I had heard good things about Plan B -- a New York City club on the Lower East Side -- and was excited to check it out. My first disappointment was as soon as I stepped through the door. In contrast to the flashy pictures on the website, the interior looks like a hole in the wall bar (see above). I pity people who have their birthday parties there based on those pictures of the private rooms because in reality, the club is dingy and undecorated except for a few pieces of "art" that appear to have been done by the owner's five year old child. As a paradigm example of the unsatisfying aesthetics, the fish tank was cracked and housed one lonely goldfish.

Fortunately, I was drunk enough to forget about the lack of trendy appearances and just have fun on the dance floor. Unfortunately, the DJ also failed to meet expectations. After playing an hour of Jay-Z's greatest and then not-so-greatest hits, he played a Nelly song but chose "Get Your Eagle On" (terrible!) over "Hott in Herre" or "Shake Ya Tail Feathers" (not awesome, but good enough after an hour of Jay-Z).

The upside? I didn't find one. Drinks were no cheaper than any other club; the bartenders were ugly, and they scrutinized my ID. There wasn't a line, and everyone with a good ID got in, but that's not necessarily a good thing (I have no problem with clubs restricted only to beautiful and well-dressed people).

I was in a happy drunken state with good friends, so the night was not a total bust, but there is definitely a reason this club is called Plan B. However, I think the plan "B" is a little generous; I would go farther down on the alphabetic scale and really exhaust your nearly infinite range of other options before heading to Plan B.