So last night (Tuesday), Sean Kingston was supposed to be performing at Tenjune. So don’t lose faith in Tenjune just because of the owner’s new club project Simyone. Tenjune still has some energy left in it.

Marquee was having a much bigger celebrity. I wanted to tell people early on who it was, but the managers said I couldn’t even hint at it. But let’s see, he plays a sport called “basketball,” he’s the best at it and he isn’t retired, he’s black, a rapper references him in songs, the aforementioned rapper was just on the VMA’s a few Sundays ago and did the finale performance. You do the math.

Guesses? Alternatively you can always just find out during the night. I’ll always keep you posted, just follow me on twitter.com/tnkg …

Mary J Blidge, Snapped Outside Marquee

Monday night I spotted model Anthony Gallo and Russell Simmons at Butter. Heard they had quite the good time. Richie Akiva (owner of Butter and 1Oak) is supposed to be celebrating his birthday this week. His colleagues are supposedly in charge of the celebration preparations…so keep your eyes and ears open for a legendary party most likely occurring sometime this week at 1Oak.

Meanwhile, I keep hearing about these smaller lounges that have opened and seem to have everyone buzzing. Su Casa, Cantina Latina, Roam and a bunch of others. Anyone who can tell me if they’re worth checking out, please do. People have asked me to work or set up parties at some of these places, but I have never been to any of them except Cantina Latina (which is very nice I might add). I found out that Shim is running Cantina Latina on Mondays and it apparently is a very very good looking venue. This Monday he did around 150 people. Girls were telling me it has that Socialista vibe. For those of you who don’t know, Socialista was a very exclusive yet different kind of party. Anyway, Shim is partners on 4K Entertainment. They do very good business.

A little information on the hot spot or most exclusive club in NYC right now…well, it’s called Avenue. They run the room differently there. Friends of mine tried to make reservations and were denied. Avenue doesn’t care HOW much money you are willing to spend (to a certain extent). They care more about WHOSE money they are receiving. For example, a gentleman I mentioned before by the name of Jho Lao (anyone correct me on spelling if I am wrong) within two weeks or so spent about 1 million in NYC nightlife. Avenue was one of the clubs he spent in, alongside Kiss and Fly and The Griffin.

Side notes: 1Oak will be running a new party on Sundays as Tenjune has been doing. A good friend of mine named Jimmy will be running the door. Opening night is Sunday Oct 4th

Friday I was at Johnny Utah’s. This place isn’t your usual club party. It’s more for people who are into bars and don’t want to deal with door trouble or paying cover. It’s the in-between corporate or PR girl type of crowd looking to have a beer and a laugh instead of champagne (which we actually get at the promo tables…huh). Friday I myself was actually in awe. When the emcee came on and started hyping the crowd, the DJ hitting some hip hop music, the crowd went absolutely insane. The emcee had to fend off people fighting to ride the infamous Johnny Utah mechanical bull. That’s what you call a successful night. Now what needs to happen is to bring that same energy to Mondays at  Johnny Utah’s. Let’s see how it goes this Monday.

Right after Johnny Utah’s, I took my crew down to Citrine since the owner David R. had asked me to come check it out. He runs a corporation called the Impulse Group. They’re basically are similar to Strategic Group (Noah Tepperberg for Marquee and Avenue) but not as potent. Impulse has under its wing the nightclub Citrine, Puffy’s Tavern, and just recently Johnny Utah’s…that’s a little inside scoop for you non-clubbers. Citrine had a good-looking crowd. The doormen Spencer and Han are from the good ole’ ClimaxVIP.com (very good guys that are very serious about the nightlife business and to me, very trustworthy people). Citrine charges a cover now. That’s news to me ever, and I used to work there on Thursdays some time ago.

We stayed at Citrine only an hour and a half and then went to Simyone the new EMM group spot (Mark Birnbaum Eugene Remm-I think Simyone is the name of Eugene’s Grandfather, hence the new name of the club. Those two always have some interesting reason for naming their clubs.) Obviously, they moved Alex Julian from Tenjune and now have him running the door at the old Lotus (aka the new Simyone). A lot of hot girls and good-looking guys here, then also the average looking guys that are friends with the owners of course and spend a lot of money. All of the who’s who was there etc., the usual BS for a brand new club when opening. Ellington Keys (as I mentioned before) is the # 1 model promoter. I saw him at Simyone with all his models and his partner Isaih (not sure if that spelling is correct). These are the guys who have taken the crown of being able to bring out ONLY MODELS. The Tenjune staff came through late night to chill out at  their new home. Tyson Beckford told me he loves the spot, so I wanted to see how good it really was. Eugene Remm was spinning.

The lowdown on the Simyone layout: You walk down some stairs after getting past the doorman. There’s some winding until you reach a long room. At the end of the room, is a doorway which then forms a “T.” Walking through this second doorway you can look left and right and there is another room filled with…tables (of course). On the walls in this room are funny-enough photographs of X-Rays, and when the colorful lighting passes behind it you can actually see the X-Ray. Then, they vanish. The ceiling’s low with a lot of color, while at the same time floor is black and roof is black.

I will have more information on La Pomme for you. I think I might stay on this Thursday to try it out again. I personally hope it’s more full this Thursday, because the venue itself is phenomenal.

Those of you who want to read about my enlightening New Year’s Eve dinner in which I saw both God and TI on the same night, can do so here.

Next, we went to the Gansevoort, where a $300 ticket will get you a premium shelf open bar, a theoretical view of fireworks, and witness to TI’s last concert before he’s carted off to prison. Thanks to a friend of a friend, we weren’t paying. Otherwise, our New Year’s Eve would probably be spent in the fun house at Chucky Cheese.

Miami is relatively easy for New Yorker to adjust to, mainly because all the hot hotels and bars are exactly the same as they are in New York. Anything you hadn’t heard of, you’d for sure seen in LA.

Examples: The Mondrian, The Standard, Mansion etc.

So spending New Year’s at the Miami Gansevoort was oddly comforting, familiar, and annoying.

Since it was New Year’s Eve and my friends and I were being comped, I decided to give my hippie look of flats and no makeup a break for a night. I begrudgingly donned a designer cocktail dress and stilettos. Big mistake.

The outdoor venue was freezing.

Okay, maybe freezing that overstatement, but it was 70° and nighttime on an open air roof right on the water. The chilling ocean breeze was forceful and relentless. It wasn’t even at the point that I wanted to make nice with some guy at the bar for the sole purpose of forcing him to give me his blazer. It was at the point that I wanted to jump around the party incased in a sleeping bag.

Like all New Year’s parties, the open bar was swamped, making the best solution to double fist all night. If any of us ever had access to the bar and were fortunate enough to get a bartender’s attention, we’d order up the wazoo, or as my drunk girlfriend instructed a bartender as she opened her palms and flashed ten fingers at him:

“Give me eight drinks! I need eight drinks!”

Unfortunately, the executive corporate types behind this party were no dummies. They must have had some sort of pep talk with the bar staff in advance, instructing them to make all mixed drinks as weak as possible. In an attempt to be a good time, I drank an amount of gin and tonic that would usually have me doing Steve Martin impressions, but instead left me stone cold sober. By the time we all switched to only drinking champagne (because how could they dilute that?) I’d already given up on being inebriated.

The bathroom situation was brutal and if there were fireworks, I only saw what looked like two falsely lit sparklers in the sky set off by disoriented teenagers. Getting into the auditorium to witness TI’s last performance was like taking part in a stampede straight out of one of those nature videos about animal migration. But that’s okay. These are the kind of things I’ve come to expect from New Year’s Eve. That’s why I navigated myself into bed by one thirty.

The real point here is to pump you up since I’m sure your New Year’s Eve was better than mine. I have a Holiday ‘attitude problem’ which leaves me jealous and fascinated by people who don’t suffer this disease. Nevertheless, I’m convinced 2009 is going to the best year ever, regardless of how we partied into it. Leave your stories below.

Those of you who want to do a quick catch up on my Miami trip can do so in installments one (the plane ride) and two (rowdy dinner).

The first nightlife venue we frequented is a place called Rok Bar. As we mingled with the crowd of Rok Bar sidewalk hopefuls waiting to get in, I start chit-chatting with these Brazilian guys we know from New York, one of whom quotably stated: “I came to Miami to relax my problems.”

Me too, man. Me too.

It remains a huge mystery to me why warm places like Florida and the Hamptons don’t have open air clubs. I won’t digress into that rant, let’s just say if I’d wanted to choke on second hand smoke in an overly air conditioned cave I could’ve done so without dropping four hundred dollars for a plane ticket. Rok Bar was disappointingly indoors, yet its décor put New York clubs to shame.

To me, Rok Bar seemed like one giant art instillation. In fact, had you taken me to Rok Bar empty, under different circumstances, and then told me it was actually an experimental floor in the MoMa I probably would’ve believed you.

The ceiling flashes psychedelic waves of purple and black. Deep triangular pockets plunge into the wall with 3D Goth faces digitally flashing in alternating shapes. The best way to describe it is a flat kaleidoscope wall - on crack. Titanic rock posters adorned the wall behind the bar, stretching all the way up to the very high ceilings. The suspiciously good-looking DJ spun perched at the top of a spiral staircase, grooving with the crowd like something straight out of a music video.

Seeing the DJ several floors above made me realize that this place felt uniquely Miami because of the high ceilings. New York’s more into underground caverns, bat-like places where people above six foot have to duck. Miami seemed to party upwards on the vertical as opposed to being suppressed into the horizontal. All energy shot UP. The people jumping up and down probably had something to do with this.

Jumping turned to leaping when a song I’d never heard before, but everyone else clearly had, shot through the speakers. Apparently, this is some sort of Miami tribal theme song.

“Drink all day. Play all night. Let’s get it poppin’. I’m in Miami, bitch”

People went nuts!

Observe…and what’s smash? Some drug I evidently haven’t heard about yet? Watch and enjoy:

Last week, I started the holiday season off right by going to the Stoli Holiday Party at Cain-Luxe, the new Cain. I’d never been to Cain before, new or old. So, when Miss Model Behavior offered me her invite to the event, I beat down the little loser inside of me whining, “but Stylista is on the CW tonight!” and jumped at the opportunity.

As an East Villager and a bit of a homebody, places located around double digit avenues are like far-off, distant lands. Going somewhere between 10th and 11th Avenue sounds almost fictional to me, like getting on Platform 9 3/4 to go to Hogwarts.

My roommate and I made the four-block, two-and-a-half-avenue trek from the subway station to the club and, I’ll admit, the journey did feel a bit strenuous in my high heels. A mash-up “Climb Every Mountain” and “Walk it Out” played in my head throughout the trudge. Hopefully the club would offer a better soundtrack.

As we neared 11th Avenue, I spotted two girls in khaki onesie uniforms and huge fur hats. This had to be it. My hunch was confirmed by the tiny placard that read “Cain” next to the massive double doors. We approached the girls. One of them was holding The List.

I gave them my name.

Nothing.

I gave them Miss Model Behavior’s name.

Nope.

Uh oh. Okay, well, I had one more shot–this guy MMB had told me to contact in case trouble arose.

“Uh, I’m supposed to get in touch with Jordan Harris if there’s any problem getting in.”

“Ohhhhh. They’re with Jorrrdan,” the girls exclaimed. It was like that moment in the Wizard of Oz when the gatekeeper exclaims, “Well, that’s a horse of a different color!” and lets the gang into the Emerald City.

Except Cain was way better than the Emerald City.

Upon entering the club, another girl in khaki and a fur hat handed me a USB thumb drive packaged in a mini-bottle of Stoli Blackberry Vodka–the specific alcohol promoted at the event. My inner loser finally boarded the party train.

Next, we moved to the open bar, where I ordered a “dark tea”–iced tea and blackberry vodka. Delicious.

Roommate and I spent the next twenty minutes enjoying drinks and admiring the club’s jungle motif, as well as the attractive quartet of gay men dancing together.

The music was fantastic–I’m always impressed by DJs who actually DJ. No song was ever played without a special twist, interesting remix, innovative mash-up, etc. Everything, from Prince to T.I., sounded a little new, a little different. Plus, apparently Cain has dropped some serious dough to create a state-of-the-art sound system. I’m used to college parties with scratchy sound systems from past decades and base beats that make your insides vibrate. In Cain, the music is smooth, like butter.

Over the next few hours, the club filled up, the quartet turned into a cluster, the drinks started to taste better, the music sounded sweeter, and I even met my secret password, Jordan Harris.

I expected either some swanky operator or a neurotic New Yorker (why do I always assume that people are going to be crazy?), but Jordan Harris, wearing a baseball cap and a flannel, was incredibly nice, shockingly approachable, and he clearly knew how to throw a good party. I remember thinking, in my state of, uh, slight intoxication, Who cares if Santa Clause is coming to town if this guy is already here? Luckily, I wasn’t quite drunk enough to share this thought with him.

The evening was well worth the journey. I loved the music. I loved the open bar. I loved Cain. I had that warm, happy feeling inside, like on Christmas morning so many years ago when I woke up and found Santa had given me my very own American Girl doll. Or maybe I was just drunk.

Because we were running on blackberry vodka, the walk back felt effortless. I love how energy efficient alcohol can be. Later, as I finally tucked myself into bed, visions of Stoli drinks danced in my head.

Having friends in town often means you’re required to take them out, baller-style. As I escorted a good friend of mine around Manhattan in a merry-go-round whirl of old and new hot spots, I found myself increasingly bored with the ‘scene’ and decided to Live Twitter my night as a result. Those of you who don’t already follow me on Twitter and want to can do so here.

Here’s a rough sketch of what I was going through.

10:31pm Back in da CITY

In the trunk of a car service driving through Manhattan. Time to rage

Now at Southside. The great news about my going out outfit is that I’m elasto waist pants

Talking in Circles, band, must look up

I want to start wearing hats / I’m finally starting to get why girls dig guys in bands

The promoter I’m with seems really open to fat girls being a part of his entourage. Maybe NYC is changing for the better

1:42am Why is it that the 40y olds at clubs are always the crazies jumping up and down?

Spinning imaginary DJ tables in the air while dancing – not cool

Let’s pause here for a moment to elaborate that if you’re sober enough in a club to send somewhat coherent texts into Twitter, everyone else’s dance moves begin looking pretty ridiculous. Guys, don’t spin imaginary DJ tables as a dance move. It really only works if you’re an actual DJ.

Anyway, at this point in my Twitter-fest I was at a locale I’ve been meaning to write about for sometime, a new club called Southside. It’s in Goldbar zone (Nolita), has hosted bands like MGMT, is apparently uber exclusive and had an amazing Halloween party. They also have a kick-ass website.

Well, my disappointment was immense. I believe I’ve written before about how nothing in New York is really ‘new.’ Southside falls into this category with a rude clunk. Ever heard of underground Bar Martignetti? The swanky spot bellow Bella’s on Broome Street? Someone inserted a disco ball, hired an expert re-brander, and now formerly chill Bar Martignetti is red rope-level club Southside. It’s New York magic.

This fern wallpaper might be new, but I wouldn’t put any money on it.

It’s hard to take such a highly reputed club seriously after you realize it’s just a disco ball-ified space you’d been to one hundred times before to enjoy a casual beer. No one else seemed bothered, as people were raging.

I was always a fan of the Bar Martignetti feel: the checkered floors, the paintings, nooks and crannies. This brasserie style didn’t translate into an ambiance where jumping up and down to Jay-Z seemed like a good idea to me. But what do I know? It seemed to work for everybody else.

The remainder of my Twittered night:

“Is English your native language? Tell the truth.” I’m live twittering my night if that’s yet to become obvious.

I think this is in reference to someone who was talking to us who we couldn’t understand.

2:07am In the trunk of an SUV again. Ppl take down ur Christmas trees!!! It’s over

My best friend and the guy with us are talking about law school.. Laaaaaame

New York from the perspective of a backwards SUV trunk is somewhat different

I feel like cabs are tailgating us

I think from a backwards perspective, this would always seem like the case…

FYI Sam Adams Light is disgusting

It’s amazing to me that a rapper became famous off the word ‘lollipop’ alone

Three guesses at what song was playing here.

3:24am Lesbians in animal print. Recipe for disaster.

Fade out. The coherency ends.

Moral: if you want to see something new, or are just looking for some kind of innovative deisgn or surprise, Southside is the wrong place to be.

No matter what your personal sense of style is, I think we can all agree that this shirt is what one would call ‘eye-catching.’ I felt compelled to put my night out dancing on hold for the sole purpose of properly photographing it, for three main reasons:

1. I thought it was ballsy and she’s got a great bod. So Resepct.

2. It’s December. Repeat. December. Is this girl nuts!?!?

3. I have zero comprehension of how one puts on a shirt like this, how it stays up, and how it’s not a ‘flashing accident’ waiting to happen.

I often get tangled up, forced to solicit my roommate’s help, just when taking off tight turtle necks. Getting in and out of a fashion contraption like this would probably land me in the ER, fabric suffocating me, both my hands tied against my back, fabric molesting me etc. A wild top like this shows you’re a risk taker.

It also shows you’re willing to go head-to-head with the club’s Go Go Dancers in an effort to command every man in the room’s attention. Now, I could be wrong here, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and speculate that this girl is probably 21 or younger.

Call this my latest clubbing fashion ‘theory,’ but I think the amount of skin a woman’s showing is in direct correlation to how young she is. Honestly, bouncers should stop wasting time scanning IDs and just glance through the girls and shout ‘underage’ at the slut tops.

I once, used to wear slut tops.

Yes.

For some reason, when you’re under 21 or just got that first legal ID, the idea of sharing your midriff with all of New York seems like a GREAT idea. Zipping yourself into toddler-sized skirts which are breeding grounds for Brittney Spears level embarrassing moments getting in and out of cabs (or just standing up or sitting down) isn’t disconcerting at all. Wearing Victoria’s Secret lingerie out to lounges as clubs as if it were an actual shirt is a regular occurrence. If you’re like me, when looking at photos of yourself from this era, you’ll spit up whatever you’re eating to scream:

“WHAT WAS I THINKING!?”

These days, it’s rare that I’m willing to put high heels on to go out, let alone go through the necessary gym regime and increased risk of date rape involved in wrapping myself into a latex scarf that somehow covers my nipples but nothing else. Yet it’s always a friendly reminder of nights passed when you DO see girls dressed like this.

My guess?

This girl had the time of her life.

…And hopefully a really large boyfriend or older brother around to protect her. God knows I didn’t.

I’m sitting across from a friend of mine who works in nightlife and my brain feels like it’s going into cardiac arrest when he begins telling me about the New York club’s New Year’s Eve system. His speech goes something like this:

“Promoters and the companies they work for have to buy out an entire venue in advance for New Years Eve which can go from $50,000 to a lot more. So if you don’t sell to capacity, well, you’re f*cked. That’s why every promoter who knows what’s good for him is panicked about selling New Years Eve tickets.

Since the clubs are so expensive to rent out, only one or two contenders are financially strong enough to get in the ring. It’s an utter monopoly. So regardless of whether you buy New Years Eve tickets for Pink Elephant, Tenjune or Cielo your money is going to the same place because all these clubs have probably been rented out by the same person. That’s why you often see multiple competing clubs all selling tickets on one website. The financial risk involved is huge!”

I tuned out somewhere around ‘monopoly’ which reminded me that I’ve had a craving to play board games. What I was hearing proved too complex, like a Sopranos plot on crack with added corruption. People staying in the city for New Year’s Eve: BEWARE!

It’s important to face the fact that New Years Eve was created to rip people like you and me off. Now, that doesn’t mean you have to hide inside at a house party where the liquor will probably run dry by 12:05. Go out and have a good time, just be superior intellect-level smart about it. Before you and your friends decide on a venue and fork over your hard earned dollars for a champagne-filled night, make sure you’re getting your money’s worth.

For this exact purpose, I’ve compiled a checklist of what you SHOULD be getting for those pricey entrance fees:

1. A 1 to 5 hour open bar depending on your ticket price. Watch out to see what the open bar entails. Is it Premium Top Shelf? Svedka Only? No beer? Read the fine print, get the details, and make sure it coincides with your beverage preferences. Open bars are more notorious than infomercials for tricking people. And let me tell you, on a night in which you’re consuming a New Years-level amount of liquor, what kind of alcohol you’re drinking matters.

If you know the club layout, other great thing to think about is how many bars are there? Is there just one? That might be BAD. Ask you promoter, “Does the venue plan to overstaff?”

Also! Double check what time the club’s doors open and test it against the open bar. If they say “3 hour open bar 9 – 12” and the door opens at 9pm, it’s really a two hour open bar since by the time you fight your way in, body box someone to get to the bar, and scream bloody murder for the bitter bartender’s attention (who’s hating that he’s working New Years Eve) it WILL be 10pm.

2. When they write “Delectable Appetizers & Hors D’oeuvres” ask your promoter what that MEANS. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had some nasty appetizers in my day. Just yesterday I had to spit out a chocolate offered to me on a silver platter at Bungalow 8 because it tasted like something that would come out of a pigeon’s rear end.

Many clubs team up with a restaurant that caters. Ask your promoter where the food is coming from and how much of it’s going to be circulating around. Eat beforehand accordingly. If your promoter loves you, they’ll tell you the truth.

3. Photographers! For the amount of money you’re shelling out, fun should be the only thing on your inebriated agenda. Running around taking pictures as the ball drops should NOT be your problem. Make sure your venue has hired a photographer who’ll be capturing all your comradery and displaying photos for free online in the New Year. Make sure to jot down the photo site in advance, because I assure you after the New Year’s hoorah you will not remember to ask.

4. Closing time. Is it 4am? 6am? Make sure you know! The ‘staying open till 6am’ license is exclusive and hard to come by, but some venues have it. Target them.

5. Is the venue decorating for New Year’s and if so, how? Are party favors involved? If you’re one of those people obsessed with watching the ball drop in Times Square, does your venue plan on showcasing this on TV? Again, all good questions for your promoter.

6. Who’s DJing? If the venue is leaving it as a ‘surprise,’ what kind of music are they planning to have the DJ play? A hip hop fan does not want to spend their New Years dancing to Trance, so do your research. Don’t assume that since Cielo’s a house music club, it will be for New Years. All these venues are rented out and restructured by the aforementioned crazy companies that own promoters. Everything you previously knew about a club is subject to change.

Also, will there be any live music? A sax player, violist, electric guitar, or drums to enhance the mood? Make sure your promoter gives you the music 411.

7. Capacity. If you want to do real due diligence, ask your promoter how many tickets they’re selling and then compare that number to the club’s capacity (by law, publicly posted near the bar). These results might terrify you. Paying to be in an oversold body mash is tragic. Make sure you don’t get taken advantage of. On the flip side, some event organizers take pride on the fact that they sell under capacity to give everyone a little more breathing room.

Lesson: If you want a stress free New Year’s, do your homework now. When there are only fun surprises on New Year’s, you’ll be grateful. Promoters who care should be able to give you the information you need. Or, just do New Year’s Eve with the Blaqlist. Since I write for them, I happen to know for a fact that they’ve got every single item in my checklist covered, including selling under capacity at Azza (which by the way is GORGEOUS).

Yes, this kind of due diligence seems more elaborate than the kind of research you’d do when getting a kidney transplant or something, but really, when the ball drops and you’ve had the most wonderfully non-stressful evening, you’ll thank me.

In Part 1, I wrote about my first experience at eco-friendly New York nightclub Greenhouse. What I didn’t go into is how this was my first nightclub experience since my decision to quit drinking.

Yes. I wrote: Quit. Drinking.

Quit drinking and you’ll find this is not an activity your friends support you in.

Strange, right?

Your friends stand by you in situations far more complex than beverage preference and encourage you to improve your life in myriad ways. If you think this translates to them being supportive about your decision to stop axe-murdering your liver with vodka, you don’t speak the secret New York language of alcoholism. They won’t just hate you for putting down the bottle, they’ll guilt trip you about it too.

Anyhoo…It’s a Monday night, I set the scene, and I’m not ‘exploring’ Greenhouse per se because it’s too packed to adjust your shoulder blades let alone move. I didn’t get the memo that Monday night was ‘rock night’ so there’s an anonymous band playing music that involves electric guitars on a what appears to be a stage at the far end of the room. From the amount of people who showed up to see them, I assume this band, if you like this type of music, is considered very good. Or Monday night’s just the new Friday. Anything’s possible.

What was cool about my evening at Greenhouse is that I actually saw different kinds of going-out people. What do I mean by that? I mean along with seeing your club staples:

1. Men in jackets who are trying to hard
2. Eurotrash
3. Baby models
4. Wanna-be models

I also saw people dressed in grunge and Goth. A party just feels so much more like a real party once a Goth person shows up! If I were a New York promoter, I’d hire a Goth person to flank me at all times just to differentiate myself.

An eclectic mix of people is not something you encounter often in exclusive nightclub locations. Especially being sober, I found Greenhouse’s variety fascinating. This may be painfully obvious, but it’s amazing how much more you’re able to observe your surroundings and the people around you when not drinking. Perhaps because everything’s not blurry.

So what’s it like to be in a club stone cold sober? As in ‘stone cold for the whole night,’ not because you just arrived there?

Well, it’s a mix of

1. Heightened awareness as described
2. Jealousy for those around who are drunk…and happy
3. A giddiness that you will not be hung-over tomorrow, which is quickly replaced by
4. The realization that by not drinking, you now have nothing in common with 98% of the room and should probably just go home

In short, it’s a fish out of water sensation made more manageable by Greenhouse and their leafy, nature décor, which made me feel sort of like an amphibian anyway. I guess if you’re going to give sobriety a go, a club that trying to look like it’s part of the wilderness or at minimum, the back garden of a rehabilitation center, is a good place to start.

It was only a matter of time before some club owner hopped on the whole ‘green movement’ bandwagon, partially in support of the cause, partially, I’m guessing, since the marketing angle’s just too good not to go with.

In this case, it was nightclub owner Jon B. (Jon Bakhshi) of Home and Guest House, who opened up environmentally conscious venue ‘Greenhouse’ on Varick Street in Western-most SoHo. This is a somewhat weird location for a club but you won’t hear me complaining since it enables me to walk home, a convenient and money-saving tradition I’ve sorely missed ever since Upstairs closed.

Side note: Upstairs will come to life again, only for one night, on December 31^st to bring in 2009. It’s sort of like nightclub Easter on New Years but without Jesus. Anyone who followed me on that analogy, congratulations.

So Jon B. named his clubs Greenhouse, Guest House and Home.

Greenhouse - Guest House?

House - Home?

Anyone noticing a theme yet?

It’s sort of like parents who name their kids Patricia, Polly, and Patrick.

Anyhow, my girlfriend went to check out the club before me, the night before opening night or early in the evening on opening night – something like that. Point being, she said construction workers were still assembling the bar. A glass slate from the counter flew up and almost hit her friend in the face Cartoon Network style.

Talk about last minute construction!

By the time I made my way over to the club, the place had been fully assembled, glittering in all its green glory. They definitely took the ‘greenhouse’ theme literally, but it’s somewhat odd since all the plants are clearly fakes and sparkling Broadway-esque light bulbs everywhere aren’t really what you associate with the power saving green movement.

Jon B. got the building LEED (Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design) certified by the U.S. Green Building council so clearly he knows what he’s doing. I guess it’s just sort of still a mystery how a green theme translates into swanky club décor. The tables are all supposed to be made of recyclable materials etc., yet I personally would’ve gone a little less, ahem, overboard with the green theme via fake plants and focused more on ‘no smoking’ in the club, proper ventilation and clean air.

Wouldn’t it be great if there was a club you could enter that had things like humidifiers and a staff that actually enforced the state’s ‘no smoking’ law? You exit dewy, moist and refreshed ala’ ‘day at the spa’ instead of smelling like a half-burned pack of Marlboro Lights, soggy with Kettle One. These kind of green improvements would also make my laundry / dry cleaning loads lighter.

My night at Greenhouse proved interesting for many reasons, a few being a) it was a Monday b) there was a ‘live music’ event c) it was one of my first nights in a club with my new ‘no drinking’ policy. Yes, you read correctly: No Drinking.

To Be Continued…