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.

Fashion Week is sort of like the groundhog that never sees its shadow for clubland. It portends a quick end to the cold winter. January, except for the three-day weekend that celebrates Dr. Martin Luther King Day, is usually a financial bust for clubs, bars, and restaurants. Football playoffs help some of the venues and indeed defines revenue for the sports bars, but in general the post-Christmas cash crunch and New Years recovery spells trouble. Tourists, a huge part of our hospitality economy, do not come here during our frigid winters. A great many New Yorkers, often referred to as Snow Birds, head south to enjoy Miami, the Carribean, and other warm weather locales where "the season" is in full swing. Fashion Week carries joints through the cruel short month of February. Valentine's Day provides a spending spike and then it's on to the spring with all its sexy good times.

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. 

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.

On Sunday, the most important sporting event in the world will be held, assuming by "world" you mean "United States." This year's Super Bowl is particularly significant, as it pits the Giants of East Rutherford, New Jersey New York against the Patriots of Foxborough, Massachusetts New England, two of the biggest television advertising markets most historically rich cities in the country. A list of Boston sports bars can be found here. As for my fair city, New York is filled with sports bars, but there are a handful of particularly upscale joints that break the lager-and-wings mold with fancy cocktails and haute cuisine - particularly important if you're trying to make a date of it. Here are a few of our favorites. 

Every Boston-dwelling Patriots fan needs their bar to watch the game, chow down on some loaded potato skins, and eventually cry into their coagulated nachos and eighth Heineken. Lucky for them, we've found the five best Boston sports bar to do just that. No matter who they're with and what atmosphere they're craving, these spots will leave them happy on Sunday - or, at least, as happy as they can possibly be. 

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.

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.