Ready for a photo tour of a newly built Hamptons house that’s just begging to be destroyed with debaucherous activity? It’s got all the elements necessary for a non-stop summer blow out. Let’s check them out:

1. The kick-ass deck. A Hamptons party pad needs a humongous, sprawling deck as this is where all social activity will take place. Who in their right mind would ever want to party indoors?

2. A glamorous, heated pool. How else are you going to get your backyard to look like a music video? Poolside ladies are also necessary.

3. A billiard room with an outdoor deck and three flat screen TVs. Why not?

4. An elegant master suite for the private party. Don’t worry; this bed could easily sleep six. Nothing raunchy about that.

5. A tub big enough for four, just so if the party gets too stressful you can truly “relax” without chlorine or sand.

6. A jacuzzi which doubles as iPod deck complete with built in speakers.

Architectural genius! Also a must: the large BBQ (not photographed), at least a dozen lawn chairs, and multiple freezers. Party on.

The words “Lily Pond” make me think of frogs, ducklings, lily pads, flowers and children’s literature. Interestingly enough, it’s actually the name of a nightclub in East Hampton. I got over my “What they were thinking?!” distress and decided I wouldn’t let the fact that the club sounded like a five-year-old’s favorite book prejudice my opinion. Yet trying to scope out the place with an open mind remained additionally challenging since Lily Pond’s rep at the poolside Hampton’s conversations I’d been eavesdropping on wasn’t positive. It seemed like I’d heard Hamptonite after Hamptonite hating on the place describing it as “a dump,” “Guido-central,” and “the worst night of my life.”

Yikes!

The snobs in South Hampton and beyond also complained about the club’s distance, describing it as “a long haul” compared to Pink Elephant or Dune.

I stayed in East Hampton this weekend around so the distance complaints were nixed. We were there in our insanely over-priced taxi in ten minutes. (Note: Taxi drivers in the Hamptons like to charge you ‘per head’ so they can make upwards of $100 dollars on inter-town rides. P.S. Meter’s are non-existent).

The backstory is that Lily inhabits the space formerly known as Resort. After a small fortune spent in renovations, it’s now the official brainchild of Unik Ernest (PM) and Michael Satsky (Stereo).

Outside was appropriately as mess just as any Hamptons club past midnight on a Saturday should be. I allowed myself to be herded through the entrance and found myself genuinely surprised by the layout before me. It was large! Almost spacious (for the Hamptons). And had real decorations ala Manhattan club with gold walls and chandeliers, unlike the pirate-y, sawdusty feel of Dune.

After apparently not having a lightening system set up Memorial Day weekend, the club’s now overcompensated by installing absurdly over-the-top mini spotlights. These rotating bulbs run up and down the room swirling varying shades of yellow, purple, pink and making it 100% impossible to discern if the object in front of you is man, woman, child or beast. So consider bringing sunglasses or nausea medication. Also, keep the random make-out sessions to a minimum because visual (and consequently mental) impairment is a certainty.



I’d always cited Pink Elephant’s status as ‘best’ Hamptons club on the fact that they were the only venue with a substantial outdoor area. Come to find out, this isn’t true. While Dune is an enclosed sweatshop, Lily Pond boasts an outdoor area. The music’s quieter out there and it’s definitely not where the best bottle service or action is, but if you want to escape the indoor madness, chat with or merely get a concrete look at a fellow partier, the outdoor space is a lovely option.

A mysterious female rapper gave a thirty minute performance which was bizarre and unexpected, then the DJ took over in what I considered a commendable job. Yes, the club was a madhouse and uncomfortably crowded, but that’s to be expected. What I found noteworthy was how the whole space had this unique, European feel. Nothing that classy but several steps above in ambiance compared to other Hamptons clubs. I left early since I just wasn’t drunk enough to fit in and wanted first dibs on a bed, couch or air mattress.

On the whole, Lily Pond - nowhere near as bad as the South Hamptoners made it out to be. These folks just might be resistant to change.

I always steer away from political fundraisers and events, unless there’s an open bar involved, then I steer toward the Svedka. When art is also involved, I don’t even have to feel guilty. That’s why I’d been excited for weeks to attend Truth Through Action’s first party and short film screening at Mansion.

In a nutshell, this organization makes innovative and in the case of their first film, highly comedic, viral videos encouraging young people to vote and support the Democratic Party. I strongly encourage watching their first movie Blue Balled here. Aside from the film screening, partiers enjoyed a photo exhibit called Political Monogamy by Reka Nyari and a musical performance by Shanna Zell (a tune of hers is also featured in the movie.) It’s always refreshing to feel like you’re taking in a little culture with your alcohol consumption, just because it garners the illusion that clubs don’t necessarily have to be a sinful place.

I Only Sleep With Democrats wife-beaters were for sale and the open bar drinks were appropriately named after political figures like George Bush, Hillary Clinton and John McCain. I stuck with Ross Perot. What can I say? He tasted the best.

And speaking of taste, to my heavy-drinking readers, there’s a new beverage on my delicious list. Truth Through Action included TK KU, an Asian citrus liquor, as part of their open bar.

I don’t know if it’s technically a liqueur or a super smooth version of sake. These details are irrelevant since all you need to know is that for 40 proof, this stuff tastes like heaven. I drank it straight, on ice, at 9pm. Enough said. Making the drink even more entertaining is that it’s presented in, according to their card, The World’s Only Illuminating Bottle. Wow. It was like a light saber and a Grey Goose container rolled into one. And I didn’t let the fact that whatever makes the liquor bottle shine will most likely be pinpointed as a cancer-causer ten years from now bother me at all.

Illuminating liquor, art and indie film all in support of a good cause? What better evening-out launch party could anybody want?

I recently found myself at One, the restaurant aside Gansevoort in Meatpacking which is the promoter pre-party dinner hub of the city. To explain what that means, you’ve gotta know that promoters often cut deals with New York City restaurants, bringing their hot entourage to eat for free before attending whatever club they’re herding people to that evening.

Why This Works: A Flow Chart (keep in mind I haven’t made a flow chart since eighth grade):

Generally speaking, it’s a promoter’s job to have hot chicks and guys who’ll buy tables at their beck and call –> For the most part, guys who buy bottle service work all the time (allowing them to afford bottle service) and being hard workers, don’t have a time to socially micromanage a glamorous entourage. –> Since partying at a table alone without a glamorous entourage is considered faux-pas and a major waste of alcohol, the hard workers decide to team up with a promoter who is, for all practical purposes, a species of middleman. –> On the opposite end of the spectrum, those who make up the glamorous entourage most likely can’t afford a table of their own, hence their decision to work with a promoter. –> To further entice the glamorous entourage to come out with them, promoters will offer perks like limo rides or free dinner at a trendy NYC restaurant pre-clubbing. –> Trendy NYC restaurants need good-looking patrons into order to retain their aforementioned status as trendy. –> Since a promoter already has a glamorous entourage that can’t afford trendy dinners at their disposal, the promoter offers their encourage to eat and drink for free beforehand at [insert trendy restaurant here] –> The restaurant gives away free food to the promoter and their group in exchange for what is essentially, product placement PR with humans. –> Theoretically, everybody wins.

I’m sure many variations of this formula exist, but this is its core function as I understand it. Many restaurants (more than I can list) work with promoters in this capacity, but I don’t think any participate as much as Gansevoort’s next door neighbor, One.

One has really uncomfortable seats and tables, insanely loud music, and mediocre food. At some promotional restaurant gigs, you actually see a menu and order whatever you choose. At most however, menus are a never presented and the server just brings out select appetizers and main courses for everyone to share family-style while boozing people up on a lot of champagne. A sample promotional dinner at One consists of:

-Unlimited wine and champagne (dangerous)

-A shared Caeser-like salad (pretty good)

-A shared quesadilla (pretty gross)

-A shared appetizer pizza (pretty satisfying)

-An odd chicken tapas thing (which I think I don’t like) and

-Shared steak with French fries and ravioli for the main course.

Not too shabby.

My qualm with One has nothing to do with the food, but rather the music level, which is so absurdly high you’d think you were eating in the middle of a concert or club, which essentially, you are. Promoter dinners take place at 10 or 10:30 since everyone has to be in the club around midnight. One, which doubles as a bar (hence the importance they be perceived as ‘trendy’) starts cranking up the volume to make the place feel like a discotheque at around the same time the promoter tables are sitting down to eat. You therefore often find yourself in the completely surreal experience of eating in silence with thirteen other people, listening to deafeningly loud party music. Carrying on a conversation is an impossibility and on my last visit, the unthinkable happened.

At 11:30 One went black. Black as in they turned all the lighting off, even in the dining area. The restaurant was darker than the inside of your average club, because at least your average club has fancy strobe machines and an expensive lighting system. Literally, none of us could see. Not each other. Not our food. It was like some creepy horror movie in which you suddenly find yourself at a vampires banquet in a dungeon.

I thought the whole thing was a joke and waited for them to play ‘Thriller’ and then turn the ambiance lighting back up – but no. It was a big finger in the face to anyone who was still eating, and even the non-promoter diners seemed pretty weirded out. I mean, this is New York. A lot of people sit down to dinner at 11:30pm. And I understand that One likes to think of itself as a lounge and therefore wants to create a party atmosphere to sell drinks to wasted people in ASAP, but why then bother having a restaurant?

More nightlife mysteries, unsolved.

The folks at SoHo hotspot Upstairs on Spring Street just refused to be discouraged by cop raids and the fact that their bar has been shut down for weeks. They continue to merrily sell bottles (raking in cash) and force patrons to walk downstairs to Café Bari should they want to purchase a drink. The latest development is that they’ve moved the DJ booth (previously on a folding table off to the side) into their empty bar space for kicks. Dynamic restructuring!

To me, these absurdities are further testament to how much New York partiers love this establishment. What other locale could get away with a seemingly-permanently closed main bar and upstairs-downstairs trips should you want to open a tab?

At this point, if they finally get their liquor license, the place might lose half its charm.

Remember that episode of Sex and the City when Carrie goes to some hip, joint-smoking couple’s baby shower and gets her insanely expensive shoes stolen? That’s the first thing I thought of when I entered a party this weekend and the front foyer looked like this:

The de-shoeing excuse the lame couple on Sex and the City gave had something to do with protecting their pristine offspring from New York’s street germs. Funny, because I’m sure when these children ventured into Central Park with their nanny they touched, licked and molested the urban landscape as if it were a candy cane.

At the party I was attending, our bachelor host didn’t have this concerned parent excuse. He also didn’t have hardwood floors, making everyone even more confused as to why our shoes had to be checked at the door as if they were a violent weapon.

What I found most interesting about the party that ensued (a lovely and successful party btw) was the subtle yet intense murmur of complaints steadily voiced by the females in attendance. Perhaps not surprisingly, New York women really don’t like to part with their shoes. Some put on a happy face while bitching below the radar about how without their suede heels, their outfit no longer “worked.” Others complained they felt inferior or “like midgets” without their stilettos. Many commiserated over how the entire situation was just kindergarten-style “unfair.” As one guest pointed out, “If our host can afford this apartment, can’t he afford to have someone come clean the floor?”

“Wow!” I thought. “This could get ugly!” But I resisted chanting “Fight! Fight!” like the people on WWE Wrestling.

I, for one, feel like I’ve suffered enough discomfort via footwear for one lifetime and therefore remain grateful for any opportunity to take my high heels off. The best comedy occurred at the end of the night when all the guests, now drunk on gin and bubbly, had to locate their shoes in this tangled, overflowing pile and somehow retain their balance long enough to put them back on. Many toppled over. Lot’s of shoulders were lent for support.

I experienced a mini panic attack when I couldn’t locate my gold strappy sandals in the shoe orgy. The impossibly frightening was happening: My life was a Sex and the City episode! Someone stole them!

I became especially enraged since I already had one pair of shoes mysteriously stolen at a house party in Brazil. Fortunately, after a little digging, I found my sandals suffocating under a pair of sneakers.

Crisis averted.

Miss Model Behavior’s the new nightlife writer for theBlaqlist.com. Feel free to post any nightlife comments or questions on our forum or contact her at MissModelBehavior@theBlaqlist.com

Tenjune is one of those clubs I’ve always resisted getting intimate with, hanging out there a handful of times but always in passing. For some unknown reason, my friends have always framed the idea as:

“Let’s swing by Tenjune,” as opposed to, “Let’s spend the night at Tenjune.”

I wrote about my mild dislike of the place and briefly made fun of their Halloween decorations, only to realize recently that I never really gave this establishment a fair chance. So I set up my Saturday evening with the intention of scoping out this hotspot for real.

I tagged along with a promoter and therefore experienced a stress-free, smooth entry around 12:15 AM. Yes it was mad early, and the inside of the club reflected this. While the dance floor and bar were cluttered with people, the surrounding, elevated VIP section remained void of human activity. This made the club surprisingly comfortable and I relished in the fact that my friends and I could dance without having our noses pressed up into one another’s sweat glands. Sweat was nowhere to be found in fact, since Alaskan-style air blast through the club’s vents at high frequency. I’d recently purchased a fashion statement of a jacket that I enjoyed showing off so didn’t mind, but my heart went out to the sundress-clad ladies suddenly smothered in goosebumps.

The DJ spun everything from rap to Billy Joel to the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song to Ministry of Sound in a surprisingly smooth flow. The club’s population count and temperature rose naturally over the next half-hour and it wasn’t until one of my guy friends elbowed me in the ribs while performing a head jerk that I realized the man in the table next to us was Kanye West.

Kanye West!?!?

I’m one of those people who remain stoic and unenthusiastic about celebrity sightings, but Kayne West!?! He’s perhaps the coolest male artist you could see these days, primarily because he invented terms like “go ahead, go nuts, go apeshit,” which my friends and I have adopted in regular speech. So I admit that my excitement went up a notch and I became even more determined to thoroughly enjoy the evening.

About Kanye: He partied with three male members of his entourage and a breathtakingly beautiful Rihanna-looking girl who had the most enviable legs I’ve ever seen. A girlfriend of mine, who follows celebrity stalker publications said that she’d seen pictures of this sizzlin lady with Kanye on his recent beach vacation. Nice!

Kanye himself wore a plain green T-shirt, jeans, crazy cool sneakers that were a hybrid between Nikes and Uggs, and a plain cloth baseball cap worn elevated and twisted to one side. He’s remarkably short. In fact, I’d described him as child size. (Note: Being the only table next to him, we were all expressly asked by management not to take photographs).

Kanye didn’t smoke or drink the entire evening. He did however, look relaxed and like he was having a good time. He alternated between sitting on the banquette focusing on his cell phone and jiving on top of the banquette dancing in small, jerky movements, occasionally pausing to chat with the gorgeous female hottie.

Immediately, my stress-prone brain began to wonder: Kanye’s tunes are such a club staple – How does a DJ best handle the music situation when the artist himself is in the house? Does that mean you play more Kanye songs? Or does it mean to you play none at all?

I pondered this dilemma until the DJ finally bust out “Stronger” and the crowd went wild. I immediately honed in on Kanye eager for some sort of reaction on his part, but got nothing. Throughout the beginning of the song he tapped away on his cell phone, seemingly oblivious, then stood up and enjoyed his music with everyone else.

“Would he sing along?” I wondered. “Or is he so totally sick of hearing his own music that he wants to barf right now?” Again, I observed him like a veteran stalker and didn’t see him mouth any of the words (although his gorgeous lady friend was singing them at the top of her lungs). Later on, the DJ played “The Good Life.” Kanye got a little more into this tune and even sang a tiny bit by the end.

Kanye and his entourage rolled out of the club unusually early and all that was left by 1:45 AM was their empty bottles. Overall, I enjoyed the Tenjune experience, although I don’t know how much of my review is bias since the most famous rapper of the moment was literally 3 feet away.

I do give Tenjune props for keeping their VIP area roomier than other places. If you do decide to invest in a table you’re truly are gaining some privacy and breathing room since a bouncer guards the prive area (unlike Pink Elephant or Kiss and Fly’s elevated areas for example). This surprised me because on previous visits to Tenjune I felt like the club was unbearably crowded. Maybe the weekend party load has been lightened thanks to New Yorkers jetting off to the Hamptons or maybe Tenjune really does deserve props for keeping their club appropriately below capacity. Either way, whatever my previous issue with this locale, it suddenly seemed unimportant.

Another cool feature of note is that the club provided a ‘make your own shot’ service at the tables. They give you many mixers (watermelon, yes!) as well as shot glasses and a shaker. So the wanna-be bartender of your group can cocktail shots all night long for anyone who’s interested. I thought this was a fun feature to what’s otherwise a boring, cookie-cutter table set up.

Who knows? At this rate, I think I’ll be frequenting Tenjune again.