2:00amSASHA AND DIGWEED
@ Twilo

Most superclubs struggle to keep their cavernous spaces filled, but Twilo has no such problems with its monthly Friday-night party featuring British D.J.'s Sasha and John Digweed. The line stretches across the block and onto Tenth Avenue; several buses come in from Boston and Washington, D.C.; and at least a few Europeans cross the pond just to check out "Sasha and Diggers" in New York. "I've been out here for like two hours now," a Puma-track-suited club kid sighed one recent Friday. The right look helps: "They see the baggy pants, and then turn us away," huffed a raver girl in absurdly wide-legged jeans. It's just as crowded inside, where the corridor leading to the bathroom is so packed that partyers are nearly raised into the air, and the dance floor is so jammed that clubbers are forced to simply pogo in place. Just after 2 a.m., Sasha began spinning emotional, spacious trance. As if on cue, the crowd undulated ecstatically to his ambient breakdowns, too blissed out to remember how long they waited to get in. 530 West 27th Street (212-268-1600)
E.B.

2:00am
KRASH

At the labyrinthine Queens club Krash, the considerable crowd drinks and dances with an exuberance usually reserved for low-budget coming-out flicks. Beneath a billboard that shows a red stiletto heel crushing the nightspot's name, a crowd of gay and lesbian Latinos -- young and old, big and small, Hilfigered and FUBUed -- line up to merengue, salsa, and stagger around. Inside the lobby, $5 gets customers past buff bouncers who provide startlingly thorough pat-downs. The friskiness doesn't stop there: At 2 a.m. on a recent night, a fog machine greeted transsexual chanteuse Jessica Foxx, who lip-synched to Deee-Lite's "What Is Love?" -- and the crowd didn't miss a single "ooh-la-la lalalalalalalala." "I love this song!" cried one Naya-wielding clubber in an undershirt and Dickies jeans. "I love you," the little one beside him cooed. Then they hugged for a solid fifteen minutes, cuddling, snuggling, and gnashing their jaws. 34-48 Steinway Street, Astoria (718-937-2400)
DEREK DE KOFF

3:00amN'ICE
@ Baktun

"People who listen to electronic music tend to take themselves a little too seriously," says Holmar Filipsson, the D.J. at the monthly house-music party "N'Ice" at Baktun. Who could disagree? But at "N'Ice," taking yourself too seriously is practically a violation of the door policy. Dancers unabashedly shout and bob up and down, Filipsson and partner A. Gram spin crowd-pleasing records that embrace house's disco roots, and dress runs more to colorful tank tops than to black turtlenecks. At first glance, the crowd -- spiky-haired Japanese East Villagers, disheveled Brits, and German tourists -- seems globally chic, but pretensions (and inhibitions) melt away in Baktun, a narrow, overheated club where the bar is separated from the dance floor by only a film screen. The party always features a guest D.J., and a recent Roger Sanchez set was raucous enough to spill dancers' drinks. The name as well as the atmosphere, according to Filipsson, is meant to make partygoers feel "at ease in the heat." 418 West 14th Street (212-712-7258)
E.B.

SATURDAY

9:30pm
OLD KING COLE BAR

At the Old King Cole bar in the St. Regis Hotel, the bartenders have names like Wolfgang, higher IQs than your tax accountant, and the kind of mixological expertise that led to the invention of the Bloody Mary. The mix of customers is just as eclectic. The dark, clubby bar attracts -- along with the expected midtown crowd of account executives and globe-trotting Arabs -- a mélange of judges, society babes in stringy slips, and the occasional tab-carrying goodfella (one night, the owner of a waste-management business paid for everyone sitting to the left of the door, whether he knew him or not). Ozzy Osbourne pops in from time to time, and Elton John was seated in the tearoom on a recent Saturday night. Above the bar -- and dominating the room -- is the famous Maxfield Parrish mural of the court of King Cole. At first, like the bar itself, it seems a bit on the grand side. But a gin-and-tonic or two later, a closer look reveals that the courtiers and servants are all giggling or smirking, while the king himself looks oddly satisfied. And then someone lets you in on the joke: The king just farted. 2 East 55th Street (212-339-6721)
M.S.

11:15pm
CLUB EUROPA

With a dance floor teeming with sweaty bodies and a sound system stacked with Whitney Houston, Club Europa seems like an average outer-borough singles joint -- only "no one speaks a lick of English in this place," according to one disappointed hipster. But the Greenpoint dance club is the ideal place to drink vodka, dance to cheesy Euro-pop, and generally experience Saturday night "Odessa-style." Tucked in a brick building next to the 86th Precinct, Club Europa is ground zero for the neighborhood's Polish twentysomethings and the Williamsburg hipsters who sport strikingly similar Members Only jackets and shag haircuts. But there are a few easy ways to tell the Eastern European immigrants from the East Village rent refugees: The former have real Odessa style (recently, a bouncer sent a few local artist types home for wearing suede New Balances instead of tasseled loafers), and the latter don't dance to the extended dance mix of "Believe." 98-104 Meserole Avenue, Brooklyn (718-383-5723)
M.E.

1:30amSCHOOL
@ Alphabet Lounge

Three years ago, the old brick building that houses the intimate Alphabet Lounge was a bodega. The new tenants have replaced the dusty shelves with minimalist red booths and a small stage, but they haven't lost that corner-deli feeling. The "School" party is a neighborhood favorite -- partly because it's the only place to hear good house D.J.'s in Alphabet City -- and it attracts the East Villagers who collect electronica records as well as those who equate dance music with gallery openings. On a recent Saturday night, young media types in designer T-shirts and elaborate Nikes moved onstage to the soulful beats of D.J.'s Neil Aline and Matthias Heilbronn as French expats sipped Cosmopolitans. The Alphabet Lounge doesn't allow real dancing -- it doesn't have a cabaret license -- but its combination of high style and low attitude have led to the kind of door lines rarely seen east of Second Avenue. To cut down on crowding, Aline recently began issuing social-club-style I.D. cards that will make even some uptowners feel right at home. 104 Avenue C (212-780-0202)
D.S.

2:30amFOXY
@ The Cock

At a time when Mayor Giuliani is trying to banish sleaze from New York nightlife, the "Foxy" party hasn't just made debauchery a spectacle -- it's made it a contest. In a dark dive barely bigger than a breadbox, the mostly gay male revelers try to outshock one another to win "Foxy dollars" from the crowd; the person with the most Foxy dollars at the end of the night wins $100 and plenty of street cred. It's hardly amateur night: One night a naked boy playing Phil Ochs songs with a guitar covering his privates was on the vanilla side of the spectrum. Meanwhile, lithe male bartenders in bikinis poured with heavy hands, D.J. Adam played the kind of eighties disco that was obscure in the eighties, and boys who just met ducked into the back area for a little privacy. Predictably, Giuliani isn't too popular (the Cock has been raided by police several times in the past year). "Fuck Rudy!" screamed a boy at the bar. "Yeah -- fuck Rudy!" screamed another from the long, slow line to the bathroom. 188 Avenue A (no phone)
D. de K.

4:00am
WAREHOUSE

At a time when velvet-rope fascism is on the move into previously ungentrified neighborhoods, the mostly gay, mostly African-American Bronx megaclub warehouse is so hospitable it even serves fried chicken. It's usually quiet until about 2 a.m., when D.J.'s MK and Unknown heat up their mix of mainstream hip-hop on the downstairs dance floor and upstairs D.J. Andre Collins segues from house anthems into harder-hitting techno. As shirtless muscle boys and Latin women in Nikes focused more on their footwork than on their flirting one Saturday, a handful of British tourists in club clothes threw back pints, marveled at the energy of the crowd, and wondered why the club wasn't listed in Let's Go. After a few drumsticks and slices of lemon-poppy-seed cake, though, they began bobbing their heads, then pacing back and forth, and then finally moving toward the middle of the dance floor. 141 East 140th Street, Bronx (718-992-5974)
D.S.