Oct 5, 2007 03:30 PM
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New York, 5:35 PM
Tue Feb 9
57 posts in the last 24 hours
"Who you know is everything in the media biz. Second in importance is letting others know you know. Name-dropping is an art form that can take years to perfect... if the person is truly famous, never overtly say that you know them, you've spoken to them, or they're a friend. Instead, gracefully weave in a mention of something they said." That's from the Gawker Guide To Conquering All Media, out now from Atria Books! And you know, coincidentally, that is just what Maer always says! He was there! Nikola Tamindzic recorded the moments for whatever sick posterity might want it.
Oh, you know, Maer Roshan, the editor of Radar, a magazine that exists? Our coworker Alex Balk will soon be its new online editor. He was there last night too, as was nearly everyone who works at Radar, and nearly everyone who works at the New York Observer including ex-Gawker editor Doree Shafrir, Nicole Brydson, and Michael Calderone, who will soon depart the pink paper for Politico.com. New York Magazine was also well-represented: John Homans, Vanessa Grigoriadis, Jessica Coen and David Amsden all enjoyed the brightly colored beverages (you could choose between a 'mogul' or a 'diva,' which is sexist)—even Chris Rovzar attended, although apparently the lowly Daily Intelligencer staffers did not merit invites. Gawker editors were invited though, by the way. What kind of retard would think Gawker wouldn't invite its own editors to its book party, especially the ones who helped write the book? A hungover retard who doesn't care about burning bridges, I guess. Anyway, the Daily News' Gatecrasher columnist Ben Widdicombe came too! He brought his boyfriend, who is spectacularly hot. Also spectacularly hot: architect Marc Kushner (pictured), who is Doree Shafrir's main gay. He's Jared's cousin! He's single and looking for a nice Jewish boy!
It's becoming clear by this point, right? Last night was the very definition of a new (and some old!) media clusterfuck. "God, what a clusterfuck," people kept saying.
What is a clusterfuck, exactly? I guess it's a room full of people who have all either fucked each other, fucked each other over, or fucked with each others' heads.
Who knows whether any of that went on last night, though! It seems likely, though, that at least someone who attended might have been in need of this sage advice from our very own book, directed at people who might have crossed some professional lines the night before:
"As the memory comes racing through your dehydrated mind, you must quickly consider next steps. Guess what doesn't count as a plan of action? Staring at yourself in the mirror as if at a stranger, all puffy eyes and handfuls of Advil, the fear of unemployment raging through your bowels ... Don't sweat it, genius. You can't afford to lose any more bodily fluids. It's time to reset the tone. Act more professional than ever. Use words like 'sir' or 'ma'am' [until] proper boundaries have been restored."
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