Bungalow 8 ushered in a new era of nightlife culture when it launched in 2001. It also turned West 27th Street into the shittiest place in Manhattan as the copycats arrived, bringing with them the police and murder. Bunaglow was the brainchild of Amy Sacco, who's since all but abandoned her dream of conquering New York City (some say she already did), having tried (and pretty much failed) to launch a London extension of her nightspot, then turning to Las Vegas hotels to pay the bills as she earned a retainer as a lifestyle liaison. Or something. Bungalow, which has since been replaced by excruciatingly navel gazing spots like the Beatrice Inn and The Eldridge, has seemingly been on the way out for awhile now. Page Six Magazine even wrote Sacco's obituary in August, all but proclaiming her reign to be over and out. Except: Maybe it's not?

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Not only is the death knell for New York nightlife's bottle service too premature to declare (wait till next week, please), but the crashing American economy also hasn't rid us of grotesque displays of alcohol one-upmanship that don't even need some club marking up the price 500 percent by having a cute waitress deliver it to your private table.

Witness: The $50 bottle of Double Cross Luxury Vodka, "which is actually filtered through diamond dust." And babies. [FWD, via]

5WPR, the public relations firm led by industry punching bag Ronn Torossian, sent over a few photos of Paris Hilton, Benji Madden, and America's Next Top Model something Jaslene Gonzalez (who we don't know, and apparently neither does 5WPR, since they spelled her name "Jaslene Gonzalzes") partying at "new midtown hostpot" Haven last night. Notes the emailed plant: "The notorious party girl parked herself at the table right next to the DJ booth, where her bf Benji was spinning, keeping herself awake by drinking Three Olives Cherry Vodka and Red Bull all night long."

Normally, we refrain from posting this soul-emaciating flack-fed items. But then some of you might have been worried that, given the ruinous economy and Wall Streeters withdrawing cash from their bank accounts, the days of overpriced bottle service were over. Hallelujah, they are not! (More evidence of celebrities paid to show up places here.)

Have you heard? Rich bankers in New York, the poncy swindlers who keep us out of Manhattan after sundown (they've discovered the LES!), are becoming a tad less rich. Boo hoo. And with the money goes the ridiculous luxuries it buys. No more willowy blonds who don't mind not kissing during sex, no more bespoke wingtips and, according to various nightlife connoisseurs, no more fucking bottle service. Huzzah!

In deference to those kind, decent human beings who know nothing of the favorite pastime of New York's most detestable pricks, bottle service is a practice in which scantily clad club waitresses bring overpriced bottles of vodka to tables of wealthy, hooting clowns who like rap music but hate black people. Good times! But God knows they couldn't last; clubs around New York are kiboshing the service as our nation falls into financial ruin and i-bankers run around with less disposable income:

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The El Baño management, owners of the fine LES bodega "toilet club" that may or may not exist (but still sends out invitations), want you to know that they do not approve of fake clubs running around the Internet, mocking their establishment.

So they pointed us to another one! To the mailbag:

This is just to let you know that there is a fake club parading itself around the internet mocking my club El Bano. I am shocked that people would spend the time to make something like this. I guess when you're the best of the best you pick up haters along the way. Anyway, we just wanted to put out a statement to you guys letting you know that we're not affiliated.

Of course not! Meanwhile, presenting totally real club El-Evator:

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Often, we find ourselves muddling through press releases, invites, New York magazine's listings, Time Out New York, and Thrillist just to find a goddamn bar to meet a friend to grab a drink. Maybe we're in the mood for a scene; maybe we want a quiet spot where we can liquor up a source; maybe we want to put on our dancing shoes; and maybe we want to go anywhere Lindsay Lohan has been. Minus that last option, our problem has been solved. UrbanDaddy, the always-in-the-know food and nightlife e-list and Jared Paul Stern employer, launches The Find. With its archive of city spots tagged with various attributes — dive, Paris, blow it out, the bankers, the hipsters — you can select a trio of your must-have criteria to find the perfect venue to romance your mistress. Who just happens to be your boss. Who owns the place.

El Baño is the newest super-duper secret nightclub for X-clusive clientèle that will be making it's debut during Fashion Week, which is the proper time for fancy new night spots to reveal they're not wearing any clothes. It's already been getting all the necessary hype to convince dedicated second tier glitterati that they should have gotten their invitation "key" — yes, a physical thing — ages ago, so they can have the honor of entering a LES bodega to use the bathroom and be greeted into the secret society via sliding panel. Sort of like Skull and Bones meets Clerks. With more coke.

But before you start cursing the bourgeoisie, there are already rumors spreading that this club is so cool it doesn't even exist. And not just for plebs like you.

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Presidential candidate Paris Hilton, who has tried, and failed, to attach herself to nightclubs before, is said to be eying her own venue in Las Vegas. If suspicious reports are to be believed, the only reason she isn't sharing more about her plans is because the venue isn't trademarked yet. Actually, we just checked with the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, and Shitty Overpriced Nightclub That Will Close Within a Year(tm) is still available.

New York's cabaret licenses, an 82-year-old tradition that neighborhoods crack down on noise from the street, have been a tool for authorities to shut down bars and clubs for any excuse. Who needs probable cause for a drug raid when you have a report that a twentysomething was moving her hips too quickly?

Under the law, put on the books in 1926, a venue must have a cabaret license to permit three or more people to dance, even if music and liquor are allowed. Shockingly, only 181 venues carry these licenses.

Now, Mayor Bloomberg is looking for cabaret reform, so a little salsa, merengue, or simple grinding crotches cannot be cause for a bar to be shut down.

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Many of you are very close friends with nightlife kings and queens. Some of you are the royalty of New York and Los Angeles nightlife. So you're probably familiar with Mark Baker, who sits among the Richie Akivas and John McDonalds of the world. Baker is behind spaces like Double Seven and Mansion, where in the former Crobar he has, um, repeated the Crobar mentality: models and bottles. Now, he's got a new haunt: the Cougar Lounge. Opening this fall, Cougar will be an all-girls venue where the ladies can get their hands on sex toys while the all-male serving workforce will be adorned in leather lederhosen serving champagne. And the women will get whips to hit them. Baker reveals autumn's nightspot plans in a new UrbanDaddy interview, which he wraps up by admonishing the "good old days" of New York nightlife, you know, because these are the good old days of nightlife … in 20 years. [Keys to the City/UrbanDaddy]

Steven Greenberg, the owner of rooftop lounge 230 Fifth, either has a public relations stain on his collar, or he's a fair businessman who knows a bad customer when he sees one. On Wednesday night, Greenberg threatened to kick out a 40-person meeting of the Black Public Relations Society of New York off his roof when not one person in the entire group ordered anything from the bar, effectively commandeering a huge chunk of revenue-worthy deck space to hold their meeting, which was held without a reservation. Supposedly, BPRSNY members wanted to wait until their invited guest, CNN political pundit Jamal Simmons, was finished giving a speech before they ordered anything. (Much like when a bar shuts down at an event when a keynote speaker takes to the podium, we hate this policy.)

When Greenberg started yelling, some in the group quickly began placing orders, squashing Greenberg's fears and any potential to paint him as someone who thinks blacks are freeloading and cheap.

New York insider guide UrbanDaddy describes new Meatpacking nightspot Bijoux, a subterranean lounge, this way: "This club is underground in both senses of the word, so all you'll find out front is an interrogation-room-style, two-way tinted-glass door with a bouncer hiding behind it. If you can entice the door to open, you're in. Just head downstairs, down the kitchen corridor (dodging the Berbere rack of lamb on its way upstairs) and through the door labeled 'private.'" Because a velvet rope is just. too. passé.

Amy Sacco, the nightlife queen unsuccessfully trying to export her brand internationally, is closing her over-hyped and mostly terrible restaurant Bette. [Eater]

In a private beta since April, the glorified bar crawl website Mapfaced is now open to the public. It's a chance for club goers to map out their favorite paths from sobriety to one-night stand. It's also from Joshua Malin, the editor of the food+nightlife site Goodnight Mr. Lewis. Courtesy Google Maps, users can create their own directions for a Gramercy pub crawl or a Meatpacking District douchefest. Bonus Feature: Plot your evening's course before you head out, and you'll have something useful to show the cops when you end up with GHB in your $16 Bikinitini.

Oopsy! Did you find yourself in the Hamptons this weekend and forget where you're supposed to be having other people see you? Then Jossip's Hamptons Guide To Places To Party For Those Who Use “Summer” As A Verb is a must-read.

So read it here.

And on that note, we'll see you here on Tuesday.