Good news for fans of both the United States’ 6th largest tributary, and the most popular Bulgarian-born, large-scale environmental artist in the world. Christo has been allowed to turn the Arkansas River into a massive work of art. The project, dubbed “Over the River,” will consist of eight silvery panels suspended across nearly six miles of the Arkansas River to form a shiny canopy.

A call over the weekend came from a player over at Quo, that nightclub on 28th street that you people never go to. Quo is a club for outer borough non-hipster types who want a big city experience but can't get into most places. It makes money for the owners, the staff and the food carts, as this crowd thinks meat on a stick is eating out. The caller was upset at me because of a comment in the New York Post that was attributed to me. According to the article the comment was in response to, Gary Malhotra, an owner of Quo, has been accused of coercing a waitress to allow her to let him snort cocaine off various body parts. The post article details allegations made in a lawsuit filed by the waitress. I did not make this comment and I assured the caller that if I had I would own up to it. He accepted this and told me he had a pretty good idea who used my good name.

After a five year stint owning the Chelsea restaurant Naima , Roberto Vuotto is reintroducing himself as General Manager of the brand spanking new triple threat, Veranda. The bi-level West Village space is a restaurant, discothèque and hookah lounge all rolled into one, and Vuotto, a Capri native who came to New York as a busboy over 10 years ago, has the substantial task of making it all run smoothly. With his latest endeavor, Vuotto hopes to keep the hookahs lit and the music thumping for the next five years, and the five after that too.

I hear from Michael Alig quite often, although for many months I have stopped writing and visiting him. His bust in jail for illegal drugs indicated to me that he wasn’t taking my advice and efforts to reintroduce him to the world in a positive light seriously. He is in a repeat drug offender facility in solitary, with few privileges, about five hours from where I write. In a letter I received from him the other day, he was coherent and remorseful and understanding of my position. He has cut out many of the enablers from his ridiculous “fan club,” taking himself off their message boards. He seems to be trying again to get himself ready for the world. Our mutual friend, the brilliant artist Fernanda Cohen, visited him and read him the riot act. He swears he will embrace the “normal” and adult and creative friends he still has and forsake the Manson-like cult followers that celebrate all that is wrong about him.

"This seems like one big Republican party," an unnamed guest with a distinct southern accent noted last night at The Gates. "Either that or it's a Yale reunion." Amid all of this week's summery soirees, I was most happy to find myself at UNICEF's Next Generation Launch Event. With Jenna Bush Hager as a committee chair, Grey Goose-sponsored cocktails, and Josh Madden playing DJ, this one particularly disinterested party guest could not sour the bunch -- regardless if the bunch was made up of Republican Yalies or not. The event was hosted by the members of UNICEF's Next Generation Steering Committee, a group composed 30 thirty young scenesters, including Barbara Bush, Lauren Bush, Maggie Betts, and David Lauren, who banded together to party for their very first initiative: Project Sprinkles, as they pledged to raise $175,000 for the program. Not to worry -- the program isn't raising awareness for your Crumbs habit, though the delicious cupcakes were passed at the event. These sprinkles are sugar-free and save lives.

Dining might be the new nightlife, so then where does that leave nightlife? Could nightlife be the new shopping? Could it be still alive and well, and hiding behind a bandolier of dusty velvet ropes? Our dear Foster's existential breakdown and subsequent pocketbook damage got me to thinking about what everyone else (re: people with jobs other than chronicling New York nightlife) is doing with their free time in Manhattan. I cornered a Wall Street Dude, a New York Newbie, a Hipster DJ, a girl-about-town Socialite, a Fashion Intern, and a Lawyer to see what's going on behind our editorial backs. Turns out actually going someplace isn't a precursor for strong opinions, pro or con. For example:

A handful of posts ago, I reacted with what The Gates’ owners Redd Styles, Danny Kane, and Michael James thought was an iron fist regarding their soon-to-open club. My less than enthusiastic preview supplied a list of what I thought were glaring problems facing the place. These three guys are friends of mine, and my criticism was seen as a betrayal of sorts, but mutual associates pointed out that the analogy of telling a friend they have toilet paper on their shoe is meant to be helpful. I, as a nightlife writer with an editor and a public that need to see me as an honest broker and as friend, felt the need to point out what ailed them. It wasn’t as if I was the only person who noticed this stuff. Most just air-kissed them on the cheeks and said things like "congratulations," while whispering behind their backs. And the types that revel in others' failures spoke out loud. And though I'm not that kind of person, I probably spoke the loudest.

I visited my mom on Sunday and had a real good time, but of course, not a club good time. My mom taught me a few things -- like, look both ways before you cross, how to tie shoelaces, and if you have nothing good to say about somebody, keep your mouth shut. Well, I'm sure she's as right about these things as she was about Jeannie Luvullo and some of my other exes, but it puts her at odds with my editor. Sometimes I’ve just got to say nay. I visited The Gates the other night and was swept off my feet by a bevy of beauties who spent dinner plying me with information and reminders of how much I liked Michael James, who seems to be one of the owners out there. I do like Mike; I don't like The Gates. I like Michael's partners Redd Styles and Danny Kane, but I don’t like what they've done to the place. The old Biltmore Room (previously Rome) has existed on 8th Avenue between 25th and 26th streets since the 80s. It is a magnificent collage of marble and wood located in the armpit of Chelsea and Clinton -- a no-man's land of cheap stores and restaurants there to service F.I.T. and the city housing. If real estate sales peeps can offer their mantra "location, location, location" to set a market price, I can use the phrase to underscore the problems this joint is facing right from the jump.

I've been talking lately about how my career as a hospitality designer can be used as a sort of canary in a coal mine to judge the state of our economy. As a firm, we picked up very little new work from mid-December until just recently. At one point, we had 16 jobs on hold while our clients secured loans. Ten of those jobs have in the last few weeks given us a call and indicated positive movement forward or in fact funding coming through. This means jobs. The restaurants and clubs I am building will need to hire staff two to six months down the line. People who have been futilely looking for gigs might be back on track.

Danny Kane, Redd Stylez, and Rod Surut are gearing up the space formerly known as the Biltmore Room for an April opening. It will be called “The Gates” -- a reference to the heavy ornate gates that guard the entrance. The Gates will be "a high-end lounge with food," and the menu is slated to be "new American cuisine.”