Some writer way smarter than me once noted, “You can't go home again.” That's Thomas Wolfe. I wrote a paper about it in my college days. If I had some time, I would go back to college and get formal educations in writing and design so my editors and partners would have more hair as they age, but what Wolfe said is true. Last night I went home to the Bowery in the early 80s. Back then I weighed in at a buck thirty five, wore ripped jeans, manic-panic pointy shoes, and a well thought out T-shirt. I was working on Wall Street during the day, on my way to becoming a commodities trader, but at night I became a punk rocker. When I DJ, I offer lots of stuff from that era which captured my heart. I bought all those punk anthems new, and many remain at my mom's house. After quoting Wolfe I’m unclear if I’m allowed to go home to pick them up. Maybe mom will FedEx them. Last night I went to Vera Ramone King’s book release party at Bowery Electric for Poisoned Heart: I Married Dee Dee Ramone; Vera was a wife of my dearly departed friend Dee Dee Ramone.

In one of his latest at-home visits with a notable creative, photographer Todd Selby invades Vogue features director Sally Singer’s NYC abode at the legendary Hotel Chelsea. As the front-row fixture is a particular favorite of mine, I find peering into Singer’s domestic world totally thrilling. In addition to a slew of great images, Selby’s standard Q&A with Singer offers some savory responses, such as to, "What was the most fun you have ever had while working?"

I never apologize for anything in life. The only thing I’m sorry about is putting a curse on Roger Ebert’s colon. If a fat pig like Roger Ebert doesn’t like my movie then I’m sorry for him. -- Vincent Gallo

I live in Little Italy, where a cast of characters right out of central casting gathers on corners to shoot the shit. Everybody knows everybody, and the stories told assure everyone that New York still exists. Every so often, a stickball game breaks out. In the second part of my sit down with my neighbor Abel Ferrara, he touches on neighborhood character Vincent Gallo. I recall a story Vincent told as he held court to a group of us one summer day on the corner of Mott and Prince streets. We saw Vincent approaching and someone said, "Should I stay, or get caught in an hour long tirade?" We all stayed after a few hey's and whatcha-been-doing's, Vincent told us a tale about the time he put a curse on Roger Ebert, after the critic had given Gallo¹s unfinished movie The Brown Bunny a bad review. Gallo wished cancer on Ebert, and shortly after it actually came to pass.

"With...every idol a let down it gets you down." – Bryan Ferry/Roxy Music

People who run great clubs meet them all. The public sees celebrities in two dimensions: a paparazzi snapshot leaving a boutique, or a couple lines in Page Six. Club people see them in living color. Warts and all. I’ve been impressed with few, bored by many, disappointed often, and sometimes even disgusted. Some became my friends and some still awe me. I met Abel through my friend Nicky D. Frank White's headquarters in King of New York was The World, a club I ran. I've seen the movie a hundred times. The scene on the subway, where he’s almost mugged, the look on Frank White’s face as he leaves the joint, Lawrence Fishburne in Popeye's, are as real as anything I’ve ever seen in film. I'm in awe of Abel Ferrara. Over the years, we’ve met in my neighborhood, or somewhere on the street, and I’ve always been shocked that he recognized me. I was very nervous doing this interview. [See part 2 of the interview as well.]

One of the largest gatherings of Clubdom Royalty and Dinosaurs paid their respects to the memory of Arthur Weinstein in a tribute on Greg Brier’s fabulous Highbar roof. It rained all day, but Greg, citing all sorts of meteorological sources (like the Farmer’s Almanac and NY1) guaranteed sunshine for the 5PM ceremony. I had the honor of MCing the event, which meant keeping the speakers from getting too teary-eyed or longwinded. Jen Gatien spoke of respect and sound advice. Peter Frank remembered buying two nightclubs from Arthur and finding out Art actually owned only one of them. Stanley Bard spoke of Art’s photos and artwork, which to this day cover some of the storied walls of the Chelsea Hotel where Arthur lived for many years. I spoke to Stanley, and we agreed we had almost the same job back when I ran clubs.