Cincinnati

In 1994 Bud Adams broke the heart of every powder blue Oiler fan across the globe, moving the team to the state of Phil Fulmer (Phil Fulmer?!), and giving the NFL the first of a new breed of generic football team names and logos. The crushed 12 year old I was looked elsewhere for a team, and the image of Icky Woods, shuffling over the Oilers years earlier, the Bengal player shifting the ball hand to hand mid dive in the playoffs to score a TD, the black on orange, and my sordid love affair with Cincinnati began.
This was my second trip to the city on the banks of the Ohio River, and both of them have been nothing short of well above average. Whether it be the Hoffbrauhaus representing sister city Munich, the homey bar area of Mt. Adams, or the nearby casinos where I first learned the beginnings of how to shoot craps, Cincy is fun. Ignoring the black stain that the restaurant Skyline has cast on it, the skyline of the city is actually quite impressive, with each skyscraper seemingly assigned a different neon glow to cast their building in. This creates an impressive sight when the skyline appears upon you quite suddenly between two hills, presenting itself with one of the best first impressions a city can make. For a place with no beach, theater, lake, or other major unique draw to it, Cincinnati is cimply fun. Just watch out for the billboards, they’ve got some strange standards of beauty to be considered a model.