Sixth borough, my ass. Call Philadelphia whatever you want any other time, but this week, in New York, we call them one thing: "Fucked." Because the Yankees have the best team they've had in years, and they're about to win their first World Series since 2000. Granted, it's eight years late, but sometimes we need to play catch-up. For those who will have to tolerate watching the seven games with you -- or watching the Phillies lose in four -- we've come up with some decent alternatives to your average digs you'd watch baseball, for those who might find this a less-than-pleasurable experience. Batter up.

New York City is a veritable hot zone for burning loins on a mission to be cooled. But where is one to go when craving a no-frills hook-up with no need to swap digits afterward? If you're over the romance, and have already exhausted our targeted tips for boys and girls -- here's a little something for everyone looking for a little something.

● Felix (Soho) - Your best bet for a little Sunday afternoon delight. Go for the brunch, stay for the booty. The wait for a table is so long that you will have met five potential hook-ups and ingested three Bloody Marys by the time you sit down.
● Hudson Terrace (Midtown West) - If you've read even one article in the past month about nightlife, then you've definitely heard of this highly publicized pick-up zone. Attractive people are flocking to the West Side Highway lounge for its large roof and loud music with a clear mission to make a match, for the evening at least. In fact, the music is so loud, you needn't produce semi-witty banter before you begin to bump n’ grind.

Believe or not, sometimes, people working at magazines get treated differently than normal people because companies want stuff in magazines or on websites. Such was the case with the Benjamin Steakhouse, who recently decided that their burger could take on some of New York City's most infamous gangsters in the burger slingin' game. So much so, in fact, that they offered to bring their burger -- along with their competition's burgers -- into our office for us to try out. And hell yeah, we bit. Literally.

Thompson Hotels' director of promotions and entertainment Med Abrous, on his once-in-a-lifetime guest performance with Prince, bringing movie night to clubs and the bright side of the bottle-service decline.

What’s the best night you’ve ever had at one of your venues?
A little over a year ago, I put together some concerts in the Roosevelt Ballroom for Prince. He performed six shows for about 300 people per show. It was so intimate, and he put on such an amazing show. During the third show, I’m sitting with a group of people -- the crowd was almost more famous than he was, which is really weird -- and he starts playing this riff, then calls my name and says, “Yo Med! Get up here.” So I get up onstage with Prince, and he’s playing “Play that Funky Music White Boy,” and I basically sing onstage with him playing backup guitar. It was amazing. I have a picture to prove it because it sounds like such a tall tale. I think that was pretty much the highlight of my life.

Happy birthday, Boss! BlackBook executive editor Chris Mohney is a cringeworthy 38 yearsold today! [You're certainly right on the cringing part. -CM] He spends his days supervising the efforts of trained monkeys (fellow blogger Ben Barna and myself), strenuously trying to avoid any events that would call for either of us to be shot dead. After work, Chris goes home to exert influence on The Littlest Mohney to be nothing like us. But we want to take him out to celebrate! So: where do you take your married, with-child 38 year-old boss out for his birthday? Answers after the jump.

I’m not sure how best to respond to my initial post about the events that transpired at Corner Bistro last Friday night, but I’ve been asked to write a follow-up. Since going live with the entry, the reaction from readers has been one of concern, outrage and, yes, disbelief. My Facebook account has been bombarded with messages, along with my e-mail account. And while a part of me would like to crawl under a heavy rock, safe from Internet speculation, I’m happy that I wrote the thing in the first place.

UPDATE: Nick responds to the comments on this post and elsewhere regarding more details.

It was nearing midnight last Friday when I stepped into Corner Bistro, the burgers-and-beer hangout for West Villagers who’ve emptied their last dark ’n stormy at Beatrice Inn. I was with my boyfriend and three other friends. Hungry and thirsty, we settled down at a table near the front door, waiting for service. We came for an order of fries, but left with a black eye, a few welts, and an employee screaming “faggots” as he threw me to the floor.

There's a huge segment of people that aren't going to give a shit which way the wind blows come Sunday's Super Bowl: anyone who isn't a Cardinals fan (they have fans that aren't Will Leitch?), anyone who isn't a Steelers fan (they have fans that aren't Obama?), anyone who doesn't watch football, anyone who doesn't have money on these games, anyone who doesn't understand football, anybody who'd rather be having brunch at Balthazar, and ... essentially, much of New York. Yet, because New Yorkers are trained monkeys who invest in rituals -- or because they don't want to spend Sunday afternoon alone -- they're going to have to make their way out of the apartment at some point to get some Super Bowl action in. That being said, if you've got to go, go right -- here, we present our favorite places to "watch" the Super Bowl that aren't insufferable sports bars.

Famed New York nightlife hotspot The Beatrice Inn easily has one of the toughest doors to get through in New York, and that's how they like to keep it. Getting in is kind of like the lottery: "many will enter, few will win." Except winning is entering! The previous definitive guide to the Beatrice managed to neglect one thing, however: how to get in, and what the door there is like. We polled two of our twentysomething West Village roaming staffers, who'll remain (kinda) anonymous, about what the door at Beatrice is like. Follow us as we help you penetrate Beatrice.

Telling your story from beyond the grave is a bitch. You’ve gotta sign scrolls of release forms, and be put through an infernal vetting process that culminates with a hellish (it’s really the only word I can think of) interview with Beelzebub himself. “We musn’t meddle with the order of things,” he told me. No idea what he meant, but his serpentine voice repulsed me, so I nodded my head and million-dollar-smiled him, and here I am at my old job, in one final performance, to tell you how I lost my life to this shitty economy (and alcohol).