To tell you the truth (which is something I always try to do), I have never heard of Access, a club located on 8th Avenue between 29th and 30th Streets. They tell me it’s been there for about a year, and was previously called Elevate. Total blankness. Somehow, these joints have slipped under my radar. They even call the area Chelsea, and I checked that out, and it is true. That area south of 34th where the post office/Madison Square Garden/Penn Station crowd throw up on each other while peeing in corners and shopping for porn and cheap goods is part of fabulous, sexy, trendy Chelsea. Who knew? Lets not quibble. I don’t like quibblers, never have. But I just might name my next dog quibble. I like the sound of it.

I spent the weekend at the brilliant Gramercy Park Hotel. It was a blogger thing with fellow writers and editors from Nylon, Huffington Post, Urban Daddy and Mr. and Mrs. Smith cocktailing and dining. Even my old pal Scott Solish from Eater was there. It was breakfast and dinners and fine wine and strolls through the ultra private Gramercy Park. We slumbered in feather soft beds in rooms with views. I always look gift horses in the mouth, kick the tires and ask direct questions while looking people right in the eye, but nobody wanted anything of us “except to experience the property.”

To thoroughly embrace debauchery in Buenos Aires, follow the city's roving parties. Whether it's a clandestine affair that goes on for days or a popular night that keeps getting juggled from club to club, there's always something on that's more interesting than your usual resident DJs or endless bottle service.