Here's an article that says club row has moved to Chrystie Street. It cites The Box, lavishly recreated to look like an old vaudeville theater, up the street from 205, Home Sweet Home and Kush. OK, there are four places there, but I doubt very much whether it will turn into a club row. The era of the big nightclub is dead. Rents are too high and people don't want to buy bottles. It's a fortunate thing for those of us who like to go out and a) meet people; b) listen to good music; c) dance; instead of d) look pretty/spend money (depending on whether you're a model or a "bottle"). Just when it seems New York is dead, the city never ceases to evolve and emerge. Another thing about new places like The Box as well as The Beatrice, The Anchor and Death & Co.: they're spread all over the city. We're getting back to that mixed-use, neighborhood ideal instead of segregating clubs on a single block. Small places are in vogue, which means, in New York's sped-up, circular logic, that somewhere (Greenpoint?), somehow, the era of the big nightclub is about to begin again.

Today's tabloid Observer has a cartoon on the Guilty Pleasures of Literary Giants.

I've been horribly remiss because I've been painting my new apt. a fabulous and restful white (you'd be amazed how many coats of primer it takes to get rid of lime green walls!) and on deadline on a nightlife piece for New York. This is the story of West 27th Street between Tenth and Eleventh avenues, which in the last several years has been called "club row."