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.

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…

The best use of signage to set a venue’s mood has to be this gem at Greenwich Village’s Employees Only. Whether it legitimately hails from the New Orleans Police Department as it claims is TBD, yet its message is perhaps still relevant – well, at least the pickpocket part.

Employees Only was originally conceived as a late night speakeasy catering to others in the service industry. Today, it’s chef Julia Jaksic’s pricey restaurant with $14 cocktails and a tight door. An homage to the prohibition era of the 1920s and 30s, Employees Only feels unique, quite an achievement considering its traditional bar set up.

I came here stone sober so took the time to notice the liquor bottles perched high on the wall’s ledge and actually able to read over the complex cocktail menu instead ordering the first drink that popped into my head.

I selected the Pimm’s Cup (Pimm’s No1 served tall with a blend of Cointreau, Lime Juice and Ginger Soda, garnished with Cucumbers & Fresh Mint) although the Fraise Sauvage (Plymouth Gin shaken with Wild Strawberries & Tahitian Vanilla, topped off with Mumm Joyesse Demi-Sec Champagne) tempted me as well.

I find such complicated cocktails fascinating, as it would never occur to me personally to put so much care into what I drank, as opposed to ate. The crowd at Employees Only reflects this – the place seems to attract people who are detail oriented. When the bartenders are called ‘mixologists’ and dressed like chefs, perhaps I shouldn’t find this surprising.

Expect it to be crowded and getting a bartender’s attention to be perilous. With the drinks they’re mixing rivaling recipes for French soufflé, also don’t expect service to be speedy. Overall, I found people kept to themselves so this may be the place to drag an intriguing date or reunion of friends rather than a venue to make new acquaintances. If at any point you’re feeling low, or bored, check in for a session with Employees Only’s very own fortuneteller, always on duty and always wielding tarot cards.

I almost slipped into her chair prepared to shake her shoulders and insist that she tell me where my life is going. Since Employees Only is a refined place for downtowners who are hip and unpretentious, not out of their minds, I resisted and drowned out my life questioning with Pimms.

I was one of the last people to get on the Bijoux bandwagon as the club’s launch coincided with my temporary retreat from society. Too bad, because the place is a lot of fun. Several new locales have launched in the past months including RDV and Greenhouse, both of which I’ll be formulating written thoughts on soon, but neither of these places got me excited the way Bijoux did.

What’s cool here?

Well, it got me revved up enough to do a top ten list, so here we go:

1. It’s hidden! Nothing gets me more excited than hidden La Esquina-esque places. I think it has something to do with my childhood longing for a secret fort. If I have to traverse a kitchen, scale a secret stairwell, knock three times on an unmarked door, and creep through candlelight down a sketchy hallway, my happy going-out energy starts pumping — and you have to do all these things and more to get into Bijoux.

The club’s in Meatpacking in the basement bowels of Merkato 55. The entrance is a black door and after negotiating your way inside, you slither through a long hallway, down a staircase (making lefts and rights in sharp sequence), and down another long hallway to a seemingly-standard door at the end marked ‘Employees Only.’ In opening what appears to be an electrical closet or staff bathroom, you reveal a sprawling underground party lair.

2. A break from house music. I’m a house music fan, but between Kiss and Fly and Cielo it seems you can’t get away from it in the Meatpacking zone. Bijoux played hip hop intermixed with fun oldies.

3. It’s not too crowded. When you’re several levels underground, this is a good thing for claustrophobics and the rest of us.

4. It has a Wishing Well! Talk about my childhood fantasies continuing to be fulfilled. OK, maybe it’s just a well and not magic, but any club with fairy tale elements in it is cool in my book. I wonder if a late night patron has ever fallen in…

5. That red velvet color: in the curtains, in the lampshades and on the wall. There’s something about this color that I’m physically attracted too.

6. Display cases. Why not browse jewelry or really aged liquor on your night out? I thought this was an innovative decoration motif. I hadn’t seen it before and it gave the place a boutique-y feel.

7. No Go Go dancers! There’s nothing wrong with dancers per se, but I’ve always found they ‘trashy up’ an atmosphere making it less chill and well, sleazier. The ceiling at Bijoux is so low anyone that tried to Go Go on something would smack their head and fall down. Phew.

8. The very pretty, massive chandelier. I don’t know if this photo properly captures how large this thing is, but it’s bigger than me in the fetal position.

9. The sections of the wall that are leather and look like black snake skin. Creepy!

10. It was mentioned in Gossip Girl (IF you’re a fan :))

For people who want a side of club music with their dinner experience and can actually afford to pay for their meal instead of attending promoter charity dinners like the ones I’ve written about at One, Bagatelle is the place to be. It’s a meatpacking block away and while One and Bagatelle have nothing in common except for excruciatingly loud dinner music and being the brainchildren of club owners, I find myself comparing the two because they’re the kind of restaurants one frequents pre-going out.

Haters describe restaurant-hybrid-disco Bagatelle as ‘an overpriced, overcrowded clubhouse for Guidos and women with a lot of mileage.’

Fans describe it as ‘the best food and social scene in the city.’

Obviously, getting a reservation’s close to impossible and even if you do, an hour long wait while you suck down outrageously over-priced martinis in a body lock at the bar is mandatory. The best word to describe this restaurant: Crowded. The runner up word: Euro.

While one guy did sport a donkey rope, the rest of the crowd was the slicker, elegant Euro type who knew the brand name of the shoes they were wearing off the top of their head and kept colorful kerchiefs in their suit breast pocket. The ladies that accompanied them were decorated accordingly.

FYI Bagatelle is a great place to wear your most uncomfortable, super-high heels. It’s so crowded that you can use fellow patrons to keep your balance walking around and falling is an impossibility.

Once we finally sat down, a waiter that looked like he’d just completed the half-marathon greeted us with a broad smile while sweat / tears trickled down his face. At another point, when I flagged him to take our order he made it half way around our table before sprinting off again with only half our orders received. I was more concerned about that man’s cardiovascular health than the restaurant’s service in general so the waiter and I remained on good terms. That is until he told me my entrée of choice, the scallops, was no longer available. That left me with the veal. Boring. But the goat cheese and foie gras appetizers were great. Get them if you ever find yourself here.

Also, keep your eyes peeled for the most attractive Asian male waiter (or water boy?) who circulates the restaurant all night with ridiculously shiny, long hair and a sexy saunter under his aproned black pants. He’s somewhat mythical looking and my friends and I decided he should star in the next Lord of the Rings movie and probably received a frightening amount of attention (and cash?) nightly from older women.

Don’t come to Bagatelle if you really want to talk to anyone because the music level makes that impossible (they actually have a DJ by the door).

Do come if you want to be dancing to ‘My Dream is to Fly’ on your chair by dessert.

I was flabbergasted when Jamie Mulholland and Jayma Cardosa announced they were gutting and redecorating 27^th street nightclub Cain. Sure, 27^th street isn’t what it used to be, but from what I could see, safari-themed Cain wasn’t suffering. The music was always preppy, the promoters plentiful and the dance floor consistently full – maybe with tourists and out-of-towners – but it’s in Chelsea! That’s where hotel concierges tell these people to go.

I have fond memories of when Cain used to be one of the most exclusive clubs in the city. Their chic Italian door people would stare you down with what felt like daggered icicles shooting out of their eyes until you felt too insignificant to even try getting in. Cain’s always been a fun, familiar friend, even if no longer in its prime. I mean, Marquee’s not longer in its ‘prime’ and remains by far the most profitable nightclub in Manhattan. I didn’t think Cain’s owners would want to ‘mess with success,’ but someone got bitten with the rebranding bug and Cain Luxe was born.

Upon hearing this news last month, I started feeling bad for Cain. Had things plummeted to such a low that they needed to add an abbreviation of the world ‘luxury’ to their name just to make the point they were still classy? What was once a hot club now sounded like a child of divorce with a hyphenated surname. I decided I’d have to do a quick swing by and check the place out of myself.

The entrance is the same but the club’s entirely different. My jaw dropped upon arrival.

Why?

Because these were right in front of me:

Cain’s new décor revolves around a runway in what used to be the center dance floor. Go Go dancers shuffle around it in an awkward line like birthday candles strewn upon a cake. I felt like I’d entered Bada Bing and at any moment, I’d see Tony Soprano waving at me with his cigar from the bar.

What had happened to this place?

Technically speaking, they moved the DJ booth to the opposite side of the room (sure that cost a fortune) and hung red stringy thingies everywhere, which to me just accentuated the fact that this could be a brothel. Impressive elephant tusks support the ceiling and a beautiful mural’s on the back wall (if you manage to remove you eyes from the grinding women in front of you, you’ll appreciate it.) It’s sort of like Cave du Roy meets the jungle…which for me, didn’t really work. On this plus side, they clearly revamped their sound system and the quality is excellent. This place is definitely not the old Cain.

While I personally was not a fan, this venue could be wild fun for bachelor or bachelorette parties. Then again, maybe my whole perspective would be different if they had male dancers up on that stage.

My efforts to check out the New York bar scene have been contained to swanky places like Sway. Realizing this wasn’t hardcore enough, I decided to double my efforts, stepping way out of my comfort zone to check out a traditional Irish pub. This is how I ended up at Swift on East 4^th street between Bowery and Lafayette, known as one of the best places in the city to down a Guinness. Swift is just far away enough from the SoHo zone to attract a truly diverse crowd, without the tribal feel of the East Village places. The space is the definition of an old-time alehouse. You enter to see a long, winding bar, exposed brink, antique booths, beer on tap, comfort food on a black board and chalk menu, and most intriguing, an intricate wall mural of books and ghosts that looks like it could’ve been painted in the 1700s.

The pub’s named for Irish Jonathan Swift (you know, the guy who wrote Gulliver’s Travels, a book which gave my bizarre dreams about being in a world of tiny people from age six to eight). There’s the rowdy front room which the bar jaggedly sprawls through and a larger back room with picnic tables, ideal for parties of six or more. The bar’s renowned for its antique feel but not-antique sound system. Post-midnight, music was blasting at that perfect level – loud enough to dance wildly but not so loud that you couldn’t carry on complex conversations. In short, I discovered that bars were good places for meeting people. Shocker, I know. Here are some of the other bar etiquette ‘do and don’ts’ I picked up along the way:

DO order shots and beers at the same time while you have the bartender’s attention.

DON’T order tap beer in rowdy settings (higher chance of spillage than bottled beer).

DO offer to buy girls drinks at the bar or assist them in getting the bartender’s attention.

DON’T monopolize bar space if you’re not ordering. It’s not nice.

DON’T give up a bar chair/stool if you’ve managed to score one.

DO let it double as a storage facility for all your friends’ jackets.

DON’T dance on the bar, even if so inclined.

DO give feedback via tip.

DON’T eat the peanuts.

DO make a night of it and order bar food.

DO do shooters. Every bar has its own kind. Immerse yourself in the local culture.

DO buy your bartender shots. They appreciate the gesture.

DON’T hit on the bartender.

DO pay in cash to keep track of spending.

DON’T, if paying by card, forget to close your tab.

DO stake your claim on potential mates by making sure you’re the one to make out with them first.

DON’T do this in public.

The move my girlfriend pulled involved her and the cute guy we’d been talking to “going to the ATM to get cash.” I had no idea I’d just been ditched and kept pondering, “What’s taking them so long?”

Bar rules.

I’m still learning.

After nearly two months of avoiding the New York nightlife scene, I succumbed this past weekend to a night out on the town. I learned that Upstairs was closed (on a Friday night – odd!) so we subsequently ended up at the Eldridge, heralded as the newest, smallest, best thing since Bungalow 8.

Is it just me or are New York places shrinking?

It’s like opening those Russian dolls which always have a smaller one inside. That’s been my experience with nightlife. Each new locale gets increasingly tinier, as well as increasingly far away from Chelsea.

Having been so out of the loop, I had no idea where we were going and why what seemed like your average LES bar was being so strict at the door. Unsurprisingly this door, which Steve Lewis called “tighter than a Donald Trump pre-nup,” is a point of pride. Bottle service is not required, but with the Eldridge offering cocktails from $20 - $40, bottles may seem like a bargain for the first time in your life.

Clever.

When I entered I saw a sax player, lots of exposed stone, and somewhat out of place, festive balloons. I became convinced that the ‘real bar’ was downstairs and tried to descend until I was stopped by a cocktail waitress. Apparently, there is no downstairs. The Eldridge is that small and relaxed – to the extent that I assumed some sort of havoc must be taking place in a mosh pit underground.

There is no trashy, hidden dance floor here, so I naturally found myself comparing the place to Goldbar. The difference is that here they’re into wood (the membership tokens are hunks of wood, the décor is wood, even the business card is two ply cherry) instead of golden skulls. The atmosphere was more subdued, not sparkly like Goldbar, which in wearing a muted t-shirt, I appreciated.

Relaxed is good.

Not too crowded is good.

Even though I’m often allergic to live music, the jazz was good, especially since the DJ expertly upped the energy with some more commercial tracks as the night progressed.

Everything I read about the Eldridge proved true in retrospect. Facts:

1. It’s Matt Levine’s baby.

2. The exclusivity puts Bungalow in its prime to shame.

3. Yes, there is a $650k glass-enclosed wall of unopened, gold-plated Armand de Brignac champagne, all of which apparently appeared in a Jay-Z video.

4. Yes, there are celebrities everywhere. On the night I attended, only an embarrassingly sloppy Jaslene from America’s Next Top Model and a few socialites whose names I can’t remember, but the club’s ‘been here’ list is impressive.

5. They keep it remarkably pleasant and uncrowned.

I’d read about a butler service which I didn’t experience first hand, although I’m not doubting its existence. A lot of bloggers have been hating on the ‘doucheyness’ of this place - the strict door policy and over-the-top exclusivity.

I get it.

Yet these haters forget that a lot of people crave the experience of being curbside hopefuls. It makes nightlife more like a game. It’s the same as the thrill of going out pre-legitimate ID, when you never knew if you’d have the best night of you’re life or be called out by the bouncer, sent home, and disgraced.

If you’re nostalgic for this excitement and unpredictability, trying to talk your way into the Eldridge is the right activity for you.

The Plaza, known primarily as a mid-town tourist venue and home to the delightful brat Eloise, seems to want a slice of the city’s nightlife party pie. In an operation that involved tenting off their lobby bar with heavy velvet curtains and installing a doorman and DJ, the Plaza now hosts its own mini lounge, seeped in darkness, elegance and plush fabrics. Currently, scattered hotel guests and large groups from New York’s nightlife circuit (imported by promoters who are selling the Plaza as a ‘pre-party’ spot) stake out on opposite sides of the venue. Busboys in tuxes navigate between them. The atmosphere is somewhat surreal, reminding me of the private, chronically un-crowded hotel bars in London, like the Sanderson’s impenetrable Purple Bar.

A major plus of the Plaza opposed to other lounges, is that the music remains at a tasteful level, making conversation with fellow humans an actual possibility. There’s also something undeniably magical about a New York staple building like the Plaza Hotel: the marble floors, the shiny bellman, the buttoned uniforms, the quality furnishings, the sparkling chandeliers. One feels privileged to be here, and for Manhattan ladies who like to dress up and dawn jewelry, this is the perfect place to debut a cocktail number.

The Plaza lounge is a new nightlife initiative, quiet at the moment with promise of becoming a bustling pre-clubbing staple. My experience was so calming, serene, and in stark contrast to normal pre-parties, that I’m sort of hoping the place doesn’t get crazy anytime soon.

Photo Tour below:

The lone interior doorman pulls back the red velvet rope. White tuxedos? Yes, please.

A clubbing crew enjoys drinks before heading to Upstairs.

Impressive glowing décor.

The Ladies Bathroom flower arrangement. A few giant steps above anything you’d see at a typical nightlife venue.

The even more gigantic entry-way flower arrangement, complete with overarching wreath, which is several times the size of an actual human being. [Note the person seated in the corner as a point of reference.]

Since its inauguration, I’ve perpetually found myself confused when writing about Meatpacking hotspot Kiss & Fly. On the one hand, they copied the décor and vibe of Pink Elephant disco ball by disco ball and are home to dirt-encrusted outdoor traffic cones and even worse, rumored B&T. On the other hand, Pink was getting old anyway, Kiss boasts an impressive ambiance, I’ve never noticed nor been bothered by the rumored B&T, and what better spot does zone-Little West 12th have to offer?

Often, you begin nights at Kiss in a desolate empty arena. I usually enter the club at 12:30pm scowling, not just because of the irritating, indoor security check point guy whose job is to annoy you into checking you coat. The dance floor’s empty, the tables few and far between, and the entire club resembles the Siberian desert. The only sound is the wind whispering across the landscape i.e. the air conditioning vents humming to the non-movement of disappointed guests. You’ll sit and start clicking on your cell phone S.O.S.ing for alternate plans and somehow, consistently, magically, inexplicably, when you shut your phone and stand back up the club’s transformed to look like this:

[All photos compliments of the talented Emma Cleary and her very large camera]

Kiss & Fly does deserve the award for consistently filling up, usually with exceptional energy. Just don’t expect it to happen before 1:30am. Recently, their Thursday night party has featured a live sax player, adding a dynamic element to the music and infiltrating the soul of the crowd. Also adding to the scene is the cabaret-style sparkle dancers, who pitch in with a dash of sensuality and exoticism.

Everyone here seems to be having a good time…

If someone could teach me how to braid my hair in this Laura Croft meets Tarzan up-do that’d be great.

And perhaps it’s true or perhaps I just like to see it this way, but I always enjoy thinking of Pink Elephant and Kiss & Fly in a kind of brutal rivalry for the same sceney house-music crowd. Whether this is the case or not, I want to know: Who is winning?