By now you’ve all heard of Sleep No More, the version of Macbeth that's being staged in what the Times and Post both call an old warehouse in Chelsea. I guess that's partially true - and the production is partially Macbeth and partially Hitchcock and partially Eyes Wide Shut. The spaces were, at one time, warehouses but they became so much more. Sleep No More takes place in the bones of former nightclub hotspots Sound Factory, Home, and Guesthouse.

For years the epicenter of vibrant NY nightlife, the west 27th/28th street club corridor is now a virtual ghost town. Tonight, Scores will celebrate its anniversary, with Damon Dash DJing. I’ve been facebooked, texted, tweeted, and called to attend this gala. Noel Ashman and a zillion promoters insist I attend. I might not go— never been a strip club guy. No homo, I just don’t head to that area these days. But there was a time when I was there almost every night. The core clubs of that mall, Pink Elephant, Cain, Home, Guesthouse, and Bungalow 8 are gone, as are the cops on horseback and the Kleig lights that put virtually the entire area out of business. Gone also are a couple thousand jobs in an economy that needs jobs. A visit to the M2 website revealed an ad promoting Common and DJ Funkmaster Flex on May 14th. I guess I missed that as well. Tomorrow I’ll be meeting with Joey Morrissey to find out if the mega club will reopen—if he even knows.

A casual conversation yesterday ended with much confusion and no conclusions. Is New York nightlife one of the last/worst industries for women executives? I went online and read about progress in the workplace throughout America. I read how the disparity in wages and the percentages of women in management is chipping away at the gender gap. Yet in nightlife the opposite seems to be the case. With Bungalow 8 still closed and not likely to open anytime soon, nightlife’s leading lady Amy Sacco is without a NYC base. And with a hundred joints banging bottles and blasting beats, I can’t think of a single gal running a big show. Ariel Palitz has Sutra, a small but very viable offering on 1st Avenue and 1st, and I’m sure my wonderful readers will tell me about a pub here, or a joint there, but progress to the top of the heap seems to be stalled.

Last night I attended the wrap party of what might be remembered as one of the great clubs of the bottle era. In reality, the Cain we all knew closed a long time ago. The redux as Cain Luxe never caught on with the crowd owners Jamie Mulholland, Jayma Cardosa and Robert McKinley were accustomed to entertaining. The neighborhood, Chelsea, had died a quick death from enforcement malpractice after city zoning procedures changed the area from commercial to mixed use. The rebirth of Cain as Cain Luxe didn’t work and probably never could have. Perhaps last night signaled the end of an error.

● Mission Beach Café (Mission) - A favorite among hip neighborhood lushes for post-booze-fest brunches. Pretty young things, some still clad in their PJs, searching for comfort in decadent biscuits and gravy, Prather Ranch beef brisket hash, and of course pomegranate grapefruit Mimosas. ● Home (The Castro) - Bloody Mary preferences say a lot about a person. Do you take yours spicy or mild? With celery or olives?? Home’s Build Your Own Bloody Mary bar, which includes all of the standard accoutrement plus wasabi and a whole bevy of hot sauces, allows you to express your individuality while downing oversized omelets and crunchy cornflake French toast. ● Zazie (Cole Valley) - To compensate for the indelicacies of last night’s festivities, atmosphere of subtle French refinement can help you regain your sense of dignity. Shade your sensitive eyes under an umbrella in this small Cole Valley bistro’s back garden and sip on a cranberry or mango juice mimosa, forgetting last night ever happened.

A while back the often maligned but generally easy guy to deal with Jon B of Home/Guesthouse fame was looking for a new spot to hang his hat. I steered him into what is now the Greenhouse space. I had been designing the property for the shelter crew of Timmy Regisford and Merlin Bobb, and it turned out they needed a partner. I felt strongly that the space, which has been a nightspot since pre World War II, was ideal -- an easy-to-get-to cabaret downtown with few neighbors. A home run. Jon told me I was nuts for a couple of months, but then moved in.

The good news came via BlackBerry from Eddie Dean in Ibiza. Pacha won its hard-fought battle against the NYPD, who seemingly would stop at nothing to close the club down. I had sat in the back of the courthouse and listened to arguments from both sides, and although I was extremely biased towards the defendant, I tried to be objective. But I couldn't find a case in the government's case. It all seemed to get down to the concept that although Pacha was taking extraordinary measures to prevent drug sales on its premises, the sales continued. The police case seemed to be that the continuing operation of the mega-club was a drain on the department's resources. These resources would be better spent patrolling the nearby hood. All doughnut jokes aside, the argument didn't seem to impress Judge Joan Madden, who threw it out. I read the verdict, and indeed there are stipulations that make this less than a 100% victory for New York's last real mega-club; but for today, it's a reason to be cheerful.

I awoke to the sound of CNN blaring great economic news to my Martinez Brothers-blown ears. Cielo is winding down its summer programming, and as reported earlier will close August 1 until September by court order. The Martinez Brothers are no longer the new kids on the block and seem destined to become legends before they reach 21 years of age. As I write this, the good people over at Pacha are awaiting a decision by Judge Joan Madden regarding the fate of the last mega-house club this town can boast. I have heard unsubstantiated rumors of economic troubles over at M2, and to me, Webster Hell is not a consideration. Home and Guesthouse just shuttered under the weight of enforcement, and the question "who's next?" looms large. Is it a coincidence this latest round of crackdowns by the powers that be is happening just as an economic recovery is waking me and the whole country up?

Exactly five years to the day after opening, Jon B's 27th Street mainstays Home and Guesthouse have closed. The presence of mounted police, klieg lights, and general harassment by authorities of all patrons wanting to party in Outer Chelsea (OuCh) proved too much. Almost 100 employees found out yesterday afternoon that they were no longer working at the venues. I caught up with Jon and asked him why he closed so suddenly. "I feel terrible. I took care of everybody as long as I could, even when times were tough for me. Yesterday I had to pay a bunch of fines, and I didn't have money in the account. I had to close -- there was no other option."

I got this story secondhand -- and like sweaters I get that way, it's bound to have a few holes in it. It seems that Bungalow 8 was closed for ten days, and excuses like “Amy isn't around” and “They were taking a break or renovating” were thrown out for their adoring public. A source with some chops told me it was the collapse of parts of the roof that caused the closing. Plexiglas panels came detached, and in a sky-is-falling late night incident, the party came to a stop. Repairs were long overdue, and staff did their best to control the elements with strategically placed buckets and such. Amy is indeed traveling some, but my source revealed that with only about a year and a half left on her lease, Ms. Sacco has decided to ride it out. She has some money put aside from the sale of her West 23rd Street boîte as well as a flow of consulting fees from the Griffin, the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas, and the "Living by Amy" condo project on John Street. Bungalow 8 London, which according to another source isn’t hitting its marks, is still another revenue stream for the queen of nightlife.