To keep me from resembling a young mobster, my mom never let me sport gold chains or leather jackets. My beak rivals the nose that Double Dare contestants mine for flags on Nickelodeon; between that Roman asset and my inherent Kung-Fu hand-gestures, lustrous accessories make me look like Mickey Rourke in the Pope of Greenwich Village.So when my buddy hung a golden key around my neck that granted access to a jam called Keys Open Doors, I anticipated more than just clandestine dance and booze. I was psyched for an opportunity to finally assert my Queens Italian ethnicity; if I had cocaine white Filas they would have been on full display with the fugaise link.My enthusiasm was compounded by mystery. The invite listed no specific venue; instead heads were given a suspicious downtown address (106.5 Bedford Street) and instructions: “Act like you know. Bring ladies in your Mercedes.” Remember the episode of Beverly Hills 90210 with the egg? It was that promising.A week later I filled my S-Class with lingerie models (four in the back!), or at least that’s how I recall it. We parked nearby and searched for the secret entrance, which turned out to be the side door of a completely remodeled Good Life. It was hardly the abandoned warehouse or Chinese restaurant I’d suspected; to say that the promoters fooled me is an understatement.That went down on July 30, and I’ve since forgiven the Good Life for the ruse - as did several hundred other suckers who also returned for a subsequent Keys Open Doors in August. Of course we forgave them; between the Bladerunners backdrops and complimentary PBR tall boys we couldn’t wait to rock those chains again.The second bash turned out just like the first; my notepad became a beer sponge filled with intoxicated scratches: “free can of PBR;” “7L dumps through Redman, Wu-Tang, Jeru, and Rah Digga;” “hot bachelorette squad getting nasty to New York’s DJ Soul, who has every last cat mashing in the basement.” I anticipate blacking out again at this Thursday’s September (24) edition of Keys Open Doors, where Cosmo Baker from New York’s The Rub will be guest spinning. If you want to join but can’t fathom squeezing in my Benz buggy, then email: RSVPKOD@gmail.com. Just don’t go asking every gilded guido in the street where the party is; not only is that dangerous, but I’ll be holding down the Fonzarelli shtick on all these Good Life happy days.