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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 foosball tables. 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