In his Panopticon writings from 1787, philosopher Jeremy Bentham described a prison with a column serving as an all-seeing eye at its center. Inmates lived in constant fear, aware of the possibility that they were being watched at all times—that, as George Orwell wrote of Big Brother in his prescient 1984, “Every sound… was overheard and except in darkness, every moment scrutinized.”

You may remember Scott Harrison from back in the nineties when he was often spotted in the enclaves of New York’s VIP rooms and parties. After a decade as a club promoter, Scott had an epiphany. The seemingly dazzling world of glitz and status in NYC nightlife was not everything he wanted, after all. He'd soon begin dedicating his life to providing clean water to millions of people around the world. In just three years, his organization, charity: water has raised over $11 million.

These days, I write for BlackBook the magazine as well as online. The magazine has limited space, and I have long stories to tell. Here's the expanded version of my September print column.

As I wander around Manhattan on deserted summer Sundays with my entourage of furry mates, I sometimes pass an old warehouse or deli that once was the hottest place around. Sometimes I sneak a glance and try to remember where the bars or DJ booth were. The Petco on Union Square, for example, was the Underground, and after that The Palace de Beaute. I smile at reptile food where lounge lizards chatted up debutantes to Jellybean Benitez beats. The "five best clubs in my memory" is an exercise I try every couple years. The list can change, as my memory serves me in some strange relationship with the amount of distractions cocktail waitrons serve me. It's my memory, and as I'm sure there were amazing clubs before my time, I'll leave that list to some other dude. You wont find El Morocco on the list, or even the Copacabana or Latin Quarter. I'm sure these were swell places, but before my time. The Peppermint Lounge -- a club where the young Beatles played -- must be noted, but again I was playing with tin soldiers at the time.

The football team from the City of Brotherly Love has found love and forgiveness in it's heart and has hired Michael Vick--torturer and murderer of dogs--as its new quarterback. Will this piece of dog shit torture and murder the "Eagles" as well? I am all for forgiveness. Heaven knows I have been forgiven for my many sins against humanity. But his sins were against animals unable to speak for themselves. I'll just say a couple of words about this on their behalf. I believe that no patron presenting a Philadelphia ID should be allowed into an NYC club on that day when this asshole plays in our area. They should be sent back to that second rate town with a message. It was slick how Vick manipulated the system, smoking a little weed to violate bail, then using the bust to get into a drug rehabilitaion program once inside the joint. Smoking the j got him an early release. So many people asked how stupid could someone be to smoke pot while out on bail and subject to drug testing. I'd say sly like a fox, but he would most likely torture and kill that creature as well. Vick is a low life punk and the NFL should be ashamed of itself.

It's been roughly over 200 days since Barack Obama took office, and since then, he's faced criticism from piggish buffoons and corpse-like wenches who just don't get it. Every day we watch unattractive talking heads yappity yappiting about health care and beer summits, and it's as painful to listen to them as it is to look at them. If someone's going to talk smack about our president, they'd better be attractive. In order to help Obama get better looking critics, we combed the city in search of the best looks money can buy, and we found it at the newly revamped Scores. After the jump, find out what nine strippers-turned-pundits think about our Commander-in-chief.

Striking a commanding pose atop a dimly lit balcony overlooking his newest nightlife venture, Wass Stevens keeps a critical eye on the imaginary crowd that will fill Avenue later tonight. Soon enough, the empty stage will be overrun with a new cast of characters hand-picked by the discerning doorman himself. "It's kind of an innate skill," Stevens says of his work at the door. "I read people to know is they are going to add or take away from the vibe once inside. Like acting, people are all about facade once the sun goes down." Though he orchestrates atmosphere at Avenue and the landmark club Marquee, by day he studies lines and tries his luck at movie auditions (and he's still mum about his recent spot of trouble with the law.)

I met Matt Assante and Dustin Terry at Marquee. They are too much the face of the plague, for they are promoters who have gotten this “models bring bottle-buyers” thing down pat. At Marquee and the roof of Gansevoort and similar places, they line up a herd of models and book gentlemen suitors at nearby tables. The “bringing in the posse thing” is so pre-recession. In today’s club economy, in order to score big you need a percentage of the table sales to make ends meet. Matt and Dustin’s star rose just as the Dow Jones sank. Where most promoters bring 20 people or less, this dynamic duo are -- in the words of one seasoned club entrepreneur -- “killing it. They are one of the few teams that actually draw anymore, and their crowd actually spends money.” To those who say bottle service killed clubs, they are public enemies number one and two -- or are they just a couple of nice guys trying to finish first?

It seems like slim pickings for a Tuesday party prowl. Perhaps many are in hangover recovery courtesy of their Friday to Monday weekend. Most are waiting it out for humpday. But as we anticipate a heatwave, these hot spots emerge. Break out of your comfort zone, put off buying that AC unit, and join the rest of the denizens of the anti-day scene.

● Happy Ending (Lower East Side) - If you're still mourning the loss of pre-Giuliani New York, get a quick whiff here courtesy of the Tuesday night "Six Six Sick" party. Interesting fashion ensembles keep the nightlife photographers clicking; booze-drenched girls falling out of their interesting ensembles keep the nightlife photographers clicking in the tile-shower stalls. Things are a neon-bright messy in this massage parlor-cum-bar-cum-literary-hang-cum-on-your-blue dress.
● Home Sweet Home (Lower East Side) - The speakeasy vibe is peppered with middle-school nostalgia thanks to the Tuesday night "4 Page Letter - The Aaliyah Tribute Party." Feels like a locals-only event or a junior high gathering, except everyone is friends thanks to DJs Nicholas Kratochvil, Florencia Galarza, and Scott Meriam pumping 90s throwbacks and R&B tracks. And there's no running out because Sarah decided to dance with your crush when KC & JoJo started playing. We're all grown-ups here.

My intern Mary Wolff and I were on our way to a New York Nightlife board meeting being held at M2 on 28th Street when I noticed what looked like a protest outside of Marquee nightclub. I told the cabbie to stop, and we bolted out to see what the ruckus was about. A dozen people were holding up banners and posters about Laura Garza, a Brooklyn woman who was last seen leaving Marquee exactly six months before. I asked Awilda Cordero a few questions, and she told me it was important to keep people aware that Laura was "still missing and to come forth with any information they may have.” The high June sun washed out the light from the candlelight vigil underlined the washed-out hopes of the gathering. Laura's fate is, unfortunately, probably a foregone conclusion.

I made a rather big mistake: I underestimated the effort by Noah Tepperberg and Jason Strauss, Strategic Group, and "special friends" on behalf of Avenue, the newest, hottest place around. From afar, Avenue seemed like a smart move. A built-out space 100 feet from Richie Akiva and Scott Sartiano's super hot 1Oak would give Noah and Jason an opportunity to service their A-crowd, which was bored with Marquee after six years of undeniable success. Richie, Scott, Ronnie Madra, and Jeffrey Jah have already done the heavy lifting and turned a block once dominated by Harleys and those who worship them at the always-rowdy Red Rock West into a high-rent district. I felt that without much effort, Avenue could do pretty well. Word on the street a few months ago indicated that it would be a quick fixer-upper -- a band aid to service for the Tao Vegas/Marquee crowd until they could do something right again. But word on the street should often be washed into the gutter, as Avenue is a monumental effort and success.