• Graydon Carter has backed out of hosting Vanity Fair's next Oscar party at Tom Colicchio's LA iteration of Craft because he doesn't like the Century City complex spot's "corporate feel." Laurent Tourondel's BLT on Sunset Strip will probably host the celeb-glutted affair instead. [P6]

The scene: Holiday Cocktail Lounge, former haunt of W.H. Auden and Allen Ginsberg; St. Mark's Place
The time: Sunday, 8 p.m.
The players: Stefan, the 89-year-old Ukranian bartender; a man who has just gotten out of "somewhere" after thirty years; myself; the TV.

Friday brought to this city a wave of gays from across the country looking to party in anticipation for today's Pride Parade and related festivities. It also conveniently brought a police crackdown on gay-friendly nightlife venues. Marquee, Pacha, and Splash were all raided Friday, according to tipsters, with Marquee and Pacha shuttered until further notice.

Is this the end of Amy Sacco? We're going to say it is. The onetime NYC nightlife queen's restaurant Bette in Chelsea—formerly considered a complement to her club Bungalow 8, a food-and-fun empire that would never be destroyed—is closed. No big to-do; just a lock on the door, and the end of an era. What happened?

Nightclub 1 Oak, which has been accused of reacting with total indifference to a gay-bashing incident and of allowing an alleged assailant to escape untouched, is now saying it tried to stop the attacker. Reports the Post: "Club sources say the night was not promoted as a 'gay night' and that the attacker was restrained by security but broke away." The club's flacks are also now saying that "this incident was handled by security and staff immediately," which was not mentioned in their statement to us yesterday. That differs sharply from what one eyewitness told us yesterday:

When the Meatpacking District club 1 Oak opened in December, it was the toast of the Manhattan nightlife scene. It was founded by a quartet of club veterans including Butter frontman Richie Akiva , Lotus co-owner Jeffrey Jah, and former Ashley Olsen boyfriend Scott Sartiano as a "kind of boutique space" for the elite. But a tipster tells us that everything is not well at 1 Oak; last week, they say, there was a vicious gay-bashing incident in the club—forcing one victim to go to the hospital—that club management tried to sweep under the rug. The eyewitness' full account of the violence, and the club's response to our questions, after the jump.

VICE Magazine, the magazine whose readers are too cool to read it, had a party last night! It was a free concert sponsored by their friends at Nokia NSeries! But VICE didn't want its enthusiastic fans to get too worked up about the possibility of having fun, so they sent out an email in advance warning everyone who had RSVP'd that "many, many, many folks on the list will NOT be getting in. Including you, maybe." It concluded, "Please do not reply to this email, no one will read it." Refreshing honesty, or an outrageous insult? The attendees weren't too happy about it, judging by the flood of angry comments that came into the Brooklyn Vegan blog today. The commenters' conclusions: VICE sucks, you suck if you went to the show, and furthermore, they went to the show, and it sucked:

Whenever you think you've truly gained access to an exclusive club of some sort-particularly in New York-think again, fool. There is always another inner sanctum far too exclusive to admit the likes of you. That was a great piece of wisdom passed down by Graydon Carter long ago, and confirmed in former Gawker-er Josh Stein's new article in Page Six Magazine, which takes a peek "Beyond the Velvet Rope" at the hottest spots in the hottest city where the hottest people go. And you want to know the even bigger secret? The most exclusive places in the city are just as boring as everywhere else you've ever been:

• For what may be the 273th time, the Ciprianis are once again in legal trouble. This time Giuseppe Cipriani's company is being sued by the security guards who staff the celeb-heavy events they host for not paying overtime. [NY Post]

We told you before how to make your pecs look ripped before getting all up in the club: rub yourself down with Preparation H! (It's the gayest thing we've seen straight men doing in a long time.) Today, a dermatologist and Rob the Bouncer discuss with Mike & Juliet this disturbing trend—and the potential side effects of the hemorrhoid cream's off-label use.

There's a new hotspot in The Bronx that you simply won't want to miss unless you hate sex and lunch meat. It's COUSIN VINNY'S LITTLE SECRET! Tell us: where else can you pay just $50 for six hours of hardcore lap dance action, unlimited fountain soda, and a footlong sandwich of your choice, all in "a discrete and totally safe atmosphere to indulge in your carnal fantasies": namely, a former Subway sandwich franchise. In the Bronx! We've been sent a transcribed version of the flier that "Cousin Vinny" Agnello—owner of a stripper service and the self-described "King of Bling featured as a "Celebrity" on the DIGGS WEBSITE" (two Diggs!)— is reportedly passing around the area. Our tipster says the local merchant's association is...concerned about Cousin Vinny's new venture. But we predict this will be a hot alternative to seeing Sex And The City. "MEMBERSHIP HAS IT'S PRIVILEDGES!" Vinny's full, quirkily awesome invitation, after the jump:

Lushy journalists turned out in force for Jack Bryan's documentary on the storied, now-shuttered hole of a watering hole Siberia when the flick premiered last night at Soho House. Gawker founding editor Elizabeth Spiers, former Page Sixer Chris Wilson, The New York Observer's George Gurley, publicist / bigtime author Sloane Crosley and a host of other party-loving media types showed up to watch themselves and their colleagues ramble nostalgically about the place that ruined so many young livers. Sadly, one member of that crowd was home with a mystery illness. "Former 'Page Six' reporter Ian Spiegelman opens the film: 'I don't even know how you could make a documentary about Siberia,' he says. 'I don't know how people have any memories of what happened there.'"

We've put together a quick and dirty list of the hottest spots in the Hamptons this Memorial Day weekend, which starts for us incredibly soon. If you are rich, famous, or fabulous, you will no doubt go to at least one of these clubs. We will not. So please send us reports, as well as info on upcoming Hamptons parties this summer so we can put together our full calendar. After the jump, where to blow money this weekend:

Florent, the long-standing neighborhood 24-hour bistro that's welcomed 7a.m. clubbers and regular folk alike since 1985, has been warning of its demise for months now. The owner, Florent Morellet, vowed to stay open for as long as he could. Now it's official: the last day of business will be June 29th—the rent went up to over $30,000 a month. Frank Bruni eulogizes the restaurant in the NYT today—comedian Jackie Hoffman tells him, "It was kind of like the halfway house of restaurants. If there was a pre-op tranny or someone who just wasn't finished yet, or a burn victim — anyone could go in there and not be judged." Meanwhile, Florent Morellet himself explains why he didn't want press hype in the early days—and what he did to restaurant reviewers who betrayed his wishes.

Everyone's ankling the New York Times establishment today: our roving photographer, the alarmingly tall Nikola Tamindzic, is profiled in the paper's City Room blog. What makes his photos special? "I don't judge my subjects... I like that hour between three and four in the morning when desperation sets in, when you see all the anticipation of going out starting to fade. The masks drop and everybody realizes the night is not going to be everything they were hoping for." [NYT] [Photo: Nikola for Home of the Vain]

Here's the key section from the legal complaint against wacko famous girl Lindsay Lohan for stealing a college student's mink coat from a club in New York. She didn't just pick it up accidentally, the complaint says; her actions were "intentional, oppressive, and malicious," and the coat-deprived girl was "injured." Ouch, my mink is gone! Click to enlarge. [via The Insider]

Andrew Klapper, a New York plastic surgeon, applied for membership in Soho House, the private Meatpacking District club. But he was turned down, because Soho House said it prefers to cater "to an 'artsy' clientele." Uh, pretty loose definition of "artsy," Soho House! The membership manager there said "We would rather have a great person from IMG versus a plastic surgeon." Perhaps they're looking for a new angle; spies have said the club has been rather dead on recent weekends. (Disagree? Email us). Doree Shafrir once memorably said the club's pool "when not filled with children and their pee, is filled with money managers, mortgage brokers, and Eurotrash." Which sounds like a fairly accurate representation. And how can they say Dr. Klapper isn't artistic when he not only invented the Klapper Breast Scissors, but also pioneered the use of the Davinci (artist name!) Robot system?:

Don't expect to roll mobb deep to the club with Hills star Spencer Pratt unless you're ready to spread around some serious cash, my friend. In his closely-read advice column in Radar this week, the boy wonder responds to a needy fan—whom we envision wearing a tight shirt and a year-round tan—who's in anguish over only being able to hit the town with five of his boys at a time. "You can't roll in anywhere with more than five guys holding your hand," he explains. How can he satisfy all of his other homeboys who want to hold his hand in the club? Spencer says: Money money money money, monnneeeeyyyyyyy:

Hulking literary doorman Rob the Bouncer's assertion: short guys (or "Wee 'Pocket Men,'" as he eloquently puts it) flock to clubs, where they start more trouble than normal-sized men because of their little Napoleon complexes. "All I see, all night long, is all these angry little dudes coming up here. I feel bad for them. Sometimes I want to bend down and say, 'Hey little fella, what's the matter? Why don't you go inside and turn that frown around?'" Ok, we'll give you that one. It's true. Another good reason to leave the club to the bouncers, while the short guys visit the homes of the bouncers' girlfriends for surreptitious assignations! What now, giant? [Clublife]

Suge Knight, CEO of Death Row Records, intimidating former football player, and certified gangster, somehow got himself knocked out at a club on Saturday night. Odd! Even odder: the guy who did the knocking allowed TMZ to take his picture, although "he didn't want us to use his name." Message to that guy: Run, you fool! Run for your life! Message to Suge Knight: we are on your side in this and all other disputes, and don't let anyone tell you any differently. But seriously, Mr. Punchy: Run. Below, two pictures of Suge Knight laid out unconscious, which should not be construed as disrespectful to him in any way: