When the proverbial chit hits the fan, who ya gonna call? The Ghostbusters are busy trying to get Bill Murray to do another one, and meanwhile you need a lawyer. In clubland there are many lawyers handling licensing and such, but in criminal cases -- which unfortunately sometimes arise (tell me about it) -- Sal E. Strazzullo stands ready. I've known Sal for a long time; we worked together in days of yore. While others saw nightlife as a career, Sal put himself through law school. He was often telling promoters and others to think of their futures and use the money they were making to prepare for a different life, as he was. Some listened ... others didn’t. Sal had an exit strategy and stuck to it. Now he handles high-profile cases, and I see him saying ”no comments” and lawyer things to reporters on the six o’clock news. His experience with nightlife gives him an insider's perspective, which can be invaluable in court. Sal’s journey using nightlife to pay for his tuition and books should underline the importance of nightlife work. The people making a living in clubs are often people going someplace else, building a future. They become actors, artist, photographers, mothers, writers, doctors -- even lawyers.

And the lord said to Noah, come with all your household into the ark, for I have seen you to be righteous (upright and in right standing) before me in this generation." Genesis 8

Have you noticed the rain? We watched the lightning from the lobby entrance to the Rivington Hotel and counted 1 alligators, 2 alligators, 3 alligators, 4 in a super-scientific attempt to determine how far away the magnificent bolts were from my merry band of Sunday travelers. Then it was upon us, and I said to my flock, let us flee unto Spitzer's and partake in friendly fare. So we went to Spitzer's. I had the PBLT and the rest had salad. My arteries must be getting hard. The downpour came at us hard, and we huddled with the masses and drank and ate and waited and watched in wonder. Mother nature ain't happy. The busboys tried to lower the windows, but it was a slow go, and the windswept rain wiped out the first two rows of diners. We got a little wet, but we were an intrepid band, and it washed away the sweat of shopping and strolling. I bought a cool hat at Still Life. The rain was traveling sideways in torrential sheets, thunder and lightning were right above us, and we didn't have to count critters to understand that. It was a rain of biblical proportion, then it ended in sunlight -- and then it happened again yesterday.

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 wasn't going to address the Wass Stevens "whacking the dude upside his head" story, but since it's on Page 6, I’ll weigh in with my usual cent-and-a-half of useful insight. I texted my old friend to see if he was all right, and he told me he was and thanked me for looking out. Small talk about the culinary offerings downtown aside, there isn't much to talk about. I did get a few phone calls from Strategic Group types who told me they weren't supposed to talk about it, but did I hear? Everyone heard. If you ask Wass what he does for a living, he would absolutely answer, “I’m an actor,” and he absolutely is. Small roles and herpes commercials have now become decent roles in decent movies and TV dramas. He is getting to the point where people on the street say he's an actor instead of a club doorman -- he's weighing the value and connections he garnishes within nightlife with his real career.

I entered the historic Jane Hotel (see gallery) and was hit by a wave of nostalgia. It was here that I tried my first attempt to make money at clubbing. It was at that time a decrepit hotel with a balcony all around. Hotelier/proprietor Sean MacPherson showed me where this upper level was. "It was kind of silly, as it blocked the windows." I told him that my deal was revenue-sensitive and that I actually jumped behind the bar to replace a rather slow (in many ways) bartender. Even then, I wouldn't tolerate incompetence. It was a rough punk crowd with mohawks, torn jeans, and stomping boots. I think the Undead, a band I managed, were on stage, or was it "Khmer Rouge"? Time and impatience burn brain cells. The party was tattooed in my cerebrum when a leather-clad hardcore menace leaped from the balcony onto the bar as I served up a couple of brews. It was bedlam, and lots of fun.

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.

Tenjune door sentry Aalex Julian dishes on the K-Mart of nightlife, the old chicks and thugs who don’t make the cut, “animals” who grab asses, and why some nightlife vets are toast.

Point of Origin: I've been working the door at clubs in Manhattan for almost six years. I started doing a lot of special events, for Lizzie Grubman, other PR groups. I did the Jay-Z event in the Hamptons. I knew people like Jeffrey Jah from going out. Some people resent me because I befriended the right people.