This is going to be short and sweet - well, maybe splendid. Fashion Week is making me weak and it's just starting. I shoulda, woulda, if I coulda attended the Ami James Pop-Up Tattoo Shop thing at the Empire Hotel yesterday but I was otherwise distracted. Besides, I will be at the Empire Rooftop tomorrow night DJing, and being north of 23rd street two times in a week is... problematic for a BBurger like myself. I'm opening for the fabulous Mel DeBarge. Mel and I have a long history of being in the same room and other things more times than I care to discuss. He is a great DJ and I am honored to be mentioned in the same breath and invitation with him. Kirill is taking pictures and he somehow always manages to shoot me on my good side -not an easy accomplishment. I'm on from 9pm to 11pm, although the invite says doors open at 10pm. Either that's an error or someone has heard me DJ before or they want me to provide rhythm for the wait-rons as they set up. I'm excited about this and Fashion Week in general.

It was my first real adventure at the Dream Downtown complex. It began with a stroll down Marble Lane, the lobby restaurant. It was all serious steaks, with a staff that makes few mistakes. I was joined by young interior designer and old friend Christian Zavala, who marveled at the well-heeled crowd. The lobby was unlike any hotel lobby I had ever seen. It was a scene. Everybody was mingling with cocktails and intentions.

“When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.” So goes the famous line from The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. And that’s the way we roll when a legend passes, and such is the legend of Don Hill. We hardly ever dig too deep to find faults, flaws, or the things that define him—up or down—as human. However, recent rumors imply that the joint bearing his name is possibly opening again under “new” management. The implication is that the old management drove the place into dire financial circumstances so that the club was no longer able to continue. This requires a look, as reputations are on the line.

A quiet man who made a great deal of noise slipped into eternity yesterday. Don Hill left us in the way he lived, quietly and without fuss or fanfare. His passing showed us all how to go. I rushed to Don Hill's last night, where friends gathered to support each other, remember and honor. All around, rumors and tales percolated about the circumstances of his passing. It was left to others to figure out how he died, as we all agreed that how he lived was far more important.

The last time I was at Rose Bar, I explained to my friends Nick and Garrett, it was for an installment of Nur Khan's Rose Bar Sessions—for Rufus Wainwright— and I ended up passing out early. Okay, so the correct way to say it would be that I blacked out early, waking up on the bathroom floor—my bathroom floor, thank goodness. The same thing happened the time before, when I'd stopped in for a "relaxing" post-work cocktail. Rose Bar is like that: one minute you're discussing the merits of black coffee with Penn Badgley, the next your walking around in circles in the night air. It's as if the place is filled with fun house mirrors that distort reality and fool you into thinking you're extremely elegant as you slide down a slippery, wine-drenched slope. Maybe it's because you feel like you're part of the ambiance, and under the Keith Haring art, the elegance is vodka-proof. A fortress of refinement. Last night, we were in the front bar, curled over a candle-lit table debating the enduring mysticism of the place as Tony Danza strolled by with Alan Cumming. Maybe spotting Tony Micelli wasn't out of the ordinary, considering we'd just enjoyed a show put on by Liza Minnelli herself, kicking off the fall season of Monday Rose Bar Sessions.

A very famous man, who no one can remember, once said “There are no words!” I never met him, or him me, unless we did meet and I just can’t remember a word of what was said. Anyway, for arguments sake, I’m going to ignore what he did say, didn’t say, or I can’t remember him saying, and say it: Don Hill’s leaves me speechless. We all know that can’t happen, so I’ll just continue. Don Hill’s is beyond-words-great. There, I said it.

I was faced with a dilemma last night, but I’ve had many a night filled with impossible dilemmas, and panic was not an option. Fashion Week and two undeniable openings converged to force a ‘what to wear’ crisis. The place formerly known as the Boom Boom Room was re-launching for the season. I had RSVP'd, as required, and looked forward to a rooftop soiree with the swells on the most perfect of nights. I was set to go when I perused the fine print: Black Tie. My plans involved that party, and then I was to go to Don Hill’s for their opening night. The requisite old black leather jacket was out of mothballs and ready to rock and roll. I pondered which was worse: black leather at Andre Balazs’s pleasure dome or a tux at Nur Khan and Paul Sevigny’s rock and roll palace? When it comes down to a tux or a leather, I’m going to side with the street. I sent regrets to the PRs, and will head to the Standard for some boom real soon.

My Blackberry was screaming at me to get to subMercer, as “everyone was there.” The reopening of the underground spot I call home had me covered in goose bumps. They could have been caused by the cool, cool night, but I love goose bumps no matter what the cause. I was dying to get to subMercer, but it was quite early and I was dining in Brooklyn. Manhattan Inn in Greenpoint is yet another reason there's no way you’re gonna keep me in Manhattan. Fashion Week events were beckoning me from across the East River, but I was in a better place. I think someone should organize a Brooklyn Fashion Week.

Don Hill is a club cult hero. His joint Don Hill’s was born in April 1993 to much flag waving, fanfare and hoopla. The Smithereens set the tone that night and it has since become a virtual rock and roll hall of fame. Don has booked the joint, hired staff, run day to day and night to night operations, he’s answered the phones and I suspect that on some nights he swept out the joint. He will now be joined by superheroes Nur Khan and Paul Sevigny. They will come in with mad skills, new energy and cash to redux the place. They will merge with Don to create more of the same but even better. Nur is famous for his stadium act showcases in what essentially is an over-sized living room over at Rose Bar. He will now have a mid-size venue to accommodate his vision and connections. Nur and I talked about the Don Hill space being perfect for him over a year ago. I floated the idea past Don Hills honcho Nicki Camp last July and I am as pleased as punch that a deal has been finalized. Nur is partnered up with my own personal Jesus, Paul Sevigny at Kenmare and together they will bring their unparalleled talents to this venture. The inclusion of Don into the mix is brilliant. I caught up with Paul and asked him if I could finally write about this and he spewed info at me at a thousand words a minute. I got some of it.

I spent the weekend at the brilliant Gramercy Park Hotel. It was a blogger thing with fellow writers and editors from Nylon, Huffington Post, Urban Daddy and Mr. and Mrs. Smith cocktailing and dining. Even my old pal Scott Solish from Eater was there. It was breakfast and dinners and fine wine and strolls through the ultra private Gramercy Park. We slumbered in feather soft beds in rooms with views. I always look gift horses in the mouth, kick the tires and ask direct questions while looking people right in the eye, but nobody wanted anything of us “except to experience the property.”