For the first time in memory, I will not be in New York to celebrate my favorite holiday, Halloween. I will be whisked to Atlantic City for the Duran Duran concert and I couldn't be more excited about it. As usual my hosts, The Borgata, have gone all out to make things great. The post-concert package includes super-duper uber DJ and former Blackbook cover Mark Ronson in their club MIXX, and sister Samantha Ronson in mur mur. That's Saturday night. On Sunday, MIXX will be a blast with music by Rev Run and DJ Ruckus. On Monday, I will head to DC for the day to visit friends and family.

Before I head to B.east tonight to play with DJ Jennifly and her friends at her Hustle party, I will attend the new opening at the Fuse Gallery. The attraction is “Songs,” an exhibition that “features a number of works from a number of mediums. Each work in the exhibition was influenced by the words of the artists' favorite songs, and how the words impact and influence the work they make.” Among the too-many-to list-here artists are Mick Rock, Steve Powers, Alex Arcadia, Tim Barber, Leo Fitzpatrick, Angela Boatwright, Kembra Pfahler, Anton Perich, and Spencer Sweeney.

Thanksgiving gave me a needed break from the hustle, bustle, and daily grind. I used it well, mostly bundled under covers with old westerns on the tube. Friends from afar scurried in and then out, comets of nostalgic love. Friends went back home to visit, only to return just as I began to ache to see them again. We will all reunite tonight for bingo at Bowery Poetry, which is more fun than a barrel of monkeys. I have so much to be thankful for. Foremost, a great dinner among family, followed by another with friends and my Amanda. I am thankful that it still feels right to write every day, and for all the BlackBookies that make it possible to seem literate. I am thankful for those tone-deaf and misinformed moguls and tastemakers who allow me to DJ once in a while. I’ll be doing it, doing it, and doing it well at the Chelsea Room Wednesday night for the APM holiday party. I am very thankful for those who placed their trust in me this year by allowing me and Marc Dizon to design their joints. I am so pleased to see APL chef Camille Becera’s restaurant thisclose from opening. I love the way it turned out. When you dream a place in your mind, and through the hard work of many people, it comes to be - that is a feeling to be thankful for. This 146 Orchard Street space couldn’t catch a break, as landlords and agencies and all the furies combined to prevent it from happening. I stopped in late Saturday night to see what you will soon see, and I was very proud of it. It is one of the most forward design concepts we have attempted.

I left California with fun facts resonating in my head. First, I heard that In L.A. there are more medical marijuana distribution joints than there are Starbucks. Secondly, the people who live in Venice Beach call themselves Ven-utians. My crew has settled there and in West Hollywood. I ate strange fruit and peed next to movie stars in restaurant bathrooms. I had conversations with local nightlife shakers about celebrities as commodities and their car-based clientele. In good old New York it's hard to make a place that is what we call a "destination” work. Notable exceptions have been Bungalow 8, Area, Cielo, Lotus, and The World, which popped up in hoods that were less than traveled.

I missed the Dancealladium fest at Santos' Party House last night. I had promised to go, but my travels, travails, and dinner appointments had me entrenched in the outer borough of Brooklyn. I arrived at Santos' too late for the reunion-like event and a bit too early for the Hacienda event, which was drawing a very cute early crowd. Dancealladium is of course a portmanteau of “Danceteria” and “Palladium,” the legendary clubs from days of yore.

They say that “close” only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades. I think it sometimes counts with cover bands, especially when a member of that band is on board. Last night I raced to Hudson Hall at the Hudson Hotel to catch Marky Ramone’s Blitzkrieg. Marky was joined by Andy Hilfiger on bass and lead singer Michale Graves, formerly of the Misfits (after Glen Danzig moved on). It was a barrage of classic Ramones, from “Sheena is a Punk Rocker” to “Lobotomy.” Surely it wasn’t the Ramones for real, but if you closed your eyes and squinted your ears just right it was real nice. These days a blurry YouTube video or a track over the radio or from some DJ is all we have left. This live show of all the stuff that ushered in an era was absolutely a blast. There was a punk purity to it, an honesty and a truth that only comes off live. No, Andy isn’t Dee Dee, and Michale ain’t Joey. But they weren’t trying to be.

Tonight, The World—that Top 5 club of all time—will be celebrated at a reunion party at Santos' Party House. Doors will open at 7pm, because the crowd isn’t getting any younger. The World was located on East 2nd Street, just off Avenue B. It had many incarnations, with the last batch ending approximately 20 years ago. There isn’t a Wikipedia page to tell you all about it. It isn’t in people’s minds much when they reminisce, but all the music that we listen to and all the great clubs that followed owe a lot to this joint. I was the director of the place. Back then, when people asked me what I did for a living, I’d dead pan “I run The World.” Ronald Reagan officially had that job, but I was a far better actor. The ancient ballroom was a perfect place for my talents. A big room with high ceilings where 1500 people could see a show or dance to a big DJ and a smaller room for 700 with a stage made famous in the Talking Heads video for “Burning Down the House.” When we needed more space, we took over the tenement next door and named it “It.”

Exploring the secret nightlife across the river

With Spring comes a veritable shift in nightlife. Not only are rooftops reopening and patios getting their shine on, but people start feeling inspired to jumpstart their social life and there are plenty of new offerings vying to be the jumper cables. Simonez makes a jump to Pravda on Wednesday nights (an attendees sardonic review: "Like the Vanity Fair Oscar party combined with being backstage at Woodstock"), and Mike has started using his Apartment to shoot rap videos. Meanwhile, all wait with baited breath to see what will become of the old Nells/new Scott and Richie spot, which is set to open next month.

Lowdown: This is Manhattanites' Friday night. Whipped has moved to Baddies, the hipster alcoholics moving closer to their hipster roots. Hot Now: ● CV (Lower East Side) - Something has finally been done with the over-saturated spot formerly known as 105 Rivington. Let's see how long this minor revamp will last. ● BEast(Chinatown) - Main Man, Ryan McGinley's night of debauchery, is still in swing. Expect a Misshape or two, Sophia Lamar, and a band of insiders. ● Coffee Shop (Union Square) - One of the true day clubs, chocked full of promoters networking via text message; the basement named USL will be making random appearances throughout the week. Avenue, Boom Boom Room and 1Oak are still great standbys for good times, while the down-belows like Macao's basement opium den, is also great. ● Baddies (West Village) - The former Butter party was screwed with until it finally flew the coop to the basement bar of Kingswood. Resident hipster DJs Matt & Maia draw out big name fashion folks like Alexander Wang and the Ronsons.