Bungalow 8 founder and Manhattan nightclub soothsayer Amy Sacco is being humble! "Most everything's overrated [about NYC nightlife]," she says. "Even I'm overrated!" She thinks that London is now "much more interesting than NYC." Funny, because last time we checked in on her London branch of Bungalow 8, local reviewers were calling it "empty." Surely those days are past? Well, recently they haven't been calling it empty, exactly—just overpriced, overcharging, and helmed by an ill-mannered doorman!:

The Beatrice Inn should at least pretend a little more convincingly. The signs in the downtown nightspot warning against drugs, sex, smoking, and dancing are routinely ignored, particularly for Josh Hartnett-level celebrities. And according to a tipster, bouncers told all the patrons to extinguish their cigarettes shortly before a raid by the police last night. Two heavyset cops came in around 2 a.m. and made a beeline for the bathrooms—which are, by regulation, drug-free. Still, even the police presence didn't stop two girls from trying to conduct their nefarious business in there:

Photo posted by Jef Hudson-via Coudal.

Beatrice Inn, the "babe central" Manhattan nightspot that already cracked down on sex and drugs with a sternly worded bathroom sign, has now also banned smoking and dancing. All that's left is for them to ban pretty women and young horny celebrity guys, and they can shut down in peace! Of course, Emily Brill knew about this months ago. [DBTH]

We learn alternate uses for ordinary household products practically every day, it seems. More words of wisdom from Rob the Bouncer, author of Clublife: Preparation H, the hemorrhoid treatment, is making the rounds as the hot new product to rub on your chest. (It makes dudes look "ripped.") Amazingly, the dudes doing this are straight. Less amazingly, they come from Jersey and thereabouts and party in the Meatpacking District. Says a manager of a Long Island CVS drugstore about the trend, "I don't give a shit what these slapdicks are using it for. I wish they'd stay out of my fucking life."
[Clublife blog, image via Club It Up]

So HX magazine has a column called "Homo Dish" and in it is this item about Village Voice gossip Michael Musto: "We hit up Pieces Thursday night, where we ran into gal pals Michael Musto and Chuck Attix, who we'd just kiki-ed with at 'cuda the night before. They told us they'd been trying to beat their personal record of nine bars in one night, and Pieces had put them over the top with 10. Congrats, you crazy drunks! Chuck later slurred that their real dream was to hit 10, and that they were determined to do so this summer. Don't judge. At least they have a hobby." But Musto begs to differ!

When you're in a bar, and you need to get up from your seat for a moment, have you ever felt a desire for a paper square—preferably printed with a cheeky message—that you could place on your chair as a "seat saver" until you return? Us neither. But someone in Philadelphia apparently thought that such a thing would be useful innovation. As well as a perfect medium for advertising messages! So they made the thingamajigs, which are double-sided with two contrasting messages that you can change based on (guessing here) how drunk you are. What branding initiative wouldn't be enhanced by its inclusion on a product meant to primarily sit underneath people's asses? Two more pictures of these unreasonable things [via Adrants] below.

Ashley Dupre, Eliot Spitzer's call girl and special friend, is back on the town! She's feeling safe enough from the hordes of paparazzi to venture out to the clubs once again, and that seems only fair. Dupre was reportedly out partying at Marquee last night [Steve Lewis], where "she sat very inconspicuously on the back of a banquette waving her arms and partying like a party girl." We're offering a $100 prize for a picture of her (cell phone camera or otherwise) at the club. Email us. And some nightclubs are so excited, they'll even settle for anyone vaguely resembling New York's most famous political party girl:

The building houses Basque Nightclub and Restaurant, but it was not open at the time and no one is said to have been inside. Towering 40-foot flames shot through the roof of Basque Nightclub and smoke could be seen and smelled for miles.

Drug-and-celebrity-laden downtown nightspot The Box can add to its ongoing problems the fact that an unknown disgruntled person is posting angry fliers around town alleging that the club's doorman is a "DRUG PEDDLER who RAPED TWO WOMEN" last year. The Daily News reported today that the anonymous flier guy has been arrested. But today the "BOX-KILLER" weighed in on the comments section of a blog post to declare that he was NOT arrested because posting such fliers is free speech, and furthermore, he still thinks the doorman is an "animal" and a "criminal!" Anonymous fliers and anonymously sourced gossip items and anonymous blog posts: all the makings of a solid story. [Animal]

Would the downtown Manhattan nightspot Beatrice Inn like to shed its reputation as a coke den where insiders say that two of the Six Rules For Getting Laid are to flout the rules, then flout the rules some more? There should certainly be no rule-flouting in the presence of these small paper signs warning against sex and drugs, which are posted in the bathrooms, where they can do the most good. Of course, they might make an exception for Josh Hartnett and friends.

Shia LaBeouf stars in the upcoming revival of the Indiana Jones franchise, and the young Hollywood star has twice made the cover of Vanity Fair. At Manhattan's babe central, the Beatrice Inn, he should have as much certainty of romantic success as a Sultan in a harem. And yet, according to Page Six, the spurned actor was overheard whining: "How do I get a girl to go home with me?" Well, first of all, not by whining. But LaBeouf's is still a valid question, so we tapped some regulars at the West Village nightspot for advice. Here are the six rules.

Down By The Hipster passes on a rumor that The Box can't even recruit a lawyer to extricate the downtown cabaret club from its legal woes. It would be amusing, except owner Simon Hammerstein deserves some reward for his ambition, and the smell of schadenfreude is nauseating.

The MGM Grand is rushing to fill in what Las Vegas has been lacking: a massive poolside nightclub that is a thinly veiled destination for celebrities to do coke and have semi-public sex. More specifically, it's "WET REPUBLIC," and it's Vegas' first "ULTRA POOL," and "water is the leitmotif." "Swanky"! Enjoy its "sultry lounge" and "sensuous South Beach ambiance" and "delicious atmosphere" and "massages by skilled therapists" and "seductively modern vibe" and "illusion of a never-ending flow of water." And while you're doing that, the VIPs will be upstairs getting naked in their cabanas with six groupies and a big pile of blow, without having to physically swivel their chairs.

Oh! the night that I struck New York,
I went out for a quiet walk;
Folks who are "on to" the city say,
Better by far that I took Broadway;
But I was out to enjoy the sights,
There was the Bow'ry ablaze with lights;
I had one of the devil's own nights!
I'll never go there anymore.
[From Charles Hoyt's lyrics for A Trip to Chinatown, 1892, via The New York Sun]

Former nightlife big shot and current honest blogger Steve Lewis reminisces today about his experiences with the clubland PR business. He starts out by saying, "When I used to hire PR it was for damage control." Not for strategic brand building outreach? Such a forthright man! Then he tells a story about a long-ago high profile stabbing incident that made its way onto Page Six; it sums up everything you need to know about spin, gossip, and the dangers of imaginary caviar forks:

So a middle-aged couple that lives in Las Vegas decided to splurge and take their daughter and her friends out to a hot nightclub (owned by the same people whose bouncers make half a million a year) for the daughter's 21st birthday [LV Sun]. Dad lines up reservations, and is led to believe he'll spend $1,000 for the night. Instead, he gets run through the wringer and extorted for tips by every bum employee in the place, until he's spent twice as much—including $120 for bathroom tips, and $100 to a security goon to "ensure their safety." Now he's pissed! It's easy to make fun of the old-people-at-a-club meme, but these were parents trying to do something nice for their daughter, and getting hustled by shady club people who saw them as easy marks. We must support them! It's like somebody taking advantage of your mom and dad.

Sure, South by Southwest is wall-to-wall parties — there are almost two dozen official parties tonight, not to mention the unofficial ones. But what to do when the parties end and the official open bars close? Head to the "PureVolume Ranch," a week-long party put together by the social music site PureVolume.com. The PureVolume parties have always been some of the best in town. This year they upped the ante with a giant, tented outdoor space, complete with dancing, open bar, and live music — all until close at 4 a.m.

Former NYC club king turned amateur blogger Steve Lewis gets the scoop today on Danny A, the "Super Promoter" who was also the dude driving Leo Dicaprio when he got pulled over the other day (big news). It's tempting to mock this nightlife circle jerk, but we actually kinda like Steve Lewis' style, which is to tell it like it is because he clearly doesn't feel like he has a damn thing left to prove in his chosen industry. Feel free to read all about Danny A if you want, but far more entertaining is Steve's intro, where he accurately breaks down the connection between clubs, celebrities and regular people (sheep):

This Friday night at Plumm, a final party will be held in honor of Baird Jones, the recently deceased nightclub promoter and odd fixture of the New York nightlife scene. The party promises a two hour white wine open bar, so get there early [NYP]. Many people were familiar with Jones only as a mysterious man in a Yankees cap, but he was so much more than that! Did you know that he got a perfect score on his SAT's (according to Page Six, at least)? Or that his father was one of the founders of People magazine and Conde Nast Traveler? Or that he helped to popularize midget skateboard bowling? Jones was also particularly proud of his celebrity art collection, which he said he spent over $1 million on. After the jump, some highlights from his collection—paintings by Courteney Cox (okay), David Bowie (talented!), Charles Bronson (good), Muhammad Ali (he gave it a shot), and a poor effort from Jason Bateman.