Every single time I pass the White Horse Saloon in the West Village, I always say to myself, “That’s where Dylan Thomas drank 200 shots of hooch and died.  Maybe I should hang out there.”  Then I walk in, and it’s filled with frat dudes drinking sugar free Red Bull and vodkas, talking about how “sick” Jeter’s new car commercial looks.  I’m tired of that being the building that makes me think of Mr. Thomas, and I’m glad Writers Houses […]