It looks like it’s going to be a while before Eugene Remm, Mark Birnbaum, and Michael Hirtenstein (seated, left to right) get a vacation. While they’re already busy running such white-hot New York nightspots as Tenjune and SL, the EMM Group partners now have two exciting new restaurants to oversee. The first, Lexington Brass, is a stylish New American bistro in the Hyatt 48 hotel that serves three meals a day, seven days a week, along with signature cocktails and craft beers. The second, Catch, is poised to become nothing less than Manhattan’s seafood Mecca, with multiple levels, a glass-enclosed rooftop lounge, an outdoor terrace, and some major firepower in the kitchen courtesy of Top Chef Season 3 winner Hung Huynh (standing).

When it comes to nightlife, the W New York Downtown finally seems to be taking the "downtown" part of its name seriously, as evidenced by the line-up of DJs they've secured for a new bi-weekly party at the hotel's Living Room Terrace. Starting tomorrow, with DJ Mia Moretti and her violinist friend Caitlin Moe, and then going every other Tuesday until August 30th, the "Summer Jam" series (lazy name, guys) will feature in chronological order: sophomore clothing founder Chrissie Miller, Paul Sevigny, Jesse Marco, and Jus Ske. (Admittedly, those last two favor the 1Oak/Tenjune/Avenue crowd more than the fashion/art element that's recently cannibalized New York nightlife.)

Eugene Remm, the sovereign of Tenjune and SL, is opening SL East in the Hamptons this summer, bringing all the hype of his expanding EMM empire to bear at the Lilypond space. Operators believe that they must have a presence out East, because that’s where their clients are heading. It's also an opportunity to make new friends.

Diners will soon have the opportunity to eat at a pop-up restaurant manned by 15-year-old wunderkind chef Greg Grossman, where "Guests will feel like they are dining inside an artist like Andy Warhol’s mind circa 1982." Sounds disorienting and uncomfortable! The dinner will consist of "molecular gastronomic masterpieces" inspired by pop artists like Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein.

It's time to get Halloween serious and dust off my Elvis costume. For at least 15 years I have been Elvis. Not the skinny young one used by the U.S. Post office in the early ‘90’s for white envelopes, but the fat old one they used for bulk mail. The first time I put on my white sequined suit with the wig, the shoes, the bangles, and the sunglasses, I could feel the King’s energy in my veins—it transformed me. As Elvis, I have hosted many a costume contest, and sung on the subway to thunderous applause. I have walked in the parade and had a zillion photos taken with babies, girlfriends, and tourists. Each year I add a little more padding, and the wig gets a little more gray, as art imitates life. Last year, I added real freeze-dried flies to the wig, but the schtick is getting a bit old and it may be time soon to bury the old codger. This year Elvis will appear two more times: as I DJ as him at the Hudson Hotel’s monster soiree with my pal Paul Sevigny, and as I jet out to LA for the actual night of Halloween, a Standard Hollywood gig. Should I just wear the costume on the plane? Will they let me board if I decide to?

Nicole John’s late-night nosedive from 20 stories is destined to plunge nightlife into a dark era. The blame game has begun, with criminal charges being filed against Ilan Nassim, who took the 17-year-old, almost-Parsons student and a group of revelers back to his place to part-tay. Tenjune, the place where the action began, is under criminal investigation for serving alcohol to the minor. A promoter, the bartenders, owners, security, and other staff members are also on the hook. Authorities, newspapers, blogs, parents, and the hoi polloi will seek a culprit—a specific person, persons, or institution—to blame. There is enough blame to go around, and in a way we are all to blame for Nicole John’s death. Start with the family. Nicole’s Dad was rushing back from Thailand, where he serves as the U.S. Ambassador. All accounts paint his daughter as a party girl with affections for Xanax and Vodka. If the family knew about their wonder child’s problems, what did they do? If they didn’t know, well, that seems worse. The father’s lofty position, power, and influence will surely send the blame into the cracks where we all dwell. He will distance the blame from himself, and those who had a real chance of nipping the problem in the budding girl, and seek retribution. We must blame the person, or persons, who got her the ID. The underground network where kids get the hall pass to booze, celebrities, and action.

Damon DeGraff and Yoni Goldberg are dGi Management. They handle a stable of celebrity type DJs who are the hottest commodities in A-list clubs. However, DJing in clubs is only a small part of what they do. dGI books their talent for Rolex money at corporate affairs all over the world. The landscape has changed and the DJ with a rap who plays rap, house, disco, 80’s and rock, and is often a bold-faced name in the funny papers, is a commodity that can get maximum value with help from proper management. If it’s the right party, chances are dGi has one of their players playing. The music at these events must often appeal to a crowd with a wide range of tastes, so a mashup DJ, with a well-stocked Serato is called for. I'm going to just put up their press release because it really does tell the story.

It’s 10:30 on a Wednesday night and I’m in gym clothes crossing Union Square wondering if I’ve anything good left on TiVo when I first hear them. “Let’s just get drinks here,” a California blond squeals to her fellow interns, a group of smiley, freshly implanted college girls. “This part of the city is amazing—there are so many places to go!” Suddenly I feel refreshed, the soggy, angry heat evaporating around me. I immediately recall those same, remarkable feelings of excitement when I was new to this city: every step was one outside my comfort zone, and the possibilities were endless—the night was a mystery. Now, since I've settled into the groove of actually living in this city, the knee-jerk reaction toward their enthusiasm is a swift eye-roll at their naïveté and a silent recitation of the latest snarky blog post about this exact area going to hell in TGI Friday’s hand basket. These days, the trend is to speak about nightlife as you were attending its funeral. I’ve grown bored with the idea that there’s nothing new or provocative happening in this metropolis. Nightlife isn’t dead, it’s just different, and it’s different for everyone. It’s been a while since I first started covering nightlife as "Holly GoNightly," but my interest is once again piqued to seek out new ways to look at New York after dark. While some longingly wish for their days at Studio 54, Tunnel, or the Beatrice Inn, there are many more seeking out the new. The internet has given everyone a certain kind of access, diversifying trends and experiences. There’s something for everyone, and the only way to find out what works is to step out and try it on for size.

Nightclubs can’t survive in this economy on booze sales alone. It’s for this reason that today’s savvy businessmen are now looking to on-site restaurants to support their operations. Food seeds a room early. Smart new boîtes are doing big dinner business at 5pm—or brunch, even—with their clubs only a staircase away. Whether or not they eventually fill up, places that don’t serve food don’t do much business until well past midnight, which means their owners spend way too much money on soaring rents, insurance fees and operating costs. New York nightspots like Tenjune, STK, Simyone Lounge, Abe & Arthur’s, the new Butter and the forthcoming joint from Scott Sartiano and Richie Akiva all play this same game. Noah Tepperberg and Jason Strauss’ Avenue even does it all in the same small room.

MTV's Jersey Shore City Guide[$.99] - Your fist-pump is near perfect. You get juiced with your bros on the regular. Now find out where to unleash your tats and toned abs with the MTV Jersey Shore City Guide. The app provides listings and maps to where guidos and guidettes get down when they’re not GTL’ing (if you don’t know this one by now, well, it’s time to throw in the towel). Discover Snooki’s favorite spot for “bangin’ sushi,” find out where Vinny goes to see “naked chicks” and follow The Situation to Tenjune, where “the music is hot and the girls are hotter.” The Jersey Shore isn’t a place, dude, it’s a lifestyle.