So you’re single; or you’ve been in the same relationship for years; or you keep hooking up with your ex/best friend/ neighbor who has a stocked pantry and a really good view.  Who cares! Valentine’s Day is for lovin’, and no matter the state of your romantic affairs, you deserve a rendezvous-filled good night.  We’ve compiled the ideal itinerary for every kind of date - satisfaction guaranteed.

Sure, advertising makes the world go 'round, but it also makes me get up and head to the kitchen to fetch a snack. And yet, there are some commercials that are just so well done that they're actually worth watching, and Heineken's cinematic ad "The Date" certainly falls into that category. Composed of one long tracking shot that follows a rakish young hero and his sexy date as they enter a surreal banquet hall, encounter a host of strange characters, and celebrate with a couple of cold bottles of Heineken (don't they have glasses at this party?), it's marketing at its finest. And since the date looks like a lot of fun, Heineken came up with a way you can experience it yourself, sort of. 

This is going to be short and sweet - well, maybe splendid. Fashion Week is making me weak and it's just starting. I shoulda, woulda, if I coulda attended the Ami James Pop-Up Tattoo Shop thing at the Empire Hotel yesterday but I was otherwise distracted. Besides, I will be at the Empire Rooftop tomorrow night DJing, and being north of 23rd street two times in a week is... problematic for a BBurger like myself. I'm opening for the fabulous Mel DeBarge. Mel and I have a long history of being in the same room and other things more times than I care to discuss. He is a great DJ and I am honored to be mentioned in the same breath and invitation with him. Kirill is taking pictures and he somehow always manages to shoot me on my good side -not an easy accomplishment. I'm on from 9pm to 11pm, although the invite says doors open at 10pm. Either that's an error or someone has heard me DJ before or they want me to provide rhythm for the wait-rons as they set up. I'm excited about this and Fashion Week in general.

I made the rounds in the Lower East Side/Nolita last night and, as usual, lingered too long at some places and therefore never got to other places. After the great Buckler soirèe at The Elsinore, I stopped at The Orchard House which was having a relaunch or preview of the new reincarnation. Scores of people I haven't seen in a minute were making a scene. It was fun. I introduced Hotel Chantelle's Kyle O'Brien whom I am DJing for tonight to nightlife empress Sally Shan. Sally and I used to hang, but life often pulls people who want to hang down different paths. She has made a name for herself, going from a sub-promoter drawing a dozen or so people, to throwing events for hundreds. She was with a wonderful restauranteur from San Juan, Steven Yiu. He owns the East restaurants there. We became fast friends and I promised to visit him on my next visit to the island. I told him about a super-secret, totally amazing sandwhich shop on the wrong side of the tracks. Guys like me seek out such places where time and the changing world haven't yet corrupted. I directed him to this small spot where in-the-know locals of all classes wait in line for a half hour to try a Jerezma or seven potencias sandwhich. The place can be found behind  a Marshalls parking lot in Santurce. Steve affirmed that the hood is, well... quite hoody... and he has never heard of it but is heading there straight off. I told him to travel heavy. It's worth it.

I wear multiple nightlife hats. I, of course, write here daily; I design joints; I DJ; and I help in the marketing of that delicious Beau Joie Champagne. There are often conflicts, especially in the writing. I follow the rule of disclosing what I can about the new projects I am designing, but I do comply with the rules publicists and management lay out. I often do not get the first photos of places I'm designing or often even the first substantive story. In the case of the The Elsinore at 17 Stanton Street, my latest creation, publications like Crains and Thrillist got the scoops. I also will not write about a place differently because I am involved. This has upset a few clients, but others like the added dimension of this column.

A smart, sharp, beautiful, successful friend asked me where she could entertain her out-of-towners. Not knowing anything about these tourists I sent her a list of the A-List places. This list included joints as diverse as The Darby, Avenue, Provocateur, Electric Room, Le Bain, Le Baron, and W.i.P. There are of course many other choices and places closer to the edge but as I said they are strangers in a strange land and these felt safe to recommend. After describing each place in a couple of sentences they opted for W.i.P. W.i.P. is satisfying the needs of a downtown art/fashion/mixed crowd that had been forsaken for so long. Their Tuesday night soiree' Dropout continues to service the Post Jackie 60 scene. Tomorrow night in honor of Fashion Week they are offering up the amazing Debbie Harry. I caught up with Dropout honcho and man-about-town Lyle Derek and asked him all about it.

Green lights pour out onto the sidewalk and the rotating group of characters constantly smoking outside. The large front windows are completely filled with tiki paraphernalia. After a strict IDing by a leathered guy with very long chin hair, you descend into Otto's Shrunken Head: a beautiful burn-out paradise slipped into a narrow piece of 14th near Avenue C. Hold your breath and sink in. 

There was a time not long ago when no one would have believed bowling would become trendy. So there’s no reason to believe that ping-pong won’t suddenly catch on as the drunken hipster activity of choice. South Beach’s new nightspot Chalk, in fact, is counting on it.

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.