It turned out to be a birth week instead of a birthday. There were two planned events and two surprises and I have had more pieces of cake and Beau Joie Champagne than I can count on my fingers, toes, and other body parts. Tomorrow I will take a rare venture out of town - a car trip to the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art. MASS MoCA (as it is known) is genius. I will not be watching the Super Bowl this weekend since I don't care a lick, but if I was I would surely go to Brooklyn Bowl or maybe The Brooklyn Star. The word "Brooklyn" is key. Manhattan will not see me again until Monday. You see, I legitimately got a little older yesterday and I am feeling it.

Despite my big hoopla Tuesday night at Avenue, today/tonight is my real birthday. It is very common in clubland to celebrate your special day on another day. I remember, back in the day, every time a Quentin Crisp or another not-so-rich celebrity needed $500, we would throw them a birthday party and give them the loot and a phony club dinner. Sometimes six months separated the event and the reality. A rival club honcho asked me why I did my bash at Avenue and I referred to yesterday's article and told them that "they asked." It was wonderful.

My birthday bash at Avenue last night proved to be more fun than a barrel of monkeys. I am limp and drained and wonderful. I feel like a million yen.  Avenue asked me to throw my party there and I couldn't say no. The good people at Avenue/ Tao Strategic Group have been work associates, friends, and family from the good old days when I was that maniacal Steve Lewis guy. They put up with me then and celebrated me yesterday... in style.

Tonight I will celebrate a zillion years of enjoying what I do for a living. I am so much a creature of the night that I just may toast to my eons with Tru Blood, warm and straight from the bottle. I am having my birthday gala at Avenue, where I have many friends... where my friends are family. I will DJ for a few minutes some songs you will Shazam and know forever. The world is still filled with amazing stuff, yet undiscovered. There are some things I am sure about, and that includes the love and respect I am honored to have from many people I will see tonight. One of my oldest and dearest is Wass Stevens, who just a few days ago was totally wrecked in a motorcycle accident. In the surgery that followed, he received four screws, two in the heel, two in the ankle, and three pins etc., etc. Somehow, he will be at the door tonight greeting my friends. I asked him Why, how, wow? and he replied, "Nothing -  not a bike wreck, broken bones, nothing - could keep me away from the honor of working your birthday. Besides, we are two of only a handful of veterans left in this biz," and that "No one else would know four decades worth of your friends and night life acquaintances." Our friendship is one built on thousands of unique nights,  with boredom never a factor. We have helped each other through trying times, and seen things in each other that few have ever suspected. He has guided me when I wasn't listening to anyone and appreciated and supported me when the world was determined to extinguish my flame. I asked Wass about his recent tumble and what else is going on. He'll - we'll -  be at Avenue tonight if you are so inclined.

The other day I was called by a friend of club/event promoter Michael James, asking me to write something nice about him. He had just been vilified on Page Six of the New York Post and wanted an opportunity to set the record straight. I had heard something about this earlier in the day but didn't give it much thought until a PR of note forwarded me the article: