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.

At first glance, Schiller's may seem "too cool for school." Walking in alone can feel like "the setup to a romantic comedy FAIL" as you approach the "bustling but insular" bar full of beautiful patrons. Fear not. Remember those boys in high school who lived "on the lake, owned their own boat and spent a summer at a kibbutz"? Well imagine if they all eventually became "kings of hipster paradise," but worked so many hours they "remained single well into their 30s"? They're all at Schiller's. Local "restaurateurs, artists and impresarios" are more than ready to regale you with tales of their success, and implore you to help cure them of their lonely nights. Have you been to one guy's "bar around the corner that is rapidly expanding?" Not yet! Have you seen another fella's "friend's installation up the block? If not, we could swing through and get cupcakes after? Or before?" Yup, just as soon as you clean the drool off your blouse. One does begin to suspect that these are "someone else's boyfriends" trying to see if they've still got it. They do.

Dagny Mendelsohn is the front woman representing the 11 total owners at Macao Trading Company. She hails from the other serious foodie city, San Francisco, once she set foot in New York, she learned the heart of the restaurant business from one of the best, Keith McNally. She embraced the underground hipster scene from being part of APT, as well as gaining an education from the fashionistas (a.k.a. Richie Rich). At Macau, she brings it all together under one roof with dinners for people like Perry Farrell, Mick Rock and Morimoto.

As the economy recovers and money becomes available, places that were long ago shuttered or recently deceased prepare for rebirth. Restaurants lay around like old chairs and sofas covered with white sheets like in an old horror flick. The biggest prize in my eyes is Plumm, that ripe spot on 14th Street with a ton of tradition. Nell Campbell had her infamous joint Nell's there back in the day. It became famous for charging everybody -- and I mean everybody -- door admission. Cher refused, got turned away, and the little gimmick turned the place into a hit overnight. In later years, I would go and listen to jazz bands and eat good food before the mayhem of the dance halls. Noel Ashman took the joint over and called it NA. Some said it meant "Nell's Again," but most thought it was a tribute to his own dapper self. Noel eventually closed NA and transformed it into Plumm, with a gaggle of celebrity investors including Chris Noth, Damon Dash, Samantha Ronson, etc. Plumm proved to be a bitter fruit, never really catching on with a crowd that spent enough money to pay the rent.

Growing up, my friends had very traditional pets: dogs, cats, Tamagotchis. My family, being the eccentrics that they are (re: immigrants) made sure that my brother and I had something a little more fierce to play with. Our pet cougar loved us for ten passionate years before his unfortunate death at the hands of a demented hunter. My mother, saint that she is, told her distraught sons that our dead cougar was going to "cougar heaven," a place where "cougars roamed free and never went hungry." Little did I know she was talking about New York City.

The man who makes up the other half of Tenjune, on the opening of the Chandelier Room at the W Hotel in Hoboken tonight, his icons, and why New York's Meatpacking District is still the center of clubdom.

Foreign-born bottle-service diva Reka Nyari on why men with ties buy $5,000 bottles at clubs, inventing a nightlife resume to avoid the pole, and parlaying industry connects into a career in photography.

James Woods, the Hotel on Rivington’s Operations Manager, on ushering the A-list inside the hotel undetected, bringing an LA vibe to the Lower East, and the journey from Long Island bellboy to lounging in a hot tub way above the LES.