Snap, that sports bar we are finishing on 14th street and 8th Avenue, is open nightly and hosting fabulous events. Last night Danny A— as in always an “A” crowd—brought his crowd to the tables. The scene was easily the hottest gathering ever at a sports bar. There were more models and hot people than at the regular hot spots around town. That was the point: a sports bar without the 800-pound gorillas in the room, a place to enjoy the big game with good food and company. I will be watching the Manny Pacquiao fight with Antonio Margarito tomorrow night there. I chatted up Danny about his success in the acting/movie producing game. I loved Holy Rollers, which starred The Social Network’s now famous Jesse Eisenberg. The first guests to arrive at the bash were former Met/Yankee basher Darryl Strawberry, chaperoned by my pal Eytan Sugarman. Me and my gal chatted up the clearly together slugger. He said he admired my work, and I told him I always admired his. I said that he an Andre Dawson were the most feared batters of their day. At a sports bar like this, attracting heroes and a sexy crowd seems perfect.

Damn Monday nights. A little while ago I'd use Monday nights to get rid of the idea that the weekend was over, and the next one so far away, by promptly leaving work and tossing back copious amounts of open-bar booze at some after-work affair. This would be promptly followed by a barrage of whiskey on the rocks at Lit Lounge, until I would promptly go to bed around 5 a.m. It made me feel better about participating in the workforce. These days, I'm a bit gun-shy about pulling the trigger on a Monday night. It's dangerous when you've got some real responsibility, but I still get a little antsy. So I'm home in my gym clothes, still trying to look cute for my bf, who is clearly more interested in whatever spread sheet he's glued to. Could be work, could be some kind of fantasy football thing, could be some kind of elaborate date plan he's mapping out. Right. I pour myself a monster glass of wine and think about the fun things I could be doing if it wasn't 10:45 already, and I wasn't an hour away from looking decent.

A recent obsession of mine with everything tattooed may be due to a midlife crisis, but if you do the math that means I’m going to live until 114. Anyway, I had my midlife crisis in ’87, and then that other one in ’96, and then there was that recent 3-year relationship with that 19 year old which in all fairness isn’t as bad as it sounds, as she eventually became 22. No, my tattoo thing is most likely due to my constant trips to Williamsburg. It’s as if you can’t rent a flat out there without a serious sleeve. My good neighbor Dana Dynamite, ex-Ben Sherman and more recently Carrera Sunglasses, is pushing Sailor Jerry. There actually was a Sailor Jerry and I have this DVD to prove it. Turns out he was an even surlier old cuss than I suspected, with political views slightly to the right of Attila the Hun. Jerry has passed on. He would have been a hundred this year. He leaves behind his art which adorns the tilted masses and will for generations. So in celebration of the old swabby’s birthday, they’re having events and such. Most notably is the “Sailor Jerry 2011 Calendar Contest: The Search for the Hottest Tattooed Women in the World.” Now that sounds like a typical Saturday night for me (before I met my lovely Amanda).

It’s 10:30 on a Wednesday night and I’m in gym clothes crossing Union Square wondering if I’ve anything good left on TiVo when I first hear them. “Let’s just get drinks here,” a California blond squeals to her fellow interns, a group of smiley, freshly implanted college girls. “This part of the city is amazing—there are so many places to go!” Suddenly I feel refreshed, the soggy, angry heat evaporating around me. I immediately recall those same, remarkable feelings of excitement when I was new to this city: every step was one outside my comfort zone, and the possibilities were endless—the night was a mystery. Now, since I've settled into the groove of actually living in this city, the knee-jerk reaction toward their enthusiasm is a swift eye-roll at their naïveté and a silent recitation of the latest snarky blog post about this exact area going to hell in TGI Friday’s hand basket. These days, the trend is to speak about nightlife as you were attending its funeral. I’ve grown bored with the idea that there’s nothing new or provocative happening in this metropolis. Nightlife isn’t dead, it’s just different, and it’s different for everyone. It’s been a while since I first started covering nightlife as "Holly GoNightly," but my interest is once again piqued to seek out new ways to look at New York after dark. While some longingly wish for their days at Studio 54, Tunnel, or the Beatrice Inn, there are many more seeking out the new. The internet has given everyone a certain kind of access, diversifying trends and experiences. There’s something for everyone, and the only way to find out what works is to step out and try it on for size.

● Stanley Tucci at The Luxury Collection Destination Guide Launch with Assouline: I like to go to a lot of different places, but certainly Mario Batali's restaurants. The beef cheek ravioli at Babbo is so delicious and so incredible. Just about anything he cooks is okay with me. I always stay at the St. Regis, here in New York. ● Rosie Perez: I love Gino's in Bay Ridge. The arroz con gandule at Luz in Brooklyn is a favorite, and the roasted chicken is the best deal in town. Here in the city, Dok Suni's for Korean barbeque, at First Avenue and 7th Street.

● Billy Joe Armstrong at the Broadway opening of Green Day's American Idiot: I don't have any favorites. I like anywhere and everywhere. I went to go see "Everyday Rapture" last night, and then I went to punk-rock karaoke down on the Lower East Side, it was at Arlene's Grocery. ● Mike Dirnt: Honestly, I like to meet friends for a nice pint at McSorley's, the oldest pub in New York. ● Tre Cool: I like to go to Gray's Papaya at 72nd Street and get cheap hot dogs.

In partnership with the aspirationally driven folks at HBO's How to Make It in America, we're proud to offer you the chance to achieve a personal gold standard by unlocking the exclusive BlackBook Nightlife badge on Foursquare. Make HTMIIA your Foursquare friend, then check into any 3 of 20 possible New York nightlife or dining destinations (restaurants are the new nightlife, you know), and you'll get the shiny new Foursquare badge pictured here. Soon we may provide an even more material motivation to have fun with this, but for now, download the BlackBook Guide iPhone app and start hitting the hotspots. Complete list of eligible joints after the jump.

Alan Linn created a home for the art world by hand picking every piece inside Norwood, his West Village private members-only club. An artist himself, Linn got his B.A. and M.A. at Royal College of Art in London and started his career working at local bars, but fell in love with New York. Lucky for him, a group of New Yorkers have since fallen in love with Norwood. Once a month, Linn selects random members to sit for dinner and hopes that Norwood's legacy will be the projects that are inspired there. Everything from movie screenings to band performances occur under Norwood's roof and spontaneous jam sessions take place regularly. (You might also be surprised to see which rock star comes in to play the piano every now and then). A chat with Linn after the jump.

Larry Poston officially opened the West Village resto Hotel Griffou with business partner Johnny Swet on July 1. Poston made his name in New York restaurant circles as a manager at Pastis and the Waverly Inn, and Swet gained his hospitality know-how at Balthazar and Freemans. Most recently occupying the 9th Street space was notorious speakeasy Marylou’s, but the name of the new joint is after the original, French 1870s occupants. The modern dining rooms are themed as a salon, library, and artist's studio with a French-inspired classic cuisine menu. Poston gives us an inside look at the new spot.

As a self-respecting woman -- or, for that matter, a New Yorker (one who, naturally, is trying to stand her fiscal ground in these tough economic times) -- I’m the first to say that eating disorders are unattractive on a physical, medical, and emotional level. However: this is The Big City, sweetie, and sometimes a girl’s got to stop, look around at all the gorgeous people surrounding her, and put down the pomme-frites, possibly followed by a pull-the-trigger trip to the commode. That being said, everyone loves going out to dinner here, and does it often. It’s an unavoidable part of our culture, and a way for us to leave behind the nightmares of work and stress in place of good conversation, good friends, and a stomach/liver satisfied with food/tasty libations (the ones we keep down). So here's a time-tested list of ten places where I’ve had a thrill without eating anything, where Shaq-sized Amazon beauties are found sipping glasses of champagne or drowning their hunger with empty vodka calories.