The Gansevoort Park Avenue South Hotel has arrived. BlackBook celebrated its opening with dear friends last night. I had toured the property with Gansevoort owner Michael Achenbaum when I interviewed him for this column the first week of August. Back then it was a jigsaw puzzle of fine finishes and furniture. Last night, the electricians and plumbers were replaced by well-heeled patrons, and of course the beautiful and highly intelligent BlackBook staff. There were torrents of Grey Goose and Amstels and all were warm and fuzzy, excited to be there. They actually invited me this time. The place sprawled up and down and left and right. There were undiscovered countries everywhere. There was a cute lounge here, and though those doors over there, a swimming pool. You walked up that way, and there was another bar, and back that way, a chic room. It had all come together beautifully and was occupied well. I always like a place you can get lost in ‘cause every so often you get found. It is room after room, and all have sweet little balconies for those who still indulge. My co-conspirators included gal pal Amanda Noa and Sailor Jerry’s Dana Dynamite. The party was dynamite in more ways than one. It's a great space to hold an event and it bodes well for hotels built with hospitality and food and beverage services that are well-considered instead of retro-fitted. The gals grabbed ultra-fun gift bags and made plans to sip lemonades by the pool this weekend. The painted pin-up on the bottom of the pool still said, “I’m Waiting,” but, finally, that’s no longer true for those who've been anticipating the opening of the Gansevoort Park Avenue South.

I hate September 1st almost as much as my birthday. An air of desperation envelops me as the summer wind begins to chill. Labor Day weekend drives everyone from town and I’ll have the city all to myself. There are no last ditch efforts or sad shindigs to remind me of the fall. It's all saws and the hammers for me as I ready a half-dozen joints for your September and October amusement. I love the smell of fresh paint in the morning. As the summer comes to an official close for clubdom, I hope that my readers have fun, but come home safe. My girlfriend doesn’t listen to me anymore, and I desperately need you too.

I received a most interesting e-mail from Michael Alig’s mom Elke the other day. I don’t talk much with Elke, as I find her draining and incoherent. However, she is my friend’s Mom—so it goes. The note was forwarded to me by Joanne, who helps coordinate visits and messages for the incarcerated clubber. Michael is approaching the end of his time away from the world we know. As he nears that inevitable day, he has increased his fervor to help those around him. He plans on continuing this charitable behavior once he’s back to the street. He has been given the job of helping fellow inmates with addictions, something he knows a lot about. He seems to have dug deep into his past to promote attendance at drug program meetings. His mom chimes in:

“Michael has come up with a way to get his fellow inmates to really want to show up to the drug program! Jeopardy with prizes! Michael made the game up with all drug recovery words, and bought Honey Buns and Starburst candies from the Commissary. Many people thought that Michael shouldn't give out a whole package of Starburst per person, but Michael felt that part of a package wouldn't be much of a prize, even with the Honey Bun! The excitement was growing for the day of the game, so much so that even others in another program were asking to attend!”

Michael has lived in a world where a Honey Bun or a Starburst candy is a very big deal. While most of us are fleeing off to summer homes and sumptuous meals among old and new friends, Michael shares candy and packaged pastries with murderers and rapists. He is, of course, a murderer, and dines with his peers, but for those who think he got off light, with the almost 14 years he has served, I say lock yourself in a closet for 14 minutes and see how it sits with you. Throw in a mean dog and, well, it’s prison. That, of course, really isn’t fair as none of us has ever made a bad mistake, or indulged in too much booze—or bumps—as to not know up from down. Calling Michael’s murdering of Angel a bad mistake is a little unfair as well, but the discussion will never end, especially as the end nears. It’s great to see him use his promotional skills to promote responsibility in the joint.