I wear multiple nightlife hats. I, of course, write here daily; I design joints; I DJ; and I help in the marketing of that delicious Beau Joie Champagne. There are often conflicts, especially in the writing. I follow the rule of disclosing what I can about the new projects I am designing, but I do comply with the rules publicists and management lay out. I often do not get the first photos of places I'm designing or often even the first substantive story. In the case of the The Elsinore at 17 Stanton Street, my latest creation, publications like Crains and Thrillist got the scoops. I also will not write about a place differently because I am involved. This has upset a few clients, but others like the added dimension of this column.

The weekend was wonderful, with the air as crisp and fresh as the apples we bought at Auntie El's, my favorite hush-hush spot on Route 17. My day was spent with a couple of bartenders and a doorknob manufacturer at Storm King, the greatest place to spend a day. It’s miles of art strewn about in what looks like an abandoned golf course. Look it up and go. I've gone a zillion times, any and all seasons, but enjoy this time of year best, with the fall blooms and changing leaves and light.

Like a B actor on a network TV drama, Noel Ashman basically wears the same outfit every working day—some sort of ugly pants, sneakers, and a white t-shirt. For his birthday this Thursday, I will stop at a Rite Aid (the nice one that was an old theater on Manhattan Avenue where my girlfriend buys her amazingly tacky fishnet fingernail coverings) and buy him a couple packs of new white Hanes. He will chuckle about it. I imagine some closet at Ashman Manor with 100 white t-shirts hung on hangers and a single black one for weddings and funerals. Noel is beloved by many and…disliked by others. There are no gray areas when Noel is concerned.

A tooth that once took a solid left hook from a very tough gal a couple years ago finally went down for the count - and took the rest of me with it. Therefore, I missed the un-missable event of my new year, the 9th anniversary of Lit. The people I was going to meet at the soiree spoke incoherently when I asked them what had happened. They seemed to have had a blast but were of no use to me, so I turned to the proprietor, the debonair man about town Erik Foss, who everyone just calls Foss. Here are his 9 highs and lows:

If I wasn’t too busy to write about anything, these are the things I might write about. I want to discuss the avalanche of invitations I receive through the media snowstorm that has become my life, and probably yours. I ache for the days when a young punk would hand me a flyer when I left a joint. Nowadays, my e-mails, my phone, and my computer are all billboards for a zillion events I just don’t want to attend, or can’t possibly. I have people inviting me to parties in Vegas, L.A., Greece, and South America. I guess a wide net is thrown out, and what happens, happens. With almost 5,000 Facebook friends, I am not only invited, but used as a platform to annoy my crew. I have a steadfast rule: If you invite me via text or through some Stepford voice message, I don’t listen, and of course, I don’t attend. I don’t mind it when a college student, intern, or a real human calls and politely asks if I want to go, even if it’s from Noel Ashman.

This Friday, Q -- a club where Quo, Myst, Prime, and Retox used to live -- will open. None of these were A-list joints, but all entertained the B-, C-, and D-listers with great sound and good service. They were what they were, and I found myself there having a good time more often than I'd like to admit. The concept of a "new" club gets blurred as spaces are renamed, redone, and hopefully reconsidered by a public always willing to give it another shot. That seems to be the case here, where management has brought in a couple new faces (Antonio Fuccio and Mike Heller) and will refer back to the "glory days" of Quo with the Q name. The two-room format will be disposed of, as Q will be a good midsized room. The city needs this size of a betweener room, as only Pacha and M2 fill the large club niche, and there are hundreds of small joints. Q can present a world-class or circuit DJ and still remain small enough to have a social scene.

I call it Nell's. Despite my deep affection for everything Noel Ashman, a space always maintains the name of its greatness, and 246 West 14th Street had its fame when it was named Nell's. Scott Sartiano and Richie Akiva received unanimous approval of the full community board yesterday, and they will open a restaurant on the ground floor and a club/lounge downstairs. Their success at Butter and 1Oak guarantees that this place will be grand, plus, I and my partner Marc Dizon have been hired to design it. We feel very honored. I designed Butter for them a number of years ago, and that experience really boosted my design career. They are a couple of bright guys who are very hands-on and deeply motivated to create something hot and fresh. This is a very sexy project, and I'm quite excited.

Did some Nostradamus-type advertising guru from T.G.I. Friday's invent textese, therefore predicting the SMS revolution me and my Blackberry are now celebrating? I went to the T.G.I. Friday's website to check and was bombarded with heavy metal music and images of violently searing meat, bottle-tossing bartenders and sexy Midwestern waitresses. Too much before my morning lemonade. I'm in love with my Blackberry. It doesn't mean I want to marry it, but I do plan on taking it on vacation. Some say I'll have a better time if I leave her at home and go with some random gal, but I told them to gft.

As the economy recovers and money becomes available, places that were long ago shuttered or recently deceased prepare for rebirth. Restaurants lay around like old chairs and sofas covered with white sheets like in an old horror flick. The biggest prize in my eyes is Plumm, that ripe spot on 14th Street with a ton of tradition. Nell Campbell had her infamous joint Nell's there back in the day. It became famous for charging everybody -- and I mean everybody -- door admission. Cher refused, got turned away, and the little gimmick turned the place into a hit overnight. In later years, I would go and listen to jazz bands and eat good food before the mayhem of the dance halls. Noel Ashman took the joint over and called it NA. Some said it meant "Nell's Again," but most thought it was a tribute to his own dapper self. Noel eventually closed NA and transformed it into Plumm, with a gaggle of celebrity investors including Chris Noth, Damon Dash, Samantha Ronson, etc. Plumm proved to be a bitter fruit, never really catching on with a crowd that spent enough money to pay the rent.

Yesterday, DBTH reported that the Plumm, Noel Ashman's celebrity-powered nightspot, had been closed. Sometimes being a nightlife writer puts me in conflict with my other career of club/restaurant designer. Noel had me and my partner Mark Dizon lined up to give the downstairs a quick new look. I knew there were problems, as Noel just couldn't pull the trigger on the redux. I could not report what I knew because Noel was a client. DBTH broke the story, and after reading Scott's post, I felt I had one less reason to be cheerful. Plumm was shuttered, and I was out a design fee. I called Noel last night to hear his side of things: "Plumm had a four-and-a-half year run, which in the end ran into a real tough economy." He went on to say that the club had been "plagued by lingering debt from NA," the previous club in the space, which Noel also owned. I could never put a finger what NA stood for, and Noel still won't tell. Most thought it was simply "Noel Ashman" or "Nell's Again" (from another way-more-accepted joint that lived there). Some quipped it meant "Not Again," and I'm sure my more snarky readers can go even farther.