There were a few times this winter when the summer seemed as impossibly distant as an Oscar for Tom Cruise. I still look for patches of tough snow when I walk the puppies through McCarren Park, and yet here we are, less than 2 weeks away from the summer season. The big news on the Hamptons party circuit is the redux of the Tavern space in Southampton as South Pointe. Leading the charge at South Pointe is Jonathan Schwartz, a one time promoter who has often been associated with Noah Tepperberg, Jason Strauss, and The Strategic Group.

The party for the ages happened last night for partner Jason Strauss at Lavo. It was a can’t-miss birthday party that, unfortunately, I had to miss. Jason will forgive me. He is an emperor now, but I knew him when he was just beginning his journey. I can’t imagine what heights he will attain. To the envious club promoter-types who wish they could be king: know that a lot of hard, smart work and sacrifice come with the crown. Happy Birthday Jason.

Lavo is coming soon. It looms as a game changer. Located on 58th Street right off Park Avenue, it is, as far as I can tell, the first joint to be conceived in Las Vegas and then land in New York. The big world of nightlife keeps getting smaller and the diversity narrower. These club/restaurant combos that are all the rage cater to increasingly identifiable crowds with service and style to please anyone. Lavo figures to be a place where uptown money, Europeans, and Upper East Siders can enjoy downtown and Vegas levels of service right in their back door. Tao, right across the street and owned and operated by much of this same crew, has been one of the top-grossing joints in this country since its inception. There is money in those hills, heights, high-rises, and townhouses north of the traditional club/restaurant world, and this crew will be cashing in.

Each morning, as I coffee my way to awareness, a blank Word doc stares at me. There are mornings, as I’m sure regular readers and editors understand, when I have little to say, or no time to say much. Sometimes it’s a matter of, “If I don’t have nothing nice to say then don’t say it,” while other mornings, the great story I went to sleep with wasn’t so great in the light of day. Yes, that does describe my dating before Amanda. Sometimes I have nothing to say because I promised not to say anything, even though the other blogs are all over it. As a designer involved in some projects of interest, I can often only read about what I'm doing, as non-disclosure agreements gag me from telling you the truth. Because of my schedule getting a half dozen joints open in September and another six ready for construction, I have internal debates that go like this: “Eat or write,” or “Sleep or design,” or "Breath or…" Well you get the idea. My desk is a heap of unopened envelopes, piles of notepads and gadgets with voices on them, half-empty cereal boxes, wood, wallpaper, stone and glass samples, and a very large cat.

Semu Namakajo, a.k.a. DJ Reach, is Manhattan’s very own household name when it comes to the world of nightclubs. Bringing his gift for musical mish-mashing to haunts across NYC, Vegas, the Hamptons, and Miami, Reach is best known for being one of the nicest dudes in the biz -- just ask any club owner in town. In a city where the sincere have dwindled down to a mere few, this New York native brings nothing but the realness in his music as well as his life. That’s because the music undoubtedly is his life.

Striking a commanding pose atop a dimly lit balcony overlooking his newest nightlife venture, Wass Stevens keeps a critical eye on the imaginary crowd that will fill Avenue later tonight. Soon enough, the empty stage will be overrun with a new cast of characters hand-picked by the discerning doorman himself. "It's kind of an innate skill," Stevens says of his work at the door. "I read people to know is they are going to add or take away from the vibe once inside. Like acting, people are all about facade once the sun goes down." Though he orchestrates atmosphere at Avenue and the landmark club Marquee, by day he studies lines and tries his luck at movie auditions (and he's still mum about his recent spot of trouble with the law.)

I met Matt Assante and Dustin Terry at Marquee. They are too much the face of the plague, for they are promoters who have gotten this “models bring bottle-buyers” thing down pat. At Marquee and the roof of Gansevoort and similar places, they line up a herd of models and book gentlemen suitors at nearby tables. The “bringing in the posse thing” is so pre-recession. In today’s club economy, in order to score big you need a percentage of the table sales to make ends meet. Matt and Dustin’s star rose just as the Dow Jones sank. Where most promoters bring 20 people or less, this dynamic duo are -- in the words of one seasoned club entrepreneur -- “killing it. They are one of the few teams that actually draw anymore, and their crowd actually spends money.” To those who say bottle service killed clubs, they are public enemies number one and two -- or are they just a couple of nice guys trying to finish first?

I made a rather big mistake: I underestimated the effort by Noah Tepperberg and Jason Strauss, Strategic Group, and "special friends" on behalf of Avenue, the newest, hottest place around. From afar, Avenue seemed like a smart move. A built-out space 100 feet from Richie Akiva and Scott Sartiano's super hot 1Oak would give Noah and Jason an opportunity to service their A-crowd, which was bored with Marquee after six years of undeniable success. Richie, Scott, Ronnie Madra, and Jeffrey Jah have already done the heavy lifting and turned a block once dominated by Harleys and those who worship them at the always-rowdy Red Rock West into a high-rent district. I felt that without much effort, Avenue could do pretty well. Word on the street a few months ago indicated that it would be a quick fixer-upper -- a band aid to service for the Tao Vegas/Marquee crowd until they could do something right again. But word on the street should often be washed into the gutter, as Avenue is a monumental effort and success.

I got this story secondhand -- and like sweaters I get that way, it's bound to have a few holes in it. It seems that Bungalow 8 was closed for ten days, and excuses like “Amy isn't around” and “They were taking a break or renovating” were thrown out for their adoring public. A source with some chops told me it was the collapse of parts of the roof that caused the closing. Plexiglas panels came detached, and in a sky-is-falling late night incident, the party came to a stop. Repairs were long overdue, and staff did their best to control the elements with strategically placed buckets and such. Amy is indeed traveling some, but my source revealed that with only about a year and a half left on her lease, Ms. Sacco has decided to ride it out. She has some money put aside from the sale of her West 23rd Street boîte as well as a flow of consulting fees from the Griffin, the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas, and the "Living by Amy" condo project on John Street. Bungalow 8 London, which according to another source isn’t hitting its marks, is still another revenue stream for the queen of nightlife.

Like a diabetic avoiding a candy store, I avoid strip clubs. I don't want to want what I can't have, and even if I could have it, I really truly don't think I want it really anyway -- I think. Anyways, I don't frequent them, but whenever I would lumber down 27th Street (back when that was something some people did), the guys at the back door of Scores would flag me down and invite me in. They knew I wouldn't go, but in some old school ritual they extended the invite anyway. My man Clint used to say, "A man's gotta know his limitations." I've got a weakness for women, and as Brian Ferry once said, "Love is the drug for me." So anyway, I don't go.