One of the classiest joints in which I've set foot in NYC. I will not disclose the location online of said night-spot, just know that it is definitely open on Sunday nights and definitely a place one should keep on the hush-hush.

And to think, my day started with "Batman"! How does your wintry, non-snowy day get better from there? Elementary, my dear Watsons. Your partner in all things exploratory, wild and fun says, "Hey, I just bought a few rolls of film, I've got my Lomo, grab your baby (for new readers, 'tis nothing less than my camera) and let's go."

While it took a little more than that to drag me away from Batman (the lack of quotes is not an error, I repeat, not an error), I hopped the 4 to the J to meet John on the frigid corner of Delancey and Allen to begin implied photo journey.

It should be mentioned that I am on two very personal quests to be accomplished in the next five years. I partially agreed to this frolic in the frozen air to further one of the two goals to teach myself to not be ridiculously cold anymore. The other has to do with snakes. I'll keep you posted on both, not to worry.

Traipsing around the Lower East Side, we allowed the cross-walk man to guide every step. I like to pretend that I make choices on my own, but that little LED man has led me on more expeditions so far than any other single factor in New York. While he guided us in the direction of the Flatiron, I remembered that there was a delightful joint called the Rye House, which had garnered much respect from the New York circuit of Pennsylvanian transplants. Supposedly it was a suitable representation of some of our weird customs. Me being me, I knew of its existence and I knew the neighborhood, but had no clue of its precise location. Rather than dragging John across the universe, I made a wise decision in these modern times. What! Heck no! My good for nothing Blackberry browser? Nope. A phone call to the one and only GianCarlo. Not only did I get the cross streets, but I got him too! How about that!?! A 9-6 advertising guy hitting the town with two freelance crazies on a Sunday night!! Very few things make me as excited as this phenomenon... and tap-dancing elephants.

To proceed, as far as I could tell, the only PA thing about this place was their use of wood in the decor - but that was it and that's a stretch. I had a local beer (local Manhattan beer... meh) called Chelsea "Hoppy Holidaze" and some clam chowder. PA? I don't think so. Make no mistake, I love New York, but select Pittsburgh breweries could hop those holidaze to beer heaven! In fact, I can hear Penn Brewery call my name! As I write this!

Just for you, I shall ignore its summons and continue.

Next? Undisclosed location above, donated to my knowledge bank by Carlo. Personal inquiries will be honored.

Photo, photo, photo... diner, diner, diner. Hollywood Diner. Yes. Nothing in the world like a Monte Cristo at 3 a.m. Monday morning with two beyond wonderful dudes - photo/camera dudes at that.

Who knew things could be better than Batman on a Siberian winter night?

Photo: Racy wallpaper - what else do you want me to say?