Schreffler brought Gatecrasher—once Page Six's competition—back to the paper with Sean Evans (also canned) after legendary NYDN gossip Ben Widdicombe left it for dead (or Star, which he left after five or so months). Sarah Polansky (who went from the National Enquirer to Page Six, where she was fired for being exposed by Radar as a "swag hag") filled in for Evans. I guess Polansky is the only person left over there? We also hear Chris Rovzar at NY Mag's Daily Intel was offered the job, but (predictably) turned it down, possibly because if he were to quit New York Magazine, Manhattan's Gossip Girl-watching population would have to be tear-gassed and read the riot act.

So: it looks like nobody's running gossip or getting decent scoops at the Daily News but the once a week Boris and Natasha-esque sideshow of Rush and Molloy — and they haven't been at the top of their game, lately — so maybe they'll try to bring Ben back again? He was awesome and he's currently doing AOL's Stylelist but I sincerely doubt that Daily News has the cash to compete with whatever he's getting at AOL. That said, the NYDN's gossip pages are just rehashing national items, and there're sleazier places to go for that dirt, so really, they might want to invest in some talent before they become the Knicks of New York's two-team gossip leagues.

Update: Maybe there's absolutely no way the NYDN can compete for Ben Widdicombe. We just heard that Widdicombe's working with TMZ as their executive editor. He hasn't let his New York apartment go, yet, and "needs the money." He's on a six-week trial with them. Well, if it's scratch you're after, Harvey Levin's got plenty to throw around. There're worse places to sell out, I suppose. Another tipster reports that Harvey Levin's been looking since last fall to fill that position, so it's a long time coming. He's met with plenty of people, but it's been difficult to fill the position because of Harvey's temperament.

2nd Update: Sheffler writes in and asks us when will we will be "updating/terminating your piece from the web" because, as it turns out, she wasn't shitcanned, but is leaving the Daily News to go to Bonnie Fuller's Hollywood Life thing. Enjoy your press-releasey goodness:

"I'm ecstatic to join Bonnie Fuller and the team at HollywoodLife.com as the West Coast Bureau Chief. I look forward to bringing my experience in celebrity news and lifestyle editorial to what will be a fabulous online destination for all women," says Schreffler, West Coast Bureau Chief, HollywoodLife.com.

In her new position, Schreffler will work closely with Fuller and Will Lee, executive editor, on editorial strategy, content development and overall direction of the site. HollywoodLife.com, which focuses on celebrity, style and lifestyle news, will re-launch in November 2009 with a new design and editorial focus, targeting style-minded women, ages 18-35...

...Where it will terminate their faces via awesome Bonnie Fuller'd website wonderfulness with little to no discretion. May I suggest a theme song? This is what the future of celebrity gossip looks like:

We hear (unconfirmed rumors) that Widdicombe is out at Star, for unknown reasons. That would put him on the job scarcely six months. Even though he was far, far more qualified that Julia Allison to hold his job, it may be that Star itself just doesn't have enough clout to be a serious operator in the gossip world.

Ben said he was burned out when he left the Daily News, so, if this is true, maybe it's not all bad. Random fun photo below: Ben and a bunch of ladies presiding over the "STRATEGY ROOM".

UPDATE: Ben emails:

Hello gentlemen, yes I have left the Star and joined StyleList.com as a contributing editor. Society and celebrity is my beat but I'm trying to think of a title that sounds less ridiculous than "society and celebrity editor." And in February I'm starting a weekly online column for T, the Times style magazine. I was thinking of calling it "Gatekeeper," what do you think?

Gossip, after all, can wear a body down. Being married to each other, and to the column, hasn't always been easy on Rush & Molloy. We've had disagreements. Julia Roberts once begged Rush not to run a sighting of her nuzzling then-secret boyfriend Benjamin Bratt at a SoHo restaurant. Rush talked Molloy out of writing it. Julia sent flowers in gratitude. But the secret got out elsewhere. The flowers wilted, as did their romance.

When he quit as editor of the Gatecrasher column in the Daily News and left on an extended vacation, Widdicombe said he had burned out after a decade on the party circuit. He wrote: "Also lately I’ve developed a peculiar attitude towards scandal—with some of the items that have crossed my desk I’ve thought, this really isn’t any of my business. Which is problematic for a professional gossip columnist." But not as problematic as a pile of bills on Widdicombe's return from his soul-searching vacation, presumably.

I'm sure it is in that spirit that online gossip site Jossip is sending off Widdicombe. 'Ben Widdicombe Exits Gossip Industry, Leaving Gaping Aussie Void,' runs the headline. Har har. There's only one problem: the Daily News gossip writer used to bed Jossip's wide-eyed young founder, David Hauslaib—and one could easily take his reference to Widdicombe's gaping void as the bitchy recollection of a former lover, rather than collegial ribbing.

Incidentally, Hauslaib also dated Patrick Healy, Hillary Clinton's persecutor at the New York Times, who was in turn the former boyfriend of Chris Rovzar, the ethereal young reporter who took over from Widdicombe at the News' Rush & Molloy column when the Australian gossip graduated to his own column. And that proves what, exactly? Only that New York's gay media subculture is even more incestuous than its heterosexual equivalent; the partner-hopping is simply less well examined.

Photograph, clockwise, from top left: Jossip's David Hauslaib; burnt-out gossip columnist Ben Widdicombe; Chris Rovzar, now at New York Magazine's Daily Intelligencer; and Patrick Healy of the New York Times.

"I have been a gossip columnist for all my 10 years in New York—first with the online fashion column 'Chic Happens,' and six years full-time with the Daily News. But for a writer New York is like a fairground, and I think it’s time to go on some of the other rides. Also lately I’ve developed a peculiar attitude towards scandal—with some of the items that have crossed my desk I’ve thought, 'This really isn’t any of my business.' Which is problematic for a professional gossip columnist.

"I approached Gatecrasher as essentially a humor column that happened to be about gossip. But now for me it’s time to Leave Britney Alone. Two weeks ago I went down to Palm Beach for Ivana Trump’s wedding, which was a hoot. Around midnight, as the reception was winding down, I found Kathy Hilton alone in a corridor. She was in front of a full-length mirror, holding her dress and dancing with her own reflection like a happy teenager. Something about that moment struck me as the perfect image to leave Gossip with."

Ben's retirement completes a circle. Every single New York City gossip columnist who started out around the same time as I did are all gone now, victims of the inevitable burn out. Well, all but one...

"But—spoiler warning—things don't turn out so well for him. According to the source, in the fictionalized version the gossip is killed when his car is wired with a bomb." [Gatecrasher]

Reached for comment, Stern gave us some plot rumors of his own: "I hear that Burkle is being played by John Goodman. He goes to jail in the end—just like he will in real life—becomes the sweetheart of Cellblock C and finally gets to empathize with all those teenagers who found themselves face-down in the back of [his private jet] 'Air Force Two.'"

Our theory, for what it's worth, is that these tales are just remnants of an old song and dance. Cruise was basically discovered, or at least developed, by David Geffen, a known and powerful gay. Wouldn't you, a 20-something year-old, cute young actor maybe play up the gay a bit, if it could land you a star-making movie like Risky Business? Now many years and great successes later, those early desperate days keep coming back to haunt him. It'd be like if someone was constantly telling potential friends and lovers stories about when you were in high school, when you were needy and would do anything to be in a clique. Except, you know, Tom is a gigantic crazy person with an army of angry lawyers and you're, well, just you.

"Which former stockbroker who was known for good looks and charm has let himself get fat and worse? A recent male date complained that the former hunk was also suffering from halitosis." [NYP]

If we missed any today, please let us know.

Our first black carpet sack was Nicole Fiscella, who plays Isabele Coates on the show . She showed us her tattoos. One says "Live to Inspire" in Sanskrit. The other is the Icelandic character for wisdom. "I have to cover them up for show," she said. Nearby some reporter from E! asked Leighton Meester (who plays Blair Waldorf), "Do you feel like this show is going to change your life?" Meester said: "It already has."

But it was really up to Les Moonves's wife and Big Brother host Julie Chen to ask the hard hitting questions. "Leighton," she said, sticking her microphone into Leighton's face space, "I've been pouring over interviews we've had in the past, you are by far the most intelligent and articulate person I've ever interviewed. [Beat] How do you do it?" In profile Meester's face looks like a delicate batiked Easter egg just beginning to crack.

Not to call Ms. Chen a liar but our favorite interviewee had to be Nan Zhang, who plays Katy Farkas. When asked what nationality her character was supposed to be, Zhang, who was born in China, replied, "I have no idea." But, and here's the cool part, even while she is on the show Zhang is continuing her studies at John Hopkins in premed and neuroscience! Zhang said that since she started filming the show, her social life has kind of gone to shit as now she constantly assesses the true intentions of her friends. Her shoes seemed like they were made out of diamonds.

As we made our way in, Nigel Lawson made his way out and "Charlie's Angels" director McG apologized to Josh Schwartz for leaving early. "We've gotta go man," he said to Schwartz. "I thought the party was from 7 to 10!" It was 8.

The inside of Tenjune (for those of you who have happily stayed away, it's basically just a basement) was filled with short squat men in horizontal stripes and taller skinnier women in baby doll shifts and halter tops. Daily News gossip columnist Ben Widdicombe, who we ran into at Florent later, called it the ninth circle of hell. Words like "wealthy," "sexy" and "naive" were projected onto the wall and Stealers Wheel's "Stuck In the Middle" played. In the VIP section, America's Next Top model winner Jaslene, who smells like an ashtray and looks like a tranny, was the only vaguely famous person. She was wearing a purple sequined beret.

Ideology was served alongside little cubes of watermelon and gorgonzola. After "Gossip Girl" premieres, the assembled congregation knew, the world would be a different place. The petites contretemps of the Upper East Side had found its spokespersons and right now, they were sipping mojitos and singing, "Well I don't know why I came here tonight, I got the feeling that something ain't right, I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair, And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs...."

[Photos: Jennifer Mitchell / Splash News]

The first one that immediately springs to mind is Radar—no one really knows how much Yusuf Jackson is on the hook for, and maybe, after all that, the involvement of Ron Burkle really is just that—a rumor? Or maybe not, and Daddy Burkle just lost interest.

Other possibilities: OK!, though supposedly they're on an upswing; 02138, though it's not really glossy—it's more matte; GOOD, but don't they have like a gajillion dollars?; and... gosh, we're stumped. Radar it is then?

Don't Shoot the Messenger [NYDN]

Which smoking-hot young TV actress started on her way in the industry by bedding one of the least attractive 'SNL' cast members while still in college?

Gawker Media polls require Javascript; if you're viewing this in an RSS reader, click through to view in your Javascript-enabled web browser.

Inside the restaurant, Tom Wolfe had his photo taken with Julia Allison. (That bears repeating: Tom Wolfe had his photo taken with Julia Allison.) Kurt Andersen made a little chit-chat before begging off to the Larry King appreciation party in the next room. (They had better snacks, by far. Also CNN partygoers received a Coach-imitation leather tote with a CNN tag, and a DVD of King's reputedly best work. You could sneak in through the kitchen.) The two parties side-by-side may have been a slight disaster on the part of Steven Rubenstein and his PR folks, but it came off fine, actually. (It was a question of wattage; did we see Hillary Clinton presswoman Jennifer Hanley outside, meaning that Hillary Clinton was inside the CNN party?)

Uniformed waiters were aggressive with the hors d'oeuvres, most of which featured caviar in some form, but the knot of yarmulked men gathered by the bar ignored them. (The duck, the shrimp, the crabcakes!) Also not eating, or drinking, was Jared's rehabilitated felon father, Charles Kushner, who mostly spoke in low tones to men at the end of the bar. Ever-gracious Jared entertained a seemingly endless stream of well-wishers and posed for photographs. The real estate broker-developer Michael Shvo said he'd call him about having lunch. Jared recently purchased the most expensive office building in America.

So how were things at the paper? "We're having a lot of fun," Jared said. Was he dating Ivanka Trump? "We're just friends. But thanks for asking." So that partnership was all business too.

Ms. Trump was in a very nice short black dress, looking tall and blonde; she talked for what seemed like eons with Jared's assistant Kimberly. Steven Rubenstein, who represents the Observer and the Kushner family, made sure everyone was having a good time and that the photographers were getting all the right people; he talked with did not talk with New York Times reporter Allen Salkin, who wrote such nice things about Jared in the Sunday Styles section.

Cindy Adams talked to Police Commissioner Ray Kelly, notebook in hand, hair at attention. Salon editor Joan Walsh, in a pantsuit, stayed close to Salon writer and former NYO staffer Rebecca Traister. Harry Evans was there with his wife, former lots-of-places editor Tina Brown, who spent a lot of time deep in very close conversation with W/WWD boy Jacob Bernstein.

"I love this tabloid!" Mr. Evans said, Britishly. "I seized it with great joy before a long bus ride, and I loved every word!" He is somewhat reminiscent of a brilliant leprechaun. "Joe Conason on politics! John Heilpern! The Obama piece! I thought it was terrific! The tabloid format is far better." Mr. Evans said that the bus had taken him to Southampton.

Ms. Brown has recently finished her book about Princess Diana. "It's like a plum pudding—there are great nuggets everywhere!" she said. "It's as much about celebrity culture as it is about Diana herself." And how did Ms. Brown feel about the Stephen Frears film The Queen? "I loved The Queen," Ms. Brown said. "It was very accurate! Except for the portrayal of Robin Janvrin, the Queen's private secretary. He looks like Kenneth Branagh in real life."

Ms. Brown said that the book had taken her a year and a half; for it, she conducted 250 interviews. "I feel like a giant whale has been lifted from my head."

Maer Roshan, who worked for Ms. Brown at her short-lived magazine Talk, was there with a bundle of his Radar-ites, including his lieutenant Chris Tennant, who was holding court with several ladies in a booth. He was wearing jeans that appeared to have been painted on. That tall woman with the jet-black hair, talking with the older man? So tall! Atoosa Rubenstein! Lots of flashbulbs.

Observer reporters seemed vaguely uncomfortable at such an extravagant gathering ("It's the Observer with money," more than one was overheard whispering), and they swiped multiple Bellinis as they came around on silver trays. Transom reporter Spencer Morgan however did not look uncomfortable.

Jessica Joffe wore eyeglasses. Slate editor Jacob Weisberg and Domino editor Deborah Needleman arrived with New York's Ariel Levy. Jacob is going on a three-month book leave soon. Andrew Balazs, Columbia J-school graduate, was there solo. Lloyd Grove was not in attendance, but Ben Widdicombe, Hud Morgan, and Daily News gossip boy Patrick Huguenin were.

We were promised there'd be no speeches but there was a microphone and so Jared took it and said that 20 years ago, when the New York Observer was founded, he was starting a venture called... kindergarten. His voice still has a little hint of his Livingston, New Jersey upbringing. The new website, he said, was to launch on Monday, but as a preview, they had a page up on the screen. (The Four Seasons, it turns out, does not have Internet access.) Jared said he was very fortunate to work with Peter Kaplan, the editor of the newspaper, a sentiment that was greeted with cheers from the crowd. "We get to go to the 21st century with a new newspaper," said Kaplan. He then referred to the paper's former owner and publisher, Arthur Carter, as "my buddy and weekly tormenter."

Of the paper, he said: "The paper is younger, thinner, and better looking, like Jared."

We talked to Peter Kaplan in person. "For anyone under 30, the New York Times is a queen-sized sheet!" he said. "Going smaller was the best thing we could have done. We're still smart. We still have an edge." He said something about possibly becoming the smartest tabloid in America. "It was time to make a change. I love it. It's great!"

Jacob Bernstein left in Peggy Siegal's car. The New Yorker's Nick Paumgarten may have left with William Berlind for stiffer drinks. Patrick McMullan's photographers would prove unable to identify Alex Kuczynski. Ivanka Trump left alone, and on foot, heading east on 52nd Street. —Doree

The mixture of financial types, publishing people, drink-cadging bloggers, and assorted hangers-on made for the kind of spectacle that, could they ever have conceived of it, would have made the Pilgrims decide that any kind of torture and oppression was better to endure than sailing to an unknown continent to lay the groundwork for a country that would, on some chilly evening in the early spring of one of the nation's most prosperous decades, put forth a party like this one. You hated loving hating to love being there, and you struggled to conceal yourself, and before you knew it you were being introduced to Jay McInerney and telling him that, yes, you were the one who called him "Douchebag, Jay Douchebag" on your silly little website, an admission he took with the calm demeanor of someone used to having complete strangers let him know that they had referred to him as a douchebag each time he made a new acquaintance. Which is to say he smiled, nodded, and then told a story about himself that, while amusing, did nothing to disprove the earlier judgment. Still, he was perfectly friendly, and was soon posing for pictures with young Vachon, who was outfitted in the standard blazer and underbuttoned shirt that seem to mark so many young men who have come into a great fortune via inheritance, the financial markets, or gigantic book deals. This was his room, this was his time, and everyone around him moved about with the constant awareness that they were in the presence of the season's Next Big Thing. He outshone the combined wattage of the thousand Next Little Things who scurried about the packed event trying to grab the oversized appetizers that were being passed around by harried buspeople.

Looking around you were overwhelmed by the stunning mediocrity of most of it. Did you see Nick Denton in the back, standing close—but not too close—to his former employee (and Mergers dedicatee) Elizabeth Spiers? Was that Radar resurrectionist Maer Roshan leaning back and carrying low in a conversation with a reporter from WWD? Who would win the battle of drunken WASP stereotypes with the surname Morgan, Hudson or Spencer? Could the News' Ben Widdicombe get in enough free wines before Cocktail's Jo Piazza finished the last bottle? Why weren't we informed that no one wears ties anymore? It's a sad day when publishing types are dressed better than the finance types, but it's even sadder when the bloggers are sporting neckwear.

There was a stunned moment of shocked ecstasy when, by the wall where Roshan deputy Chris Tennant was disgruntledly flirting, a full set of breasts came into view, their sparkly flesh somehow offering to extend and make good the promise of sex. Then, just as quickly you realized it was Julia Allison, and tried to think of puppies and babies, anything good and pure. It shouldn't have been a surprise to see her—she's everywhere, like ejaculate on a porn booth floor—but it seemed like as good a time as any to surf the crowd and find someone willing to offer a quote. I passed by Radar whatever Neel Shah, but I didn't need any advice on dating or taxicab etiquette or blogging for Glamour, so I moved on. Spotting literary agent David Kuhn, I introduced myself and told him I worked for Gawker, which was probably not a good idea.

"So David," I asked, "how do you feel about being Out magazine's fiftieth most powerful gay?"

"Is this for print?"

"Fuck yeah."

"Then just say I'm happy I wasn't the fifty-first." He then went on to say something extremely funny and extremely off the record about Out's Aaron Hicklin and, perhaps realizing that the last thing you want to do around an inebriated gossip blogger is start being candid, asked "Hey, do you want to meet the real Roger Thorne?"

Thorne is the "id" character of Mergers, an entitled, foul-mouthed, nip-slip-obsessed caricature of every Ivy League WASP who has done well in life due to family connections rather than any semblance of intelligence. How could I not want to meet the model? Kuhn, desperate to get rid of me lest he say something catty about Tina Brown, was happy to make the introductions and disappear.

"Dude, I love Gawker!" said the Thorne inspiration.

"Dude, I loved your character! How does it feel to be the model for Roger Thorne?"

"Dude, it's awesome! I mean, some of that stuff was exaggerated, but you know—" He suddenly grew wistful and displayed the kind of reticence with which the banker in the book was entirely unfamiliar. "I'd prefer that this isn't on Gawker. You know, I just want to have a good time."

I was started to feel that second stage of inebriation, the one where you know you have a good hour, if that, of comprehensibility left, so I nodded and shook his firm American hand and went out into the cool air to clear my head and fill my lungs with smoke. My head hurt from overindulgence in the drinks department and underindulgence on the solid side—we expect too much of alcohol and too little of hors d' uvre—but as I worked my way toward the door I swore I saw the only two women who work for Radar.

Outside was no better than in, except you could smoke and you were less likely to run into Nick Denton, who will pick random moments at parties to discuss the unnecessary technical changes he's forcing on your website and mutter ominously about post counts and generally just scare the shit out of you that you're going to be fired within the week. Managing Editor Choire Sicha was smoking—Managing Editor Choire Sicha is always smoking—and discussing the merits of Remnick v. Brown with Roshan, a longtime Brown partisan. Somewhere in the background I could hear the Canadian-accented tones of the Huffington Post's Rachel Sklar and her posse of Eat the Pressers. Balthazar habitu Lockhart Steele was chatting with New York Sun contributor Meghan Keane. Dealbreaker's John Carney hobbled about on one crutch. It occurred to me that these were the same fucking people I saw at work or in bars every day. I checked in with the people from Riverhead, who lamented the absence of Emily Gould since it left them unable to thank her for keeping the book so prominent in the cultural conversation.

Vachon approached once more. He was in excellent spirits, effusive with praise, modest in his own success, proud to point out the fine family members who had come to town for the celebration. Vachon told me how much my support for the novel meant to him, how my assessment of its flaws mirrored his own. He told me all this and my hand grew tighter around my drink. I stared at Dana blankly as I realized that having to write this report as an inconsistent dispatch in the style of his novel was going to be painful and time-consuming for me and anyone who had to read it. Then I felt warm liquid on my hand and looked at my tie and first noticed the thin trail of dark red that trickled down my jacket. I was spilling wine on myself and it became clear to everyone how drunk I was. It wasn't until I put the glass down and saw how the wine had pooled on my jeans and dripped down to my shoes, and how it came now more quickly, through my fingers, that, in the space of a final epiphany, I finally understood it all. I really need to switch to white; it stains less. —balk

• Nobody watched "I'm From Rolling Stone." [WWD]
  
• Google in a deal with CBS; don't get too excited, it's just radio for now. [MDN]
  
• Fox News: Ted Kennedy is a "hostile enemy" of the United States. [ThinkProgress]
  
• Some lady from the BBC named Managing Editor at HuffPo. No word on whether or not she's got a qualified rack. [Romenesko]
  
• Doug Brod named editor at Spin. [WWD]
  
• Judy Miller: fans in high places. [NYS]
  
• Blind Item: What scribe from a media-centric weekly publication was gatecrashed while covering a gossip columnist's birthday fiesta? It's not really daily news that sometimes people have to wait in line for the bathroom, but we hear that this journalist was observed over the transom trying to avoid the line by urinating off of the fire escape. The none-too-pleased host was concerned for his neighbors down under, and chided the young reporter until he turned pink-sheeted with embarrassment. [NYO, second item, "Ben Widdicombe Loves Weiners, Especially the One I Whipped Out On His Fire Escape"]

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