The Beatrice Inn - the Village's cause célèbre amongst pissed-off residents and pissed-off quasi-celebrities/uber-hipsters - was shut down after the neighborhoods residents old fogies complained about the noise, smoking, and general ridiculousness that took place within its confines. This raises the question: is New York getting crunchier? Or more tightassed?

Though the answer fails to surface in today's New York Times article on it - the gist of which is: first, they came for the nightclubs... - they do come up with a plausible solution for clubs like the Bea:

Marilyn Dorato, the director of the Greenwich Village Block Associations, who helped residents near the Beatrice Inn with their campaign, had a suggestion for compromise that helped on her own block: "We used to have a lot of noise problems with the Waverly Inn, and that is why my neighbor bought it."

The neighbor, the Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter, enclosed the restaurant's garden, and it now closes at 12:45 a.m. at the latest, said Ms. Dorato, a 37-year resident of the area.

"If there's a Graydon Carter living near the Beatrice Inn who wants to buy it, that would be a great solution," she said. "I recommend it."

Ahoy! Graydon Carter, The Great Negotiator of pissed-off residents and nightlife alike. Get yourself one of those, kids, and you can put all the blow up your snouts you want, as loudly as you can do it. Until then, there's this possibly out-of-proper-context gem, from nightlife impresario, columnist Steve Lewis:

"Nightclubs are now seen as nuisances," said Steve Lewis, a nightclub designer and a founder of the Nightlife Preservation Community, a group started this year. "The attitude is that if clubs just went away, everybody could have a quiet life."

Well, yes. I think that's the idea.

Across the country, the exact same thing's going down. Recent advocate of cultural eugenics and exclusive urban country club SoHo House will be planting their feet on the Sunset Strip after being given the go-ahead by local planning commissions. People are pissed!

The proposal has also drawn opposition from Beverly Hills Mayor Nancy Krasne, who underlined that it does not only affect the city of West Hollywood. "The traffic is already backed up on Sunset to Hillcrest in Beverly Hills and it bottlenecks in West Hollywood. This can only make travel on Sunset much worse," she said in e-mailed comments. "Now we add valets running across Sunset Boulevard to retrieve cars, cars trying to merge into Sunset with heavy traffic, amplified music on the roof of SoHo House on unknown days or evenings ... and the list goes on," Krasne said.

Don't forget the various non-filming permits reality shows like The Hills will use when they turn your backyard into the backdrop for The Drama of Our Time, or Guadalajaran Coke Mules taking refuge at your doorstep after navigating the terrifying masses occupying what's soon to be West Hollywood's most storied cultural institution. Luckily, though, anybody with an aerial view will be in luck:

"A 6 1/2-foot glass wall will enclose the top of the building.."

...and helicopters are the new Vespas. How does the "flyover country" you've been known to make fun of sound now, urban dwellers? Next to the thumping sounds of the latest Lady Gaga remix - below, as a primer - not too bad, right? Turn your speakers up as loud as you possibly can, and hear the future.

A report from the trenches comes to us from a deeply disturbed member of the 'House. The last time you heard from SoHo House, they were spending the summer attempting to cleanse themselves of unsavory, money-earning types or just trying to off them. Well, it looks like they've finally advanced on Poland started to enforce the rule. And maybe they have quotas? From deep in the belly of the beast, we hear from a tipster who's being discriminated against in real time:

I went to the movie two days ago, got a bottle of wine and sat with a friend. Suit and no tie. And I got a call yesterday from someone saying they really want the club to be relaxed and asking me not to wear a suit and tie on the roof. I told her I was wearing no tie and was at the movie, and she said they are really trying to make the club a more relaxed place like it used to be. And that the club was for artistic people. And that it was part of "an ongoing conversation." It was as Orwellian as it was annoying

For a conversation about curating a community of creative types, it sounds pretty angry and one-sided. Isn't trying to bring together a community of artists by shutting down a means of expression counter-intuitive? What if an artist ejaculated on that suit, or something? You don't know what art is, Man. Meanwhile, they're also trying to make SoHo House a distinctly more, ahem, literary place to be. From an email sent out to members recently:

Real Library, Real Books

As part of the Library renovation, we're replacing the bookshelf wallpaper with real shelves and real books. We're planning on having a section devoted to members' books so if you're an author and would like to donate some copies, please let Claire know at claire@sohohouseny.com. Likewise, we'd love to hear from publishers and agents who may be able to donate.

You know someone there used to spend hours rifling through that wallpaper. This is sad. But Claire would love to hear from you, Agents! May we suggest selections from the Gawker Book Club or Status Galley Book Club. Or maybe even something sprung from Gawker's loins! You have plenty of Tumblr-To-Book-Deal books to choose from - they are easy reads! Often in large print with plenty of pictures, and also, are not narrative-driven - or even The Official, Critically Acclaimed Gawker Book, a few copies of which we'd be glad to donate to your cause (don't worry, we have a few extras after unloading some on the masochistic coding squad now-enlightened citizens of Hungary during our last visit there).

Truly! There's use you can find from these books, especially now that the Culture Gestapo is on the loose. We hereby bequeath you our advance review copy of Look At This Fucking Hipster, as it'll help you separate the blue-bloods from the impostors amongst you, as well as help you understand the transformation your reflection is undergoing. Happy hunting!

The company's name is Macro-Sea and it's run by a man named David Belt. Belt and his partners "borrowed" the idea, lining old dumpsters with plastic, filling them with water and adding water-filtration systems, from a Georgia man who'd made one himself. They figured that since there aren't many places to swim in New York City and since New York City is laden with dumpsters, why not give it a try? I mean, why not? And it worked! So now they're expanding.

Macro-Sea itself is using the project as a template for a larger idea: turning eyesore strip malls into artsy community destinations, with Dumpster pools and other indie attractions.

"I thought if we could get people to come here and swim in a Dumpster, I could probably use the same aesthetic sensibility" to get people - and, not incidentally, better retailers - to come to a dingy strip mall, Mr. Belt said. The company hopes to open its first repurposed shopping center in Atlanta this fall, ideally with dozens of pools in the parking lot that visitors can rent for the day.

Again, why not, right? After all, what works in Brooklyn always works in the deep South!

Finally, there was a quote near the end of the piece that made me howl with laughter. It goes:

"The water's amazingly fresh, for swimming in a Dumpster," said Alexis Bloom, a documentary filmmaker from TriBeCa, after doing a few laps. She compared it favorably to the pool at Soho House, an actual urban country club.

Now, you'd probably have to live in New York to truly get the joke about the pool at Soho House being compared to a dumpster, but just know that Soho House is a notorious Eurotrash hangout and, yeah, you can probably figure out what the joke is now.

Forget the Trash Bag, Bring a Towel [New York Times]

You know, those finance asshats like bankers who ruined the party for everyone by turning their music up way too loud and blowing out the speakers. In fact, these poor souls not only can't wear their precious tailored garments to the hotspot, but they actually can't even get in anymore.

Back in March, the club's owners decided not to renew bankers' memberships, in the hopes of returning to their "artsy" roots. You know, the club should be for those creative types:

We recently celebrated our fifth anniversary and want to make sure we are staying true to our creative roots. We are not pinpointing specific industries, but want to make sure that our members are great creative types. In addition, members who are not respecting the House or our staff are not likely to have their memberships renewed. We are happy to have less members, and if the place is not so busy, that's totally fine.

Ah yes. Those creative types who can all afford $1,400 a year to swim with annoying fellow New Yorkers.

We live in a vacuum! That's why it sucks so much.

I'd like to see someone from IMG do that!

[Intelligencer]

The story, retrieved from Variety's RSS feed:

Vanity Fair party changing locations
Oscar-night soiree leaves Mortons for Craft

The Vanity Fair Oscar-night party, held at Mortons for the past 14 years, is changing its venue to Craft in Century City.

"When Mortons announced it was closing, we thought it was time for a change," said Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter. "Craft is the ideal place for the party: great food — which we will not be serving family-style, by the way — great location with a dramatic entrance and a big, sweeping space."

Craft is so close to CAA's new headquarters and so frequently used by its agents that it's jokingly been referred to as the tenpercentery's commissary.

On Oscar night, Vanity Fair will be building out beyond Craft's terrace to make more space. But a Vanity Fair spokesman said the party's guest list will "definitely" not be larger than it had been at Mortons. Traffic and parking, which frustrated guests in the past, should also improve with the change of venue.

"Alan Linn, an ex-manager of the infamously rowdy English club Blacks, and partner Steve Ruggi are vetting applications to something called Norwood... According to its promo material, Norwood is looking for tweedier and artsier types..."Membership criteria are not based on fame or wealth," the material insists, "but by talent."

Recently valued at $9,770,000, the house was built in 1847 by developer and stockbroker Andrew Norwood and marked "the beginning of 14th Street's brief fashionable era." For much of the 20th century, the mansion was owned by another developer, Raf Borello. According to a 2006 NYT article

, ...the brick Greek Revival town house on the street's north side near Seventh Avenue stands out like a trumpet blast. Its black doors, bearing the address in gold leaf, almost glow, and a cast-iron balcony sets off the parlor windows, which stretch from the floor nearly to the 14-foot ceiling. Inside is a perfectly preserved 1847 mansion, with 13 fireplaces, huge mahogany doors and intricate plaster crown moldings along the ceilings. Hidden touches abound, like the carved bird pecking a flower among the mantelpiece's Carrara marble foliage.

The place was packed and security was tight but it was worth it. I saw several Oscars floating around the party.

Leonardo DiCaprio made the rounds with Bar in tow. He donned his usual ball cap. He's a really gracious person. He recognized us and said hello. Just a brief encounter.

Martin Scorsese made a quick appearance.

Djimon Hounsou as sprawled out on a chair drinking a beer, meeting a girl.

Live action short film Oscar winner Ari Sandel celebrating the night away. I got to hold his Oscar (they really are heavy) while he was congratulated by Vince Vaughn. Ari directed Vince's comedy show documentary. Vince posed for photos with our group. He arrived at the party in the wee morning hours and stayed for a few hours. He spent most of the time chain smoking and talking to a buddy. He seemed to practically avoid women at the party.

I found my self sandwiched between Jamie Foxx and Forest Whitaker. I congratulated Mr. Whitaker and as humble as usual he turns my attention back to Foxx. Jamie introduced himself and we chatted briefly about Texas as we're both from the same area. Foxx was definitely on the prowl. He tried to chat up my Paris Hilton-look-alike friend but she was having none of that.

As we make our way back to the shuttles we saw Forest again. His crew was loaded into a shuttle with Carmen Electra and friend.

The rag mags' favorite party crew was there too: Nicole Richie lounging and snuggling with her boy (Joel right?). She was drinking and having a good time. She even chowed down a plate from the buffet with Mischa Barton. Paris Hilton was looking very out of it, talking on her cell. We talked to her a bit. (One of the girls in our group looks like her twin.) Later saw her arguing with Stavros. He looked like he was "over" her. He kept trying to walk away and she kept pulling him in. There was an obvious disagreement. It ended with Paris running into the bathroom. Nicky Hilton was around too. She was hanging with some guy, looked like a boyfriend.

Lindsay Lohan was looking sober and chatting to a male friend. She wasn't the crazy party girl I've read about.

Other sightings ...

Jessica Biel still in her Oscar attire. No sign of Justin in sight.
Kirsten Dunst looking a bit out of it.
Reggie Miller looking - well — tall.
Cameron Diaz. I didn't see her talk to anyone significant.
Rosario Dawson in a long white coat.
Amy Smart
Naomi Campbell was there. She looked amazing, as a model should. Hung out with some girlfriends. Didn't seem to be with a guy.
Stacy Keibler and boyfriend. They danced the night away. She was *super* social. Seemed to talk to everyone.
X men guy ... James Marsden partied to the wee hours. He's single and was lookin'.
Adam Brody looking dapper in a 3-piece suit.
Scott Speedman (I noticed him because I just think he so cute. No one in my group knew who he was.)

People that made me think hmmm ...

Dog the Bounty Hunter was there.
Courtney Love (she looks like she looks in every picture I've seen of her. A mess. Her boobs were falling out of her dress - no surprise there.)

The music world represented ... besides Courtney:

James Blunt and girlfriend (what's her name? She was stunning looking.)
Jon Bon Jovi - he was very nice.
Kid Rock - I don't know who he is with but that woman had some BIG teased-out hair. They kept to themselves.
Danced to the tunes of DJ AM but no signs of Mandy Moore. If she was there I didn't notice. (By the way, he's dance mix lived up to the hype.)

• Complete Oscars Coverage [Defamer]

His clients include Ron Burkle, the Beverly Hills supermarket billionaire, for whom he has been trying to find a New York residence.

"I tried to buy Soho House (the private members' club) for him but they wouldn't sell," he says.

Catwalk models stimulate sales in upscale New York [The Australian]

The pool at the Gansevoort is the nicer of the two; located on the 26th floor, it's 45 feet long (larger than Soho House's) and boasts a damn nice view. It's expectedly littered with eurotrash, however, and those willing to get their hair wet will have to endure music being pumped underwater, a popular gimmick from 2003. The scene is calculatedly chill — it's a hotel pool, first and foremost, before a party venue, though the Ibiza Chill-Out Mix pumping in the background might suggest otherwise. An additional drawback: anyone can stay at a hotel, and that means the Gansevoort's emaciated sunbathers may find themselves mingling with a Minnesotan family that booked their room on Expedia.com.

And then there's Soho House, the pool made famous by those damn Sex and the City hags. Open only to members and their guests and located on the seventh floor, the view is nice enough - but the pool is 32x15', and that makes for a very cramped swimming experience. That is, if you'd dare to go swimming: get there in the morning, and you'll find at least 8 silver-spooned babes splashing around, plus a handful of water toys (this lovely image of the anatomically correct, somewhat-destroyed doll was taken there on a Sunday). On weekends, kiddies have to leave by 1 PM, at which point the place becomes quiet and pleasant for an hour until the masses appear, transforming the venue into a scantily clad networking bonanza. And good luck finding someplace to sit - the area is teeny-tiny, fluffy chaises and white mattresses all crammed together in hopes of fitting as many people as possible. If you don't get a spot, you can sit in an uncomfortable deck chair or, should you be so foolish as to arrive after 2 PM, resign yourself to an afternoon spent sprawled on the ground, enjoying $5 plates of beans and rice from the special Amstel Light BBQ Menu. Tasty and ghetto chic!

What the bosses at Soho House hope is that they won't squeeze out the very character they sought in this part of town.

Whoops.

It was roughly two seconds later that the Meatpacking District began its quick morph into a playground for the faux-rich and skanky. Things officially died on August 24, 2003 — the day the club made its inevitable appearance on Sex and the City, the now-defunct HBO series that we've to blame for a decent part of this mess, having sold midwestern girls everywhere on the fantasy of a swan's lifestyle on a journalist's salary. And yet Soho House quietly remains in a quasi-exclusive pose, unjustifiably and inexplicably. What follows is a rough guide to understanding a building filled with the ghosts of 2003.

First, the basics:
To gain entry, you've got to be recommended by two other members and fork over annual fees of $1400 (plus the ubiquitous $200 registration fee). Entrance is difficult but not impossible; the level of exclusivity is in a different orbit than that of Bungalow 8 - more businesslike, yet with a dash of cocaine and alcoholism — which might explain why the joint is overrun with skeezy banker types and not the chic celebs and media darlings who its owner might've preferred.

The members:
Founding members include debatable celebrities like Ethan Hawke and Alan Cumming, plus your usual famous-for-NYC types like Nicole Aragi and Lucy Sykes. There are still some boldfacers who pop in here and there: Jude and Sienna, Jack Nicholson, Vince Vaughn, and Adam Sandler. But nowadays, you're more likely to see anonymous 30-somethings who like eurotrash or imitation eurotrash, whose vague amount of disposable income falls above the club's membership fees but below a decent summer rental. These people include your spastic real estate broker or your douchebag neighbor whose Pete Tong Pure Pacha CD is on permanent repeat. Women tend to resemble cheap knockoffs of models, but they are few and fleeting — the club is said to be aggressively pursuing new female members with media backgrounds, though management is apparently unaware that only a select few female media-types could actually afford membership. And then there's the guy who wanders around wearing Hawaiian print shirts, refers to himself as "the mayor," and will steal your chaise the second you stand up.

The venue:
Arguably, the rooftop pool is the House's main allure, though it's a fraction of the size it would seem. Roughly larger than a luxury bathtub, it's a family-friendly hell during the morning hours and, come afternoon, resembles a party at the MTV Beach House. Inside, the restaurant and bar prides itself on overpriced, mediocre food*, served by staffers who alternate between surly and sycophantic (and who, according to rumor, just might steal your credit card). The Drawing Room is where most members go to be jostled about and balance themselves on the edges of crowded leather couches, and the Games Room is where one might smoke and play pool in an uncomfortably small space. Private rooms are reserved for special events, such as the fight between Ian Spiegelman and Doug Dechert at Toby Young's book party.

Getting in:
Nowadays, the door policy remains "strict," but having your wasted friend upstairs call down to the front desk and drop a member's name should be all it takes to get in. Granted, this requires having someone who's already inside the club, but rest assured, you want it that way. The only thing that makes Soho House even mildly tolerable is the presence of your friends — though, if they're actually hanging out at the club, you might want to reconsider the friendship, as they are obvious social climbers aspiring to a lifestyle marked by indiscernable accents, artfully mussed hair and striped shirts with the top two buttons calculatedly unbuttoned.


*Veteran readers might recall that Gawker's obsession with the venue's crappy fruit cocktail cost Gawker alum Choire Sicha his club membership — to which we say, how the fuck were you affording that, Bloggy McSugartits?

Next: Buddakan, Del Posto, Craftsteak.

Earlier: Principal Hells: Florent, Hogs & Heifers, Pastis, Meatpacking District: The Video Overture

Luscious has approached my friends and I on multiple occasions. Usually in the Meatpacking District, West 27th Street b/w 10th and 11th avenues and all the way over to the Murray Hill area. I always tell her that she should be selling BMWs and get off the street. What an attractive and well spoken prostitute.

[Photo: glediator]

UPDATE: Regarding the Luscious lurking, Soho House general manager Mark Somen responds, "This is the first I've heard of it."

Earlier: Gawker's Coverage of Soho House

Luxury Brand Sets Sights on Miami [Brandweek (site not loading consistently, full text after jump)]

Luxury Hotel Brand Sets Sights on Miami
July 17, 2006

By Jenny Holland

NEW YORK — Soho House, the exclusive club that even PR powerhouse Samantha Jones in Sex and the City couldn't get into, is planning to open a 74-unit Miami property in 2008.

Soho Beach House, as it will be known, will be part hotel, part condominium development. Only members from the clubs' New York and London locations will be able to buy units in the property, although non-members will be able to book rooms for regular hotel stays.

"You're buying into a little piece of Soho House, the brand," said North America general manager Mark Somen, who is overseeing the launch of the Miami property.

To reach out to the 3500 New York-based members, the club has done some "aggressive" direct marketing, Somen said, including presentations and question-and-answer sessions with Nick Jones, founder of the club, Somen and the developers working on the project.

"We're looking for like-minded people in film, media, fashion, and television."

Miami is the logical place for a Soho Club south, Somen said.

"It says music, it says fashion," he said. "It's a really fun place to be."

The condos, ranging in size from 400 to 1000 square feet, will sell for between $550,000 and $1.9 million, Somen said Monday. For overnight visitors, room rates will be in the $500 range.

Condo hotels, where people buy units in the property and can lease them back to the hotel when they are not using it, have become something of a trend in Miami, according to one real estate broker in the area.

"The benefits to the buyer are large," said Sheldon Green, CEO of Condo Hotel Center, a real estate firm in Miami.

Many of the area's buyers are wealthy baby boomers who want the amenities of a 4 or 5 star hotel but also want to be able to sublet the property out through a rental program, he said.

"They can use it when they want it, then put it in the rental program with the comfort that a brand name like Starwood or Hilton will take good care of it," Green said.