September in Miami, the hot bottom of the earth, and life is like an interminable Port St. Lucie dinner-theater production of No Exit, leavened somewhat by bright moments here and there. “Kaboom” at Warsaw. Club Anarchy in the Grove and Falcon’s Lair on South Beach opening with all due fanfare…

The hunger for a good party, an appetite that unifies all of humanity. A miraculous alchemy, akin to a physics equation, the right mix of energy, sound, and friction. Like love, the best ones catch the unwary by surprise, and suddenly everyone in the room is stronger, better looking, blessedly…

Posthurricane, and everybody trying to figure out the haphazardly enforced curfew situation. As of this past Friday, the Metro-Dade Police Department had dropped the curfew (with the exception of Key Biscayne) for the coastal regions north of SW 104th Street. Up until September 2 — when Miami Beach City Manager…

Something evil in our midst, as the dance to the music of the apocalypse goes on. Ten days that really shook the world, a hurricane of epic Miami proportions: biggest, flashiest, most sinister. The city returning to its natural state, an overinflated banana republic: martial law, looting, and armed troops…

Haiti town, and life is loose and fast. Parties start late, time is a real relative concept, and the social graces are still observed, the soothing introductory endearment “c’est on plaisir” being thrown around a lot. Exile politics and nasty assassinations, the zenglendo, Duvalier-era thugs, stalking the politically incorrect. Some…

Miami nightlife, doing that crazy tri-ethnic stomp. The Latin division cranking up with the Miss Hispanidad International Pageant, a Hispanic Heritage Festival production at the Fontainebleau Hilton’s Club Tropigala. Glitterama time, the room all tarted up with faux Roman sculptures, brass pillars, various recreations of atmospheric palm fronds in the…

Club columnists just want to have fun, not provoke the fall of Western civilization, but some readers — and a few friends lately — horrified by our shocking lack of moral/political/intellectual consciousness. Correspondents in particular offended and disgusted, which, ironically, pretty much sums up our usual frame of mind. One…

Summer, the cruelest and definitely nontrendiest season, the fashionable world still plowing along heedlessly, cranking out low-grade fabulousness. A surrealistic beginning to a whirlwind of cut-rate glamour with the United States launch of a new fragrance, SalvadorDali’s “Laguna,” a joint effort by Salvador Dali Parfums of Paris and Fine Fragrances…

In earlier, more innocent times, parties were simple community celebrations, brave stabs at civilization, sweet as the frontier weddings in John Ford movies. Like everything else, the movieland version of parties degenerating with the onslaught of the modern era. The Nazi homo romps in The Damned. The decay and decadence…

More nightclubs spreading across the terrain. Mambo madness. Rave fever. A serious music spot opens, geared to the “normal people” market. The anti-yuppie movement takes hold, promoters in a death grip with club owners, and general nastiness abounds. A city run amok, but still, comfortable in its amokness. All the…

People say life’s the thing, but reading is just so much more rewarding. Most of the problems of the world begin with the human inability to sit quietly in a room. But then, life on the hot bottom of the Earth demands a little agitation and distraction. Plenty of both…

It’s real life, getting out of the house and confronting a rich bounty of irritation wherever you go. What with the press of events lately, following the plots of mini-series is becoming problematic. Brain damaged, shattered, but in the perfect state of mind for metropolitan life. A blessedly nontaxing evening…

Summertime, and the living is hard. And in clubland, the range wars are terminally competitive and increasingly nasty. Messages sent between rival clubs through intermediaries. The insidious French/Eurofilth colonization of the Beach, the new Nice mafia, continuing apace. Warsaw and Paragon battling it out for the local gay market, all…

It’s glamour, it’s cheap thrills, it’s the sort of new 1992. The society shuffle. The debut of La Cage, art of the drag, part XIV. Semper’s gone underground. Movie stars. Big money. Legends becoming as one, pledging the sacred vows of fabulousness. Slime spewers in natural fabrics, little priss pots…

Uptown on a budget. The preview party for Art Miami ’92, in a huge new space at the Beach convention center. Atmospheric harpists. The white wine crowd pretending an absorbing interest in the work when conversation wandered. Art people. Dealer Barbara Greene. Sculptor John Henry, in town for NFAA’s “Arts…

That New Year crush again, one long desperate party leading up to the final soul-crushing moment, and then, nothing, nothing, on the other side. Sex without release. Work without reward. Fun without pleasure. Another year, and still, you’re not glitterati fashion designer Gianni Versace, whooping it up with a clientele…

Have you heard of this Miami Rocks, Too! thing? Bunch of bands showcase for the music industry’s big boys (and girls?). This year the East Coast Music Forum has been added – seminars, workshops, exhibitions. Famed producer Tom Dowd provides the keynote; he’s had a hand in some of the…

Christmas looming up, the time when WASPs begin to feel cozy, expansive, suicidal, and the mood is, as a German friend of ours used to say, “so schtincky.” Time for the I-Cover-the-Waterfront beat. Warsaw has apparently finalized a deal to take over The Building in New York, according to co-owner…

Club World. Openings and conceptual openings. Possible closings. The Tatou team, prospective Japanese investors and all, missing the parade: still no “serious offers,” according to Egoiste publicist Woody Graber. Uncle Charlie’s being raided for drugs. The killing fields at Luke’s. The continuing Hipodrome nightmare: Doran Jason Property Management posting a…

We have wandered, it seems, into a time and space where the parameters of fun in the Nineties – bargain-basement sensation as soulless, senseless, and dumbed-down as a television sitcom – have already been exhausted. Other eras of fun are needed for fuel. The Fifties have been used up as…