No matter the decision, you've got to weigh your options, whether test driving cars, squeezing chubby tomatoes, or sniffing dirty shirts to see which is least likely to send a woman fleeing from the Publix after witnessing your produce fondling. For a venue that promotes sizing up your fellow nightlifers, hit LIV at the Fontainebleau. Part of the 'Bleau's Vegas-style resort (22 acres, six restaurants, and a staircase to nowhere -- Morris Lapidus, what a wise-acre), LIV's a massive, vaguely amphitheatrical club laid out in a multi-layered, nearly circular design that presents zero obstacles to voyeurs and performers seeing & being seen from almost anywhere. Upon entrance, you'll descend a long sweeping staircase below a historic dome ceiling bathed in projected videos; glance down for sight-lines to every strata of the club, all illuminated with architectural lighting that makes wherever you're standing feel like a stage (so basically, expect delays when peeing). Once on the floor, belly up to one of three bars backed by DJ-synched video, or gain some altitude on the mezzanine; you can also spy on the dance floor by stepping up to slightly elevated leather banquettes "stitched" with light fiber that strobes with the music, whether it's electro, house, hip-hop, or rock, all part of LIV's tight theme of electrohousehiphoprock. If you'd rather see and not be seen, reserve one of six private skyboxes, each coming with bottle service, a mini-bar, and the unspoken promise that strangers won't be able to weigh the merits of the chubby tomato that is you.