Yesterday I spoke about Tavern on the Green honcho Jenny Oz LeRoy, daughter of restaurateur Warner LeRoy and granddaughter of Hollywood legend Mervyn LeRoy (The Wizard of Oz, Little Caesar). Today, my old friend Cameron Douglas, son of Michael, grandson of Spartacus himself Kirk, gets a word or three. News of Cameron's bust for possession with intent to sell large amounts of methamphetamine unfortunately comes as no surprise to those familiar with the troubled kid. That's part of the problem -- he's always thought of as a kid. It's not easy, I guess, being the son and indeed grandson of such mega-stars. The pressures to succeed, to be a star, must be tremendous, yet it seems a lot easier than growing up in some rat-infested tenement with parents who don't have all that much to teach. Now, Cameron faces man-size problems. These are federal drug charges with severe sentencing guidelines, and the weight involved (over 8 ounces) and the allegations and implications that this quantity is the tip of the iceberg speaks of serious jail time. There are reports of a ginormous trust fund of as much as $80 million, so amazing legal counsel will be secured.

That counsel will invariably advise kicking it upstairs. There will be tremendous pressure for Cameron to "cooperate" and tell the DEA about his source. He's the not-so-proud owner of a 2007 conviction on cocaine charges, and that ups the ante even more.

I spoke to Cameron a couple of weeks back; I was in a store on 14th Street when he came in. I didn't recognize him at first, but as he came up to hug, it became clear. We stepped outside to chat. He talked of his music, and we talked of film. We talked of positive, creative things while a rare summer sun made it all seem possible, doable. Believable. A younger kid came by on a street-hot bike, and respectful introductions were made. Cameron was always deeply respectful. When he DJed for me back at Spa, he played a progressive house set while others were not so forward. He was on the right track but was inconsistent and moody; the novelty of the super-name soon wore thin, and his following dwindled. He was dating Jen Gatien, at the time and she believed in him so much. We all did. Where his set may have been inconsistent, the sadness in the back of his eyes never wavered. His mom ,-- Diandra Douglas, the wife Michael Douglas enjoyed before Catherine Zeta-Jones -- came to visit one night too see how he was doing. She was deeply concerned but optimistic that Cameron's artistic calling would be in the music. I told her he was a solid DJ and that he had real potential. I wasn't lying, but being a great or even good DJ requires lots of work. Saying don't make it so. The last time I saw Cameron, we agreed to do an interview here and talk to his pursuit of happiness . I'm immensely worried that this latest hitch will be a bitch.

One interesting club-related question arises out of this mess. The drug bust took place at the wildly popular Gansevoort Hotel. Eight ounces of a serious drug are taken off an alleged dealer, and the hotel gets a pass? If this was a nightclub, the place would be shuttered and a torrent of police-related hell would be brought upon the innocent host. Closing the hotel won't occur to anyone, and it shouldn't. The hotel couldn't have known, stopped it, or encouraged this sort of nefarious activity, but neither do most clubs. Pacha will hear today or maybe tomorrow of its fate. It has been agreed by all parties in court -- I was there, and I heard it said, that they have employed the best security available and have done their darndest to prevent drug sales on their premises, yet it's just impossible to stop entirely. The U.S. of A. with its dogs and border patrols, the DEA , and a slew of other alphabet agencies and armies at its disposal can't stop the sweet stuff from getting into airports, schools, and even high-security prisons. The Gansevoort shouldn't be closed, and neither should Pacha.

Other little bits of news floating around: Since this is Tuesday I must be in bedlam, but my rather large ears remain firmly on the ground. There is little doubt, I hear, that Paul Sevigny and his merry band will find love and pockets of cash at the Standard when André Balazs is finally ready to accept them. The success at the Jane by Matt Kleigman and Carlos Quirarte was a great float of the idea of a good lounge invigorating a branded hotel and vice versa with good promoters. The almost-as-of-right-now licensing shows this hotel hotspot trend to be the future rule rather than the exception. Their is another rumor, which may be neither here NUR there, that a lowly parking lot/facility owned by Ian Schrager will be developed into magnificence. These are just rumblings, but they sure make sense ...