● Macondo (Lower East Side) - Hero to gourmand alkies everywhere, Junior Merino has gone and done it again. His Aguacate and Mescal at Rayuela’s younger, cheaper, funner sis is probably the greatest thing to ever muck up a blender. Creamy fresh avocado, sweet agave nectar, and Scorpion mescal by the frosty, puke-green pitcher.
● Momofuku Noodle Bar (East Village) - The porky ramen bar takes 7-Eleven to school, son, with its watermelon lemonade Soju Slushie. Big gulp a couple and marvel at how all the blond wood is like getting smashed inside somebody’s cool balsa architecture project. Brain freeze!
● Rusty Knot (West Village) - Named after the most disgusting sex act ever, the eponymous frozen mojito is also a kitschy tiki classic. Spotted Pig via Key West is the perfect camped-out cruise -- supplement your plastic cup of rum-n-sugar with a pig in a blanket and sunset over the West Side Highway. Only thing missing is Gavin MacLeod.

Are you tired of hokey recession specials that never end up scratching your gnawing, thirsty itch? We are rapidly becoming a city of broke drunks, thus it is vital we learn how to be the best broke drunks we can be. If you have no job, no prospects, and only a few bucks, but still maintain flawless taste, then check out the top ways to get your drink on without further damaging the already broken bank.

● Calle Ocho (Upper West Side) - Go to this spacious, attractive UWS Nuevo Latino on Sundays and order an appetizer. The policy is you must eat some sort of food in order to partake in the monster "sangria station," which is totally and completely F-R-E-E! That is correct, kiddies. A bevy of fruits, wines, rums, and all sorts of tasty drinkable treats line the dining room buffet-style, where you can ladle yourself to inebriation for hours.
● Welcome to the Johnsons (Lower East Side) - I like my bars how I like my men: grungy and cheap. This place is suitable for getting sloshed before going to the neighboring, pricier hotspots such as the Hotel on Rivington, 205, or Stanton Social.

It hardly need be pointed out that we pine longingly for the days when airline travel was all sexy and glamorous, and political correctness hadn’t outlawed the use of the “stewardess” (though, mind, we’d never dream of referring to her as “toots”). But those groovers over at JetBlue, apparently understanding our considerable pain over the matter, have decided to open the terminal of our dreams this fall at the interminably construction-riddled JFK International Airport. Built adjacent to the venerated but tragically moribund Earo Saarinen 1962 TWA Terminal -- perhaps trying to absorb some of the hope for the future that it once inspired -- the new Terminal 5 will be spacious, light-drenched, and a shining symbol of the once great modern ideal.