Like, honestly, this is not what my parents had in mind for me, sussing out this kind of thing. They thought I was going to go to law school. Law school. Now I help explain the nuances of TRANNYPEEGATE. Great. Where do we start on this one? How about here, via Top Idol:

So, this "Trick" person or whatever only has three Tweets. So, it just so happened that the night he opened up his Twitter account, he pissed on Adam Lambert at The Box?

Former Spin columnist and New York musicperson about town Ultragrrrl (this story, it just gets stupider by the word) was in the house. She was witness to the peeceedings:

So if a blogger and a Twittering Transvestite say Adam Lambert got peed on and threw a drink at a transvestite at The Box, did it actually happen? Kind of. The sad, boring denouement, from Adam Lambert himself:

So, he did get peed on, but it wasn't actually pee, though we don't know if he knew that at the time. So, yes, Adam Lambert kinda got peed on by a transvestite at The Box. Related: if there's a single person in America who still thinks Adam Lambert isn't gay, the fourth estate is failing. Miserably. Also, good to know that, after the holidays, "order" has been restored to the internet.

[Top image via Getty.]

He did a remarkable job of not saying much. At 8:15 the party had barely begun at the downtown hotspot, known for its strict velvet rope and the racy performances on its main stage, the gregarious Tank Jones and his brother Marvin (in the role as Levi's trainer) were some of the first people to arrive. They installed the one-time human campaign prop at a table in the corner of the balcony so that several PR people could start the parade of press. The rest of the venue was practically empty, but everyone was clustered around Levi.

As the Observer's John Koblin interviewed Playgirl's spokesman Daniel Nardicio about the future of the magazine, the Levi interviews started. Everyone made way for a camera crew from Entertainment Tonight, which has exclusive access to Levi for all the behind-the-scenes action for the photo shoot that is taking place right now (if everything goes according to schedule). We didn't get close enough to hear what they asked during their ten minutes with Levi.

As they clear out, there were more print interviews to do. Michael Musto came by to say hi, but he interviewed Levi at his hotel earlier. I asked Musto if he was a good interview. He said yes, but agrees that it's hard to get him to say much. Jo Piazza from CNN came in and taped a few second with the Johnston crew. Before she started her interveiew, Tank said he's not answering questions about Sarah Palin or about suing for custody of Tripp, Levi's son with Palin's daughter Bristol. Then he flirted with her a little bit as she squeezed in next to Levi to ask her questions. Most of the questions were the same all night: How is this different from Alaska? What is he going to show? Is he ready for the shoot? Does he know that he's a gay icon? Will he do more porn? What does the future hold?

Levi always answers with the fewest words possible. This may make him appear a bit dim, but it seems a smart move for a guy who's standing around a bunch of people paid to turn any utterance he makes into "news." With the reporters gone, he quietly joked with Tank and Marvin.

When Piazza was done, he joked a bit with Nardicio, teaching him how to tuck a dollop of chew under his lip. "Don't you throw up on this table!" Tank chided. A PR person came by and said there were more interviews to be done. "I know. This isn't my first rodeo," Levi said. Another reporter sat down, this one from People. They knew to send a pretty girl.

When she left, the PR man told Tank that Page Six boss Richard Johnson wanted an introduction. Tank responded, "We're not talking to them. No pictures, nothing." The PR man conveyed the message to Johnson. "He just wants to say hi," Mr. PR pleaded with Tank. But Tank had made up his mind: No Levi for Johnson. "That's fine," said the Page Six editor before heading back downstairs. After he left, Tank complained about a Page Six item accusing Levi having a small dick and thus afraid to do any full-frontal shots: "That's not true!"

There was a break in the action and a PR girl brought by the trophy Levi will receive later in the evening: an 11-inch dildo made of silver. Everyone at the table laughed nervously and made jokes about how Levi isn't going to accept a dildo. Levi returned his trophy to the nice lady and said, "I can't believe I just won a giant silver dildo." He and Tank conferred and decide there can't be any pictures taken of him holding it, so they plan to have Nardicio take the stage with him and hold the award.

Then the photographers arrived. In groups of two, they came by the corner, their flashbulbs blinding in the dark club. Levi knew to look directly into the camera and then occasionally look away to blink. He didn't look like he was having any fun. When all that was over, he passed some time ogling the scantily-clad go-go dancers down below. Tank said, "Those are all real women right? I don't want to look if they're not real women." Another laugh. Nardicio tells them that they're all real women. I pointed out that there were definitely some drag queens in the mix. "That's OK, I didn't want those ones anyway," Levi responded. He told me that he hadn't had any time to go out and party while in New York City. "It's been all work. I'm all about business," he says. "But I like New York more each time I come here." What does he think about this event? "It's different," is all he'll say.

As the show starts, Gawker alum Joshua David Stein showed up asking questions for New York magazine. It was getting loud, the house was full. Tank informed him they'd do an interview later. Levi leaned over the balcony to watching the award ceremony on stage and performances by the likes of boy/boy/girl aerialist trio Mantryx. When the intermission came, the crew decided to go outside for some air.

Out on the sidewalk, it is a whole different scene. Dressed in identical tuxedos like they all went shopping at the same men's store earlier that evening, they moved as a unit. Flanked by two enormous black men, Levi wasn't easy to approach. That didn't stop the reporters. Kelefa Sanneh from the New Yorker came up received a stern lecture from Tank about not asking about Palin or custody. Sanneh started his round of questioning but was cut off by the arrival of two 20-something guys who made up TMZ's camera crew. They'd been tailing Levi and his crew ever since they arrived in New York and seemed almost like old friends. Sanneh backed off, to avoid getting captured by their camera. TMZ doesn't care about restrictions and they began asking about custody and Palin. Tank demurred. "Come on, you know better than that."

While Tank was distracted by dealing with the TMZ mess, Jacob Bernstein from The Daily Beast snuck up and peppered Levi with questions and scribbled furiously in his notebook. A male-female duo from Hollywood Life sidled up and began asking their own questions and with a Flip camera. After the questions, the Hollywood Life crew each took their picture with Levi. With Levi alone again, Sanneh came back for a second attempt at an interview. This time, though, he talked more to Tank that Levi. It's easy to go that direction, since Tank is a gregarious quote machine while Levi answers everything with about three words.

Levi was scheduled to accept his award as soon as the ceremony restarted after the intermission. The PR girl shadowing him told him and Nardicio to go hang out at Nick Denton's table so they'd be right next to the stage. but there isn't any room at the Gawker Media overlord's table. Levi headed instead for socialite Tinsley Mortimer's table where photographers eagerly snapped the unlikely pairing. Joshua David Stein returned for his promised interview, but Levi said he needs clear it with Tank. Stein rebutted that Tank had already cleared it, but Levi — who either didn't remember, didn't care, or simply wanted to protect himself — turned him down again, this time a little more firmly. Marvin stepped in and said they'd talk to Tank and do the interview later.

Levi asked who he needs to thank in his speech which he obviously hasn't thought about until then. Nardicio told him to thank Fleshbot and The Box. Levi added that he should also say something about the upcoming issue of Playgirl and to tell people to buy it. He is all business.

When his award was announced he and Nardicio went on stage where Levi successfully avoided being photographed with a big silver dildo. His speech was exactly what he planned: He thanked Fleshbot and The Box and then told everyone to buy his issue of Playgirl.

After leaving the stage, he meets up with Tank and Marvin and they head out the door. He has to get up early to work out before his big shoot. Our colleague Irin over at Jezebel got her questions answered about the type of ladies Levi likes and JDS eventually got his interview, making poor Richard Johnson the only person denied the chance to exchange banalities with the man of the hour. Levi, like he said, was all about business, and last night his business was spectacle.

Top three photos by Hee Jin Kang, bottom by GuestofaGuest

THE MEN WHO STARE AT GOATS
The Story: George Clooney and Jeff Bridges star. Based on the true story of a US Army psychic ops unit.
The Pitch: Dr. Strangelove meets Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Who It's For: Comedy with a social message type people.
Cause for Hope: Clooney and Bridges are seldom unfun to watch. Interesting, obscure story.
Cause for Concern: Comedy looks very heavy on the broad and zany.
Defamer Enthusio-Meter: 6

PRECIOUS
The Story: An abused, overweight illiterate Harlem teen dreams of stardom.
The Pitch: The Color Purple meets Welcome to the Dollhours
Who It's For: Anyone who wants their head bashed in by unrelenting horrifying tale of impoverished desperation.
Cause for Hope: Early Oscar front-runner drew ecstatic raves on the festival trail.
Cause for Concern: Endorsement of Executive Producer Oprah does not bode well for any hopes of subtlety.
Defamer Enthusio-Meter:8

A CHRISTMAS CAROL
The Story: Jim Carrey is Ebenezer Scrooge in the animated 3D retelling of the Dickens classic.
The Pitch: Shrek meets Pride and Prejudice
Who It's For: Families, or those families who can afford to take the whole family out and pay the premium 3D ticket prices.
Cause for Hope: Computer animation looks undeniably cool.
Cause for Concern: These CGI-fests have a habit of celebrating the technology over the story that grows very old 40 minutes in.
Defamer Enthusio-Meter: 5

THE FOURTH KIND
The Story: A town with an extraordinary number of alien abduction reports is investigated.
The Pitch: The X-Files meets Paranormal Activity
Who It's For: Extremely committed nerds.
Cause for Hope: I could see a movie about alien abduction read the phone book.
Cause for Concern: The scares seem to come from people sitting up in bed and screaming.
Defamer Enthusio-Meter: 3

THE BOX
The Story: A couple finds themselves with an ethical dilemma when a box arrives telling them if they push its button, they will get one million dollars, but a stranger will die.
The Pitch: Momento meets 88 Minutes
Who It's For: Edgy people.
Cause for Hope: The director of Donnie Darko still has a tiny bit left in his much diminished good will fund.
Cause for Concern: Looks very very much. As in taking itself much too seriously.
Defamer Enthusio-Meter: 5

Purgatorio is a three-level nightclub that is brilliantly conceived and elegantly executed. Every nook, cranny, hallway, and bathroom is designed with the theme in mind and no detail has been over looked. However, it is kind of like partying in the world's classiest PATH train station, because the crowd is the worst in New York. Guys in untucked button downs and their girlfriends drunkenly wobbling on heels that are too high and in tops that are too tight abound. Even at the VIP opening reception, things weren't any better. Overly boozey broads caused trouble in the stairwells while the well-heeled and hip tried to stay out of their way.

The clash was even evident in the night's celebrities. Official host Perez Hilton may have been a draw for the targeted crowd, paying $39.99 and up, but he couldn't get celebrity guest Jude Law to hang out with him.

And it's a shame that the crowd may turn people off to the joint, because it is really something to behold. Viewers enter through a Victorian-themed funeral parlor that is staffed by a bunch of freakish-looking extras from the last Addams Family movie. They are then transported down to hell, the venue's first level. The path is one of the scariest and brilliant things I've ever experienced. In hell, a lounge-themed bar full of ghouls and gorgeous girls, a creepy show awaits before everyone graduates to Purgatory above. It is like the world's classiest S&M club, full of raunchy go-go dancers and several vocal and acrobatic performances. Attendees are then free to travel up to Heaven, a space dominated by a gorgeous chandelier looking device and dirty dancers dressed as angels. There's also an outdoor lounge for smokers and such with a great view of the Midtown skyline. There is nothing about any of it to improve upon, except the door policy.

Hammerstein and Weiner, the pair behind Lower East Side hotspot The Box know something about creating a unique space that is full of provocative performances. They also know something about the velvet rope. For the few who can get past the doorman at The Box, they'll find a paradise of beautiful people, crazy acts, and a devil-may-care attitude that is far too wanting in post-Guilliani hot spots. If The Box is a high end restaurant, then Purgatorio is that same restaurant during Restaurant Week, when it's more affordable and open to the rabble.

And isn't that the problem with Halloween in general, when the zombie denizens of the city's nightlife are forced to cede their exclusive realm to the spirits of girls in slutty costumes and the boys trying to get them drunk and out of those tiny little outfits? It's become an even bigger amateur night than New Year's Eve, and no matter how classy you may be, you're going to have to make room for the less qualified.

[Image via Getty and Thom Kaine]

But there's hope for Bungalow 8 yet. It can turn itself into something useful. Just today we learned that the former Limelight might go from being just one crappy store toa whole bunch of crappy stores. And maybe restaurants. Progress!

Studio 54
Era: 1977-1980
Past the Velvet Rope: A disco-fueled coke den with an balcony full of pre-AIDS wanton sex.
The Scene: Michael Jackson, Liza Minnelli, Bianca Jagger, Andy Warhol, and Halston fighting over the last bump.
What It Is Now: A theater.

Danceteria
Era:1982-1984
Past the Velvet Rope: An artsy after hours that was more about grit than glamour.
The Scene: Madonna passed out on the floor after a coat check shift, Keith Haring working as a cocktail waiter. Lots of New Wave.
What It Is Now: Apartments

Area
Era: 1983-1987
Past the Velvet Rope: You never knew. Every six weeks Jennifer Goode redesigned the space to fit a specific theme.
The Scene: Basquiat installing some crazy piece of art, Michael Musto when he used to be a club kid.
What It Is Now: A fond memory.

Limelight
Era: 1983-1985 with a resurgence from 1994-1996
Past the Velvet Rope: An old Gothic church tricked out into several amazing spaces.
The Scene: The first time around celebs too uptown for downtown, the second time around Michael Alig and his crazy-dressed cohorts.
What It Is Now: A ramshackle store.

Tunnel
Era: 1987-1991
Past the Velvet Rope: A long, cavernous room with a booming sound system.
The Scene: The beginnings of the superclub scene, lots of E.
What It Is Now: A restaurant.

Twilo
Era: 1996-1999
Past the Velvet Rope: We did too much K, we can barely remember, but there were some stairs and a big dance floor and a very '90s futuristic VIP room.
The Scene: Ravers, glow sticks, Junior Vasquez, Chelsea queens, the '90s.
What It Is Now: It was BED, and then we lost track.

Bungalow 8
Era: 2001-2004
Past the Velvet Rope: A California Bungalow, with palm trees, banquettes, and a concierge service that would get you whatever you wanted.
The Scene: People so fabulous and wealthy you wouldn't even know their names. Until the B&T invaded the Meatpacking and scared them all away.
What It Is Now: Closing.

Marquee
Era: 2005-2007
Past the Velvet Rope: A balcony, a dance floor, lots of banquettes, tiny tiny tables.
The Scene: The height of the bottle service era as Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan and others dance on said banquettes.
What It Is Now: Sad, and full of B&T.

The Box
Era: 2006-2008
Past the Velvet Rope: A neo French bordello with the focus on the infamous stage, but really just dark and full of cigarette smoke.
The Scene: The hippest of the downtown, with artist types getting ready to check out naked people in the infamous shows.
What It Is Now: Recovering from the economic meltdown.

The Beatrice Inn
Era: 2007-2009
Past the Velvet Rope: It was small and cramped and the ceiling was low.
The Scene: Olsens, hipsters, skinny jeans, smoking, and watery drinks.
What It Is Now: Empty.

The Jane Hotel
Era: Right this second until about two weeks from now.
Past the Velvet Rope: A small lounge that opens up into a bigger room. Very luxe and loungey.
The Scene: Everyone from Hugh Grant to Kirsten Dunst has boogied here and woken up the neighbors.
What It Is Now: Embattled.

An alleged employee of The Box told Down By The Hipster that the club is drastically cutting costs: cutting performers' pay, firing the band and the stagehands, cutting performances, and hiring cheaper doormen and performers. Well, that would make The Box pretty much like every other club in NYC. As long as there are twins left to do sex toy fetish shows, there is hope.

[DBTH. Pic via]

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.The Invention of Lying, which Gervais co-wrote and co-directed with Matthew Robinson, looks pretty funny and absurdist and sports a bogglingly good cast—Gervais, Jennifer Garner, Jonah Hill, Christopher Guest, Tina Fey, Martin Starr, Jason Bateman, Jeffrey Tambor, Rob Lowe, Patrick Stewart, Stephanie March, John Hodgman, and Louis C.K., among others. Ridiculous.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Inglourious Basterds will be bloody good bloody fun. We're especially liking Mike Myers' gonzo Brit in this trailer.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Hm... While The Box has an interesting concept, our faith in Richard Kelly is a bit rattled after Southland Tales. Now, that movie definitely had its merits (that whole virtuoso Justin TImberlake/"All These Things That I've Done" sequence chief among them), but in sum it was a muddled mess. The trailer for this picture begins promisingly (if you can forgive Cameron Diaz's brutal accent) with a creepy, fable-like setup, but then devolves into watery, ugly CGI and we start to worry. Also, does the presence of James Marsden mean he's on the leading-mean up and up, or does it mean that this is a schlocky B-horror film? Sadly, we kinda think it's the latter.

• Especially bad taste: Hammerstein supposedly "asked the trio the Harlem James Gang to perform in blackface. And when he asked a member of a music group to perform a skit with a dildo stuffed in her mouth. (Hammerstein denies both these accounts.)"
• Drugs: "People smoked pot at staff meetings. Drank wine at rehearsal. The whole thing was fueled by drugs and alcohol. It changes the way you behave... the bathrooms were flooded, there was raw sewage on the floor in the kitchen."
• Sexual coercion: “When an act comes in, we may give them a trial run. We’d encourage them to stick around after their performance and mingle. A lot of the times, they’d end up at the bar, getting into conversations with Richard and Simon, discussing their act and maybe how they can improve it. That can turn into them staying out late and then maybe going to Simon’s loft.”
• Moby hates it (wait, is that good or bad?): Box co-owner Moby told BlackBook last week: "I don't really go there too often... I've been to a lot of degenerate places, and rarely have I seen the level of degeneracy like I’ve seen at the Box."

"Mr. Hammerstein said he had recently become engaged and would marry 'in Decemberish.' He did not elaborate. Mystery, he said, is really the core of his business."

As for charges that he regularly slapped female employees on their asses hard enough to leave bruises and that he coerced the Porcelain TwinZ, Amber and Heather Langely, to dirty up their act so that he could rename it "Twincest"? Oh, pooh-pooh. He's an artist!

“I’m a director,” he said. “I edited their show. Whether I change the tone or the color of something, I’ve never gotten anyone to do anything they don’t want to do.”

Mr. Hammerstein said employees have access to a handbook in the payroll office that explains that anyone with a sexual harassment complaint can report it to one of two people, one a man and the other a woman. “They never complained when they worked here,” he said of the sisters.

The Langleys said they had never heard of the sexual harassment policy, had never seen an employee handbook and did not complain sooner because they feared losing their jobs. A performer at the Box who has worked there for more than a year and who requested anonymity because she fears being fired backed up some of the twins’ claims, saying that if there was an employee handbook, “that’s something that just started that was never passed out for the long-term employees.”

[NYT]

"Alleged misrepresentation is just one of the club’s—er, dinner theater’s!—problems. Residents of the surrounding area say they are tired of wading through a sea of bottle-addled hipsters every time they walk down the block—the place has apparently been getting noise complaints since day one. Even more damning, people from the building next door showed up to inform the board that they often get carded trying to get into their apartments."

[New York Observer]

The fetish-burlesque cabaret duo the Porcelain Twinz have been performing their hot-twin act for years. They were mentioned in Neil Strauss's pickup-artist book The Game: "You know what's funny," they told the author when he tried to hit on them, "We get all our physicality out on stage... we're probably more distant than most sisters."

Last year, they were tapped to perform at the Box. They recently quit the show, posting a long screed on their website called, "This is Why We Left the Box in NYC." They accused the handsome Hammerstein of everything from neglecting his dog to pressuring them into a threesome; they also mentioned that last month, the entire tech staff quit.

Their complaints resulting from the sexed-up work environment ranged from employee ass-slapping to sex they didn't want to participate in to other types of sexual coercion and job threatening. Hammerstein also allegedly charged them $2000 a month to live in an 8X20 room in his apartment.

A former Box employee we spoke to said that the Porcelain Twinz's story is "not at all" an isolated incident—and said she quit because of "a specific incident with Simon Hammerstein." What, exactly, is going on inside this Box?

From the Twinz:

• "Simon Hammerstein regularly slaps the girls so hard on the buttocks, that it leaves handprint welts for at least two days before leaving a bruise. This has happened to one of us as well as several of the classically trained dancers known as the "Hammerstein Beauties." Simon sexually harasses the employees constantly..."
• "He abuses the tech staff on a daily and nightly basis, constantly putting them down, calling them idiots, and ripping headsets off of tech staff's heads when he is in a fit of rage over something."
• "Simon sexually harasses all of the Hammerstein Beauties requiring all of the girls to sleep with him if they want to have a job, or if they want to be chosen for a special spot in the show, while constantly pushing cocaine on them."
• 
  

  The former Box employee we spoke with said, "I've seen this stuff happen. And I've experienced similar things. There was also a lot of job threatening... the treatment of staff is pretty abysmal. The slapping of asses, etc—I would see that all the time. It was playful, but then it was... not cool."

  "I had a lot of fun at the Box, and I love it. The staff there is some of the most interesting and exciting people I've met. There are just no consequences to owner's actions, mostly Simon's. People are at his whim."

• Other allegations: filthy dressing rooms (pictured below), in which the Twinz say Hammerstein abandoned his dog for days. (An employee stole the dog at one point, hoping to protect it.)
• 
  
  

  Of course, there's something to be said about having different expectations for your work environment when it's a cabaret nightclub that bills itself as one of the sexiest and no-holds-barred acts in town.

  But still: is the Box being run like a nineteenth-century Dickensian whorehouse? Calls and e-mails to Hammerstein for comment went unreturned. As Hammerstein himself told the New York Times last year, "The show’s only as good as the people you’re watching it with."

  One of the Twinz's acts (not shot at the Box):
  

To be sure, the Chrystie Street hotspot's troubles—kidnappings of departing clubbers and celebrity-entangling drug raids—have made an irresistible nightlife story. The economics of The Box—the venue is intimate and the acts expensive—have forced the owners to allow in more high-spending bankers than consistent with the club's celebrity cachet. Predictably, Manhattan's lemming-like press, Gawker included, has been quick to declare the club over.

However, the gleeful criticism misses one point: the shows at The Box, which range from sexy burlesque to gross-out tranny acts, give the venue an energy that's lacking elsewhere. (Mos Def gave an impromptu performance the other night.) Even on lackluster nights, it's enjoyable—as one Gawker writer, who admits to being "knee-jerk snarky" when writing about the club, found to her surprise.

If The Box's pricey proposition forces it to scale back, Manhattan nightlife will be the poorer. The club's critics deserve to be chained to the speakers at Mansion. Then they'll be sorry.

I showed up a little late with Jennifer Gerson from Jezebel. As we were checking her coat, this elfin Indian dude, a mover-and-shaker-type, came up to us and was dripping with intentions to network. We shook him off and made our way into the main room where we immediately saw Michael Musto sitting alone at a reserved table, not drinking his bottle service, not eating the mini-cheeseburgers served to him. So we went over there and asked if we could take a seat. He sort of ignored us, which was fine, because at least he wasn't telling us to not drink the hooch.

The awards—which featured such coveted titles as "Best Designer With Influence," and "Best Restaurant With A Nightlife Scene"—for the most part were confusing. People were making up nominees, and not really sticking to the script. Perez couldn't pronounce anyone's name (including Nikola's) so he just sort of mumbled a lot. Then when they announced the winner, it was hard to hear what anyone said, and people actually gave acceptance speeches. I guess it was more interesting looking around at the room at all the aging drag queens.

After the awards ceremony was over people milled about, and Jennifer and I were accosted by that lil' networking guy again. This time he was like, "Hey, you pretty girls want to come to this private party I'm throwing at a penthouse around the corner? It's gonna be really great. The owners of The Box are going to be there, it's gonna be a lot of fun."

"Oh really? Is there going to be coke?" I asked. I mean, it might be the influence of growing up with Brat Pack movies, but "penthouse parties" is synonymous with cocaine to me.

"Well, I mean you're welcome to bring your own," I turned back around to my drink and continued my conversation with Jennifer.

"Oh well, you know, Simon and the guys from The Box will have a lot of fun stuff for you girls, I'm sure," he offered. He turned to Jennifer and said, "I can make you famous."

"Um, that's alright," she said. We grabbed our goodie bags, which only contained a magazine, a perfume sample, and a box of Altoids, and left to hail a cab. And who did we see down there? Perez, with like five goodie bags. He must've really liked those perfume samples.

I told Josh to Photoshop Perez a vagina. He did a good job, right?