I watched the LeBron James saga play out on ginormous screens while enjoying dinner at the Hudson Hall restaurant, at the Hudson Hotel. Me and mine dined before my DJ set in the Library. A beautiful, ultra-rock crowd with appropriate hair filed in and greeted each other, indifferent to the hoopla about the hoop star. Each time I visit the Hudson the crowd gets hotter, and there are more recognizable downtown types fooling around. The place has a Vegas grandness to it without the tackiness, and the 5 hour flight. Everywhere you turn well-appointed lounges and bars host gatherings of revelers. Superstar DJ Alex English had a room pumping with his crew, while I joined Miss Guy and Kelle Calco’s swarm in the library. I was told that legendary lady Justine D will take over the Tuesday night DJ duties from Lady Starlight, who is touring with Lady Gaga. In the giving credit where it is due department, blog superstar lady Brittany Mendenhall had the Lebron going to Miami scoop. She confidently told everyone that she knew he was heading there. She said, “I won’t tell you how I know, I just know,” and I didn’t argue with her. I’ve rarely won an argument with her. Her “inside” info proved to be spot on.
I couldn’t care less where players play, who for, or what they accomplish. With the exception of baseball, sports are a distraction that I don’t employ. I do observe that the Garden is, and has been, a second rate organization for a long time. It’s an old uncomfortable building, with a mostly unfriendly staff and inferior amenities. Why would a superstar want to be involved with people who have proven, over decades, that they have no clue what they are doing? It’s the same in clubs, and I’m sure in fashion and business everywhere. The new joints run by real players attract upwardly mobile talent and proven veterans. This applies to upper management, and promotions, as well as bartenders and wait staff. Places like the soon-to-open Lavo, and the restaurant-to-be-named-later, from Scott Sartiano and Richie Akiva, have the cream of the crop ready to move in and do their thing. Unknown operators, or less successful ones, get the peeps in need of work, but not the staff with great abilities and monied followings. The bottle hosts, the connected, the proven talent, flock to places that will make them money. Just like Lebron they want to be sure that they are surrounded by enough talent to win.
It is hard to be indifferent or not comment on the NY Post article that reports that my old pal Peter Gatien has hired a lawyer, my other old pal Salvatore Strazullo, to get him back in business in the Big Apple. While many would say he was a worm in that apple for many years, others long for his magic. Sal used to be a promoter at the Limelight. While many got lost in the hoopla of that infamous venue, he financed his way through school, and now has a successful practice. According to the Post, they are turning to Governor Patterson to obtain a pardon for past convictions, as Peter would like to open a boutique hotel here. They have latched on to a thing called the Immigrant Pardoning Board, Peter being Canadian and looking for another chance. They have pointed to his Native American heritage, which might have—or should have—prevented his deportation in the first place. He was exiled to the decidedly non-main street city of Toronto, where Peter, according to another article I read, enjoys the cleanliness and friendliness of his Elba. Toronto is not NYC. I spent a year in Toronto in one night. According to the Post’s post, Peter’s daughter—my old pal Jennifer Gatien, who is producing one fabulous flick after another—turned to Sal for advice. Up north, Peter was unsuccessful with his very, very very off-Broadway production, Club Circa, so an attempt to be relevant in this town, a town that he didn’t exactly leave with a warm fuzzy feeling, seems ambitious. The last line of the Post story read, “Strazullo declined to comment. Jennifer Gatien didn’t return calls and e-mails, while Peter was unreachable.” If this really is going to happen I think they should be talking nice to lots of people. This thing won’t slip in the back door.