed]

Central Park. Ice skating while frosted trees lined the horizon. Hordes (hundreds) of people skated round and round, everyone's breath visible.

Marian Goodman Gallery. The exhibit featured the artist Gerhard Richter, and visiting it was the highlight of my life. It was inspiring to look at paintings twice my size with more oil paint piled on than I could imagine buying in ten years.

Radio City Music Hall. The Rockettes – especially their March of the Wooden Soldiers. I wish I could do something, anything with that much precision.

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