When I was working in the restaurant industry some odd years ago, I relished the time just before opening. Servers and managers went out back to smoke and bitch and I would stand in the dining room looking out over the polished silverware in the fading afternoon light. The room looked like an empty, half-lit stage just before opening night. Wijnanda Deroo’s third solo exhibit, Inside New York Eateries, presently showing at the Robert Mann Gallery, articulates this moment in a photo series that documents New York’s culinary institutions as they sit empty, before the evening’s cast has taken a seat. Along with views of Milon and the Grand Central Oyster Bar & Restaurant—all standing eerily silent—the series also captures beloved, now-shuttered venues.

I received a text message 30 minutes before my DJ set at subMercer that revealed the location of a recently missing pal. Bellevue Hospital now houses yet another friend who fell victim to alcohol abuse and God knows what else. Luckily she is alive, but not exactly "well." While the city spends unheard-of figures making the bar and nightclub environment safe from the evils of smoking, alcohol -- a far more destructive product -- is merrily served and of course taxed. I certainly am not advocating a return to Prohibition; it just seems strange that so little effort is made to educate and protect or help a public subjected to a substance which, in so many ways, is at least as destructive as heroin. Whereas heroin is in itself an amazingly efficient destroyer of souls, alcohol can hold its own by providing a gateway for everything else the devil is selling. For decades I have walked brilliant friends to or from rehab, a place that has become a who's who of downtowners, uptowners, jet setters and the common folk. They gather at AA and NA meetings to find comfort and support to get through yet another day. Citing the dangers of secondhand smoke for patrons and employees, a war has broken out as clubs flail, getting pushed to the edge of closing.

I may be a day late on this story, but at least I'm not $60 short. It’s the Halloween that will never end. It lingers in the mysteriously disappearing stale candy in the mushy pumpkin by the door and a few sprinkles of glitter on my cluttered desk. It screams at me on Facebook as 1,733 (as of this morning) unhappy Facebook folk have organized a “We got scammed by Tavern on the Green 2009 Halloween!” group. Thousands of comments recall the true Halloween nightmare these people and many others endured. Many have asked me to weigh in on this, including my editor, so I made some calls.

Somewhere over the rainbow, way up in the high 60s, is this very special place called Tavern on the Green. The 70th anniversary party for the most wonderful, most watched and most classic film of all time was held there last Friday in an event to benefit Elizabeth Glazer's pediatric AIDS foundation. I hung out with good friend Jenny Oz Leroy, Tavern's "current" owner and host of the gala. My nightclub career has allowed me to meet legends such as Pelé, Wilt Chamberlain, Stevie Wonder, a Beatle, a few Stones, Madonna, Sting, Bono, some Zeppelins, Prince, and some Sex Pistols. But maybe my biggest thrill came at this event. Here were Jerry Maren, Margaret Pellegrinni, Reinhardt Raabe, Ruth Duccini and Karl Stover -- little people who starred as Munchkins in 1939's The Wizard of Oz.

It's not unusual for a 90-year-old man to be found dead. It's just that the man found this past Thursday, bound and bludgeoned to death, had survived so much. Felix Brinkmann survived Auschwitz and two other concentration camps and had talked his way out of death a number of times. Mr. Brinkmann was one of the owners of the classic club Adam's Apple -- part of a strip of 1st Avenue hotspots including Dangerfield's and Magique. I was dating a beautiful girl named Barbara back in those days. We would drive my '62 Impala to Manhattan and hit the hotspots on first by the 59th Street Bridge. It was the summer of Son of Sam, and a New York Mets World Series run and my first New York nightlife experience.

A game of musical chairs is being played by most of the major promotional entities as the summer roof season is upon us. While the highly successful 230 Fifth will still dominate this market just as the Empire State Building dominates its incredible view, some places remain unsettled or don't have a clear opening date due to a myriad of problems. Highbar is getting a quick polish, while the roof at the Stay Hotel is still under construction. Mixed reports come from Cabanas and The Park, and the highly-touted Above Allen will finally get to open its windows amidst hopes that the sound spill doesn't disturb too many hotel guests and nearby residents. Daemon O'Neil, Rose Bar's patient, sweet, and very good-looking door guru (not to be confused with Damion Luaiye), is packing his clipboard and heading over to the Bazaar Bar at the upcoming Trump Soho hotel. The economic downturn, a weak dollar, and a laundry list of safety issues make travel abroad a lot less attractive this season. I hear reports that Hamptons summer rentals are sluggish, yet the Surf Lodge in Montauk is riding high.

Carmen D’Alessio is one of a kind -- and thank God! If there were more of her, we would never sleep. She is the original VIP hostess; she has hobnobbed with the aristocracy, the players, the rich and the famous. Her apartment is filled with nightclub and celebrity memorabilia that leaves you speechless (and that isn’t common for me). I’ve known Carmen for a very long time, and she seems to never age. She helped make my clubs so very relevant to a sect that is unreachable for virtually any other nightlife promoter. Carmen’s crowd not only flies first class -- they often own the airlines. I sat for hours with Carmen and listened to tales of Andy Warhol, Halston and Mick and Bianca; one wondrous story after another, all backed up with autographed photos of an age that seems incomprehensible today. I told Carmen that she should write a book, and she asked me to help her; I’m going to seriously think about it.

Michael Ault, owner of the Pangaea clubs in Austin and elsewhere and the man behind legendary New York clubs like Spy and Chaos, checks in with the scene (New York) where he once reigned.

Film is the talk of the town for the next few weeks as the city is abuzz with New York Film Festival happenings. On Friday, industry impresarios descended on the after party for this year’s kick-off film, The Class (which screened around the same time John McCain was telling Barack Obama that "He just simply doesn't understand"). The grandiose chandeliers, Victorian murals, and boisterous orchestra at the swanky Tavern on the Green were nothing short of black-tie, which felt like a cross between A Midsummer Night’s Dream and being on the Titanic. Through different chambers lay the elegant buffet, desserts, and bar serving various tiers of dining sections, while outside hung lanterns from trees, tenting the conversations below.