You may recall that we kicked off our little foray into assassinating the Meatpacking District with a simple map of the area. One thing that always amazes us is how small the neighborhood is — just a handful of blocks really, but such concentrated evil. That said, and despite all rumors to the contrary, our mission here at Gawker is ultimately redemptive. Sure, we're trying to dissuade those people who still swarm the Meatpacking District from ever doing so again, and there's a certain appeal in the idea of quarantining it behind high walls and razor wire, cutting it adrift from Manhattan, paving it over with creosote, etc. But surely there are more constructive solutions.

In response to this week's spate of Meatpacking District bashing, a reader writes:

In early 2003, a Brit named Nick Jones stumbled upon the cobblestone streets of the Meatpacking District, an area still just dirty enough to give the impression of "authenticity." It was here that he decided to create an outpost of his private London club, Soho House. In its beginnings, the members-only venue was actually a desirable place to be. From a May, 2003 piece in the Guardian's travel section focusing on the Meatpacking District, which is described as the place where — and it all seems quaint now — "grit meets glamour":

Now that we've given you an overview and a history as part of our weeklong tirade versus New York's Meatpacking District, we'll spend a little time focusing on a few of the worst local offenders. Let's begin with a trio of establishments that have each contributed substantially to the Meatpacking's rise, for good or ill. And by good, of course we mean more ill. The venues in question are French diner-bistro Florent (established 1985), Romper Room dive bar Hogs & Heifers (1992), and infinitely repeatable/exportable brasserie prototype Pastis (2002). After the jump, comparison, contrast, and condemnation.

And because we couldn't make the case just with boring old words, enjoy the above teaser for forthcoming video clips of Meatpacking District inhabitants, exhibiting natural behavior in their normal, reprehensible environment. Much more later, but this should give you an idea of the pain and suffering we endured to bring you this exclusive material.

Approx. 4500 B.C.: Lenape tribe settle in New York area, shun Meatpacking District as "too canoe & kayak."

No one in New York needs to be told to stay away from the Meatpacking District, that little slice o' damnation by the Hudson just below 14th Street. Why, then, does the place continue to pulse like Sodom, Gomorrah, and the Las Vegas Strip all rolled into a giant distasteful enchilada? The obvious answer — especially if you spend time there — is that the Meatpacking District is increasingly populated by tourists hailing not just from outside Manhattan, but outside New York, or even outside New Jersey. Of course, there's still plenty of local lookie-loos and eager guidos who call the Meatpacking District their second home most every weekend night. They don't even realize that most of their brethren have already moved eastward to befoul what's left of Rivington Street. Therefore, as a public service, we're passing along the only message worth hearing about the Meatpacking District: Stay away. Get out. Don't go. It's that simple. All this week, we'll beat this drum till it carries beyond Manhattan, to the ears that most need to hear the warning.

Burgeoning with life just like the blooming corpse flower, our map of New York subway aromas has almost enough data to finish up and present itself to your delighted senses. But we can always use more tips as we head to the home stretch. Send your final thoughts on specific subway smells in particular subway stations to subwaystink@gmail.com, identifying station, subway line, and smell. Meanwhile, the Washington Post goes on an olfactory tour of summertime Manhattan, bringing along French perfumist Laurice Rahme and retired NYC garbageman Andrew Macchio for color commentary. Rahme is objectionable enough, with her neighborhood-specific perfume line (e.g. "Eau de Noho"). The idea came to her after "the attacks of 9/11 befouled the air of downtown Manhattan." Macchio, on the other hand, is eminently quotable. A few choice examples after the jump.

PSFK spots this crapulent bit of graffiti-based "brandalism" at Little West 12th and Washington streets in the Meatpacking District. The next time you stumble out of Buddha Bar in your astronomically high heels, just think how receptive you'll be to a subtle pitch for a sensible midrange family sedan.

It turns out that "Luscious," our favorite high-breasted hooker — not pictured at right — stalks more than just Soho House. One tipster reports "surreal sightings on the 3rd avenue corridor on 4 or 5 occasions," while another has run into the lady in question on her home turf:

It was probably too much to hope that the space formerly occupied by the awesomely disgusting Village Idiot dive bar — gone lo, two years ago now — would serve as new home to something worth a damn. Instead, the long-shuttered Meatpacking District storefront is reopening as Gin Lane, another nostalgic den of no-doubt excellent though hideously overpriced cocktails and pro-forma nods to informality (french fry tastings! and waitstaff in Ted Baker uniforms but Converse sneakers!). One can only hope the ghostly stench of ancient urine from the Idiot's perennially flooded toilets will occasionally intrude on the upcoming miasma of eau de bridge & tunnel.

We hear that an enterprising young lady of the evening has begun lurking outside Soho House in the venerable Meatpacking District, approaching likely gents as they emerge and inquiring if they're up for it, squire? The lady in question is described as having "false eyelashes, nice high breasts, pushed higher by her dress," and attired in a fashion that was obviously "tarty, but not so much as to scream streetwalker." Last week, she reportedly all but propositioned a trio of strapping hipster lads as they left Soho House at about midnight, asking what they were up to and if they'd like to "go on somewhere." When they declined, she struck up a conversation with the Soho House doorman, no doubt asking about the ruckus at Toby Young's book party. Soho House declined to comment; anyone with further details or news of Luscious and/or her exploits/conquests, let us know at tips@gawker.com.

Big brother issues aside, there's another reason to love Google: it seems to have destroyed the Meatpacking District. In their satellite map of the 'hood, there are no rooftop pools, meaning no Gansevoort, no Soho House, and, most miraculously, not a single drop of Dep to be found. It's like Sex and the City never happened.

• Oscar-winner George Clooney takes to the Huffington Post, where he lobs an eloquent "fuck you" to all Democrats who voted for the war. If Clooney blogs, does that make it sexy? Or does it make him less sexy? Discuss. [Lowdown]
• Lindsay Lohan insists she's not wearing hookerpants, but she does find "the act of love" to be "groovy." If we didn't know better, we'd say that sort of talk reeks of virginity. [R&M (2nd item)]
• Britney Spears tightens husband Kevin Federline's allowance, only giving him enough to buy three wifebeaters a day. [Page Six]
• Is the end nigh for Florent, the original gem of the Meatpacking District? [Gatecrasher]
• Alexis Glick, a former contender for Katie Couric's Today show throne, has been banished to MSNBC. [Page Six]
• Sharon Stone says her nude scenes in Basic Instinct 2 should be "disturbing." No worries there. [Scoop]

Behold the Meatpacking District's forthcoming Buddakan, a 16,000-square-foot exercise in Pan-Asian absurdity. Have you ever seen anything so large, so tacky, so retardedly leviathan? Space is at a premium in Manhattan, and we get a medieval wedding hall. Isn't about time we torched 9th Avenue?

Frankly, the problem with the screening room at Soho House is that it's just so done, don't you think? Really, how many times can we enjoy a viewing of The Cook, The Thief, His Wife & Her Lover in a luxurious, private club? It's become so pedestrian.

We admit we were just a touch skeptical about the alleged New York mag assistant editor who was refused admission to a Meatpacking hotspot. It's tough to imagine a magazine person who'd pull that move in person — telling the bouncer, "You're denying entrance to an assistant editor for New York magazine?" If it were us, we'd call in advance and try to pull media cred to get a reservation, because the risk of refusal at the door is too high — and would be too public.

Outside of a certain Meatpacking District "hotspot" this past Saturday night, a Gawker spy witnessed the following exchange between a tall, 30-ish brunette and the venue's iron-fisted doorman: