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At first glance, Finnerty's appears to have undergone a makeover worthy of the Six Million Dollar Man. Whereas the wrecking-balled Third Avenue predecessor was a dingy, low-ceilinged hamster tunnel, its successor is a relatively cavernous affair with a wall of windows looking onto Second Avenue. Among the high-tech flourishes left over from dance spot Second Nature are a shiny steel bar top, plasma TVs, and fluorescent lights that, in tandem with the neon Bud signs, emit a UFO-like aura. But those who come here in groups, sporting sweatshirts emblazoned with bobcats or wearing ties mom bought them for a banking job, are proof that under that shiny exoskeleton lurks a conventional college bar: Bon Jovi and the Eagles blast on the mp3 jukebox; gin and tonics are served in pint glasses; the dart room in the back must compete with pool and Big Buck Hunter. Unsurprisingly, two days after opening, the scuffed hardwood floors and splintered walls were already emitting that foot-funky smell of spilled Bud Lite. — Daniel Maurer