http://www.nypress.com/articles.sec-13-1-columns-parties.html In a town full of skyscrapers, it’s often what’s happening beneath the sidewalk that ends up being the most exciting. Hidden spaces—think SubMercer, the basement of La Esquina or the late, lamented Undochine—are black gold in New York's over-saturated nightlife scene. A hard-to-find, little-known location with the right music and crowd can become an overnight sensation, and if a group of people just above 14th Street play their cards right, they might have New York’s next one on their hands.]]> The kids were in costumes ranging from Santa Claus to a two-man electric outlet, but the room was hot and they were listless. Glum is the new glam. Had the Bushwick boys and girls ran out of meds? Tall, lean, leatherbooted Susanne Oberbeck.]]> Glum is the New Glam “No more tonic water!” the costumed cutie purred from behind the makeshift bar. Shit! I was partying in the United States of Bushwick: no direct train without shuttle]]> Upon arriving at 3rd Wards new space, an old factory at 573 Metropolitan Avenue in Williamsburg, I was hit with the realization that I had been there before. At the tender age of 19, I rode the finicky industrial elevator to the fourth floor to an illegal loft with a killer view. The last time I had been there I was naked and high, and now, nine years later, I was ready to see what the building had to offer me. Of course, it was dick.]]> I was strolling east in Tompkins Square Park on a perfect autumn day, enjoying the sundappled urban vista in the heart of the Lower East Side, when I heard the lovely voice of a young woman. “My pussy is magic, my pussy is magic, my pussy is magical!” The leggy Jessica Delfino gestured toward her crotch, fetchingly attired in a violet-checked frock with glossy white pantyhose and vinyl gogo boots. Don’t you love that schoolgirl ’60s drag? ]]> Celebrating his 64th birthday Friday night at Giorgio Gomelsky’s Chelsea loft space, legendary rock photographer Bob Gruen decided getting old was a hell of a lot better than turning 21. “I have a lot more friends now,” he said, “and I’m going to stay out a lot later.”]]> As an overgrown teenager who can never get enough ruffles or lace, I was ridiculously excited to go see Betsey Johnson receive the Medal of Honor for Lifetime Achievement in Fashion at a dinner party thrown by the National Arts Club.]]> To be technical about it, I didn’t actually eat lunch with Lydia Lunch. But we met at lunchtime, just the two of us, ladies who don’t lunch on the rooftop of her friend’s five-story walk-up in Chelsea. She’d just finished a photo shoot with Richard Kern, who years back directed her in erotic films like The Right Side of My Brain and Fingered.]]> “Who’s No Age?” asked Catherine Keener. The actress was at the Museum of Modern Art’s PopRally party, “An Evening of Skateboard Videos with Spike Jonze and Patrick O’Dell,” held in conjunction with the current film exhibition Spike Jonze: The First 80 Years. No Age, of course, was the musical talent for the evening, but Keener, who stars in Jonze’s Where The Wild Things Are, wasn’t really having it. “I’m just here to celebrate my good friend Spike!” Fair enough.]]> I arrived at the club and followed the directions of the door boy/girl: “Keep going until you’re sure you’ve gone too far.” I was surprised when I entered the room and it was all sparkling and beige, like some ‘60s Champs- Elysees bote.“Give me a gin and tonic,” I told the bartender. It was the re-opening of Mr. Black’s Tubway party on Saturday night. Before I knew it, I felt an arm on my shoulder.]]> With the stock market inching upwards and talk of economic recovery in the air, Paris Hilton and her retinue made an appearance last Thursday at the opening of Bowlmor Lanes’ new nightclub Carnival, consisting of hastily erected plywood kiosks and games like ring toss, high striker, hoop dreams and a dunk tank. Pink cotton candy and a fairground tent almost completed an antiseptic State Fair simulacrum. But a platoon of large white men in black suits fanned out through the room—knocking with their big bellies customers who came too close to the VIPs.]]> The newest incarnation of the synth-pop chanteuse—a trend that still reigns supreme in clubland—is Nomi Ruiz, a well-proportioned 24-year old who emits orgasmic moans over gloomy harmonies set down by her band, Jessica 6. On Tuesday night, the trio crammed onto The Box’s small stage with some horns and strings to perform its trademark “dark disco” in honor of the new EP, Fun Girls.]]> Broke-Ass Stuart left San Francisco for New York last week and brought the circus with him. Stuart, the West Coast writer whose books and website serve as guides to all things cheap for those living i]]> “Tonight, I’m singing ‘No Feeling’ by the Sex Pistols in honor of Nancy Spungen, who’s about as far from a geisha as you can get,” Louis Jordan said from the stage of Glasslands Gallery. Well, I beg to differ, motherfucker. Spungen was both geisha and den mother to a bunch of unwashed punk rock dopers. She did it her way. But it was Jordan’s very first performance anywhere, and he had added the adorable touch of letting his jeans fall down to his pretty little ankles.]]> “That was the best show I’ve ever seen,” said my friend, a talented musician who’s seen hundreds of shows. “Just for the breadth of it. Some of it was too long, but what a line-up!” The venue—Carnegie Hall—wasn’t too shabby, either.Where but in New York could you drag on one stage Bono, Lady Gaga, Courtney Love, Rufus Wainwright, Lydia Lunch, Laurie Anderson, Lou Reed, Maria McKee, Martha Wainwright, Scarlett Johansson, Joel Grey and Chloe Webb, accompanied by U2, Flo & Eddie, Bill Frisell, JG Thirwell and John Zorn. And don’t forget master showman Gavin Friday, the raison d´être of the show. The Irish composer and singer for gothic rock band The Virgin Prunes had confided to his childhood pal Bono he’d like to play Carnegie Hall before turning 50. Voilà! What Bono wants, Bono gets. But where the hell was Madonna?]]> A special edition of Eastern Bloc's weekly Good Times party, "Night of 1,000 Courtney Loves" turned out to be quite the overstatement, but fun nonetheless. Perhaps because gays who like grunge and riot grrrl tend to be less drag-inclined than those who like, say, Cher, there were barely enough wigs present to assemble a costume contest.]]> Gotta cigarette?Thats one of the lines rent boys used to pick up their tricks on the block53rd and 3rdduring the 1960s, 70s and 80s. In 1968, when photographer Leee Black Childers arrived in New York from Kentucky, the soft-spoken boy was approached on the street by a woman wearing a big blonde wig, fake eyelashes and 6 platform boots.]]> “Hey big spender…gotta match, daddy? Gotta cigarette?” That’s one of the lines rent boys used to pick up their tricks on “the block”—53rd and 3rd—du]]>