Suppose you want to hit a Mexican beach for a few days of chillaxing, and you want to keep it easy. Well, there's always Cancun, which is pretty simple to reach, with cheap fares from most east coast cities. But if it's your goal to steer clear of frat-rock idiots and tramp-stamped bimbos vomiting Jell-O Shots outside Señor Frog's for the duration of your trip, you'll need to push just a little bit further, to a balneario resort city just a few clicks south called Playa del Carmen. It's the beach town your wandering heart longs for.

My old friend Terry Casey is getting a little older and will celebrate his birthday at Home Sweet Home this Thursday. He isn’t getting any wiser, apparently, as he has asked me to DJ for an hour. I will be sandwiched in early around 8pm between Rocco Ancarola and veteran spinner Walter V. That’s like 80 years of club experience throwing music that isn’t muzak at you. Terry is one of those bright, go-to guys that I go to for advice or insight on what’s going on. He can be seen everywhere as his taste in nightlife is as diverse and eclectic as his grasp on music. I am honored to play for him.

When I was king of the forest, and a young bright person would come to me with aspirations of a career in nightlife, I would make them listen to a little ditty: "I will hire you, but you must understand that nightlife is like a roller coaster. You spend a little money to get on the ride and the first thing it does is it takes you up a great hill from which you think you can see the whole world. It broadens your horizons, and the anticipation of what lies ahead is a huge adrenaline rush. Then you plunge headlong into it—fast and fun, steep curves, and drops and spills, and you have barely enough time to catch your breath or see much else. Suddenly it's over, and you basically went around in a circle and didn't get anywhere, and the only person to really make any money is the guy who owns the thing." For the great majority of aspiring Steve Rubells or Noah Tepperbergs, that's all she wrote. Some are satisfied with the gal above their pay grade or the recognition at the club du jour's door, but few make a real career from it. I was very lucky to have worked for so many brilliant men who did, and Rudolf Piper was as good as they get.

For years the epicenter of vibrant NY nightlife, the west 27th/28th street club corridor is now a virtual ghost town. Tonight, Scores will celebrate its anniversary, with Damon Dash DJing. I’ve been facebooked, texted, tweeted, and called to attend this gala. Noel Ashman and a zillion promoters insist I attend. I might not go— never been a strip club guy. No homo, I just don’t head to that area these days. But there was a time when I was there almost every night. The core clubs of that mall, Pink Elephant, Cain, Home, Guesthouse, and Bungalow 8 are gone, as are the cops on horseback and the Kleig lights that put virtually the entire area out of business. Gone also are a couple thousand jobs in an economy that needs jobs. A visit to the M2 website revealed an ad promoting Common and DJ Funkmaster Flex on May 14th. I guess I missed that as well. Tomorrow I’ll be meeting with Joey Morrissey to find out if the mega club will reopen—if he even knows.

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A weekend toiling in my backyard saw hyacinth rearing their beautiful little heads from the recently thawed soil. The beautiful weekend weather roused them, and us, from our winter hide outs. Spring is near. In a flash it will be everywhere. With it comes a shift in the nightlife mentality, as spaces with outdoor spaces sweep the leaves and soot of winter from roof decks and patios. Traditionally spring is the time to open a new joint. Operators generally like to establish a crowd and reputation before the summer takes the A crowds to their summer retreats. Tourists will come to the city and replace migrating New Yorkers. If a club has not created a buzz and dollars for itself before this exchange of DNA, then it may wilt in the summer heat.

The Brooklynization of Uncle Steve continues as I find a better product, a better meal, a better conversation and all around better attitude there. I hit Union Pool yet again, and caught Dead Stars- a fabulous band. Cousins Jaye Moore on drums and Jeff Moore on guitar are legendary in Japan, so I'm told, from their previous band, Orange Park. Jon Watterberg plays bass. They were absolutely brilliant. You know a rock band is solid when you’re hearing their set for the first time and the songs catch you. Afterward we all hung outside by the wood burning fire pit and talked rock n' roll hootchie-coo. I am so tired of the jaded haters and wannabes who have taken over the Manhattan club scene that I retreat to Brooklyn constantly to hang out with homogeneous hipsters wearing variations of the same plaid. At least there’s good conversation and an unending supply of said hipsters. Everywhere I go there is a party. I bought a Diet Coke at Union Pool and they charged me a buck. The only thing you get for a buck in a Manhattan joint is a wrapped white mint from the bathroom attendant.

● Pink Elephant (Flatiron) - Pink Elephant redux trades in Chelsea for the Flatiron. ● Kenmare (Nolita) - Beatrice bloodlines and Joey Campanaro in the kitchen. Think big, Nolita.

So my editor wanted me to write something about Tiger Woods. I thought it was a stretch. I write about clubs and his wife maybe swung a golf club at him. Then it was explained to me that there was some sort of connection between Mr. Woods and club icon Rachel Uchitel. Rachel and I met for the first time when she was dating Tao/Marquee/Lavo partner Jason Strauss and was the director of V.I.P. Services out in Vegas. I remember her being very insistent that I get that title right, so I hope I did. Uchitel was beautiful, intelligent, articulate and driven. Did I say beautiful? She was the go-to gal for tables at hotspots like Pink Elephant, Dune, Marquee, Tao (Vegas) and most recently Griffin. I asked some of her close friends about the allegations of her affair with the Tiger. Although her friends say "probably," I could not confirm the affair. I got a lot of "I wouldn't put it past her" and "she rolls in those kinds of circles." I did get one reliable "she told friends she was friends with him." One in-the-know type said, "She told me she was splitting to L.A. to avoid the papparazzi camped by her door. I love her to death, but she makes things tough on herself." Then I did some checking on Mr. Woods just to see if the "homewrecker" label being tossed around had any validity. It seems Mrs. Woods might have a lot more to be teed off about.

Columbus Day creates a sort of/almost three-day weekend and a Sunday night where more people are out than usual. I received more calls last night from people ‘looking for a good time’ than my self-soliciting ex-girlfriend did on a weekend night. I didn’t really have answers for these party-seekers. I offered up Cielo and Vandam at Greenhouse, but for some…not their scene. I rattled off the usual places, but few of my suggestions were well-received. Sundays at GoldBar are good (to dot all my i’s) but some members of my crowd are less visually stimulating than some doors allow, so, I didn’t send them to see Jon Lennon. I sent a couple friends to the 5th Anniversary of Pink Elephant the other night, and they brought in a third wheel of misfortune. The door correctly taxed the crew, and I called to apologize. The same thing happened over at Simyone where a gal pal who isn’t hard to look at brought a couple of friends who were 4 or 5 sheets to the wind and, of course, not door-worthy. So…don't call me for guest list help for a couple weeks, children.