Answering a phone call at 6:30am is not usually advisable; when the caller ID shows the name of a Gawker editor your best bet is to hurl the gadget like a grenade. Well, for the past month I've been tip-toeing around the Green Line in Israel and I once microwaved an egg so I'm used to things blowing up in my face.
"Sick duty" calls, quite literally, and they've asked me to pitch in here for the next couple of days. If you're thinking I'm just that dude who was "released" from Conde Nast then you're right, but my sleazy history as "Gawker mascot" goes back further than I should freely admit.
Hang tight and please send in tips, including pics of your mom. I haven't the foggiest clue about what's going on with New York, media, or pop culture these days. Smart money says I won't last past noon. - Adam Slushpilitz