Gawker: culture, diary

We Believe You Can Fly Quietly

Jesse — Tue, 12 Jul 2005 13:59:44 EDT

What, so you don't like R. Kelly?

Oh, you just don't like visiting a website that spontaneously starts playing his music each time you visit? Right. Gotcha.

Yes, we recognize the irony that this has been happening while we're running an item about how people waste time at work by surfing the web.

And, no, this wasn't a Psych 101 experiment designed to make you understand what it's like to have an uncontrollable iPod built into your brain.

It was just some confusion with a new ad. We don't allow ads that start playing music when you visit the site, and this was a mistake. We've disabled the offender. (Though it might still take a few minutes to fall out of rotation.)

Sorry about that.

Please don't hate us.

Thanks.

R. Kelly [AllMusic]

Gawker's Week in Review: Bombs, Jail, and Rehnquist

Jesse — Fri, 08 Jul 2005 18:40:27 EDT

• Some bad shit went down in London, and we were, characteristically, obnoxiously insensitive about it. Even more characteristically, so was Greg Gutfield.
• Judy Miller goes to jail — and looks fabulous on her way there.
• Matt Cooper doesn't go to jail.
• And, elsewhere, Lil' Kim is sentenced to a year and a day for perjury.
• Angelina adopts a baby boy with Brad. Or a baby girl on her own. Whichever.
• At the Observer, a new website but no lunch breaks.
• Old Kurt Andersen had a farm. A completely unironic farm.
• Natalie Portman, terrorist?
• Staten Island high-school basketball coach indicted for spanking students. Which apparently is frowned upon.
• And, to cap it all off, maybe William Rehnquist is retiring. Swell.

Advertiser Pyrotechnics

Jesse — Fri, 01 Jul 2005 13:34:35 EDT

Thanks to this week's sponsors, whose tip-jar contributions will help us pay Jerry Della Femina's fireworks fines. Interested in joining our explosively good times? More info here.

• American Apparel
• The Traveler
• The Pet Set
• Fatal Attraction - The Play
• Radar Mag
• MaxDelivery
• Dos Equis
• Feist
• Verizon
• Billy Corgan
• Rock and Roll Hall of Fame
• Nokia
• CNN

Gawker's Week in Review: It's a Gay, Gay, Gay, Gay World

Jesse — Fri, 24 Jun 2005 18:54:47 EDT

• Nationally renowned psychiatry expert Dr. Tom Cruise goes on Today show, having clearly forgotten to take his own meds.
• Time's guerrilla marketing continues to fail to impress.
• Hipsters head north; yuppies head further north.
• Kathy Hilton's reality show debuts, sucks.
• It was the gayest week ever at Gawker. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
• Of course celebrities are special. Even your brain cells think so.
• There's nothing wrong with Maxim. Other than everything that was wrong with it in the first place.
• Find New York ATM-emptyingly expensive? Turns out there are 12 cities even worse.
• Chicago Tribune publishes list of country's 50 best magazines, reminding you why you don't pay attention to Midwesterners in the first place.
• And how would we have made it through the week without Lindsay Lohan?

Gawker's Week in Review: Misty Watercolored Memories of Stadiums, 'Radar,' and Mr. Big

Jesse — Fri, 17 Jun 2005 18:45:32 EDT

• Think the defeat of the West Side Stadium means New York won't get a new sports arena? Think again. And again. And again.
• Radar reports that Russian gadfly Inna De Silva may or may not have fleeced New York mag and Phoebe Eaton for a luxury vacation in Monaco on Kurt Andersen's editorial watch. Eaton says it's untrue, Radar says it is. We're too hot to investigate further.
• Can't quite get your mind around the TomKat trainwreck? Neither could we. Fortunately, trainwreck expert Lizzie Grubman was there to help us through this trying time.
• Like, it's so totally awesome that Mr. Big knows our name. Now if only he'd stop lying about us.
• It's amazing what your gay ex-husband's oil millions can buy: Gawker spies visited the HuffPost's pleasure dome.
• A famous editor has a diaper fetish, but we have no idea who it is.
• Tucker Carlson's MSNBC show debuted, and Henry the Intern once again has a reason to live.
• We get ignored at lunch.
• And it was a sad week for notorious New York real estate.

Dreams That You Dare to Dream Really Do Come True: Get Paid to Surf Porn

Jesse — Wed, 15 Jun 2005 15:00:34 EDT

We usually try to keep friends away from our pervy little brother — God only knows what he might pull from his nightstand and casually suggest might be interesting to "experiment" with. This particular romp, however, seems reasonably wholesome. We'll leave the seduction to him:

Ever wanted to experience the exciting, glamorously underpaid life of a semiprofessional porn blogger? Well, here's your chance: Fleshbot is looking for additions to our editorial team to help mind the shop over the summer (and beyond, if things work out). Our ideal applicant(s) will have both a dirty mind and a keen eye for the sexy side of pop culture; be able to date photographs of Jenna Jameson based on her hair color and breast size; and know the proper use of semicolons.

Heh. He said "semicolons."

Fleshbot Wants You [Fleshbot]

Letter From the Editors: A Double Pleasure Is Waiting for You

Jessica — Mon, 13 Jun 2005 10:57:19 EDT

This was taken at approximately 7:30 this morning.

You know what I totally hate? Guest editors. Don't get me wrong — they were all lovely, charming souls, just demented enough to handle a week of this silliness. But it's time to settle down, think realistically, and start behaving like an adult.

To clarify: Gawker has not been a one-man ship since last December. Basically, we wanted to up the ante to 24 posts a day and, methed-up as I may be, no one person can really manage all that plus the additional, boring, business junk. So we brought Matt Haber on board for an imprecise period of time, just as a test run. We liked how things went and you kids got greedy, so we started looking for a permanent co-editor. Thus the past month or so I ve been rotating guests, trying on different fits, seeing who could put up with my unfettered jackassery and your unbridled love.

After a search that took us from the furthest reaches of Morningside Heights to the fiery pits of Chinatown, we're pleased to announce Jesse Oxfeld, formerly of Editor & Publisher (and, in a different life, mediabistro.com), as your new Gawker co-editor. Known for his love of fine scotches and gerbera daisies, Jesse will be working with me to keep your day appropriately petty and unproductive. Hand-in-hand, we're skipping towards hell — come along for the ride, won't you?

Guest Editor: Thank You For Being A Friend

Leitch — Fri, 10 Jun 2005 18:16:21 EDT

Well, I made it. I spent one week as the final guest editor here, and I somehow made it through without breaking any of the furniture. This is the first real, live blogging I've ever done, and I hope, when the new guy comes in Monday, I have not devalued the franchise to level of a penny stock, or, say, Salon. Thank you to the lovely Ms. Coen for fixing all my screwups and being a lovely host, to the readers for tolerating me and to Cinemax Adult On Demand, which filled in all those "downtime" gaps. Read The Black Table, pre-order my new book, hold your kittens tight and, of course, root for the Cardinals to whup up the Yankees this weekend. Let's get krump!—Will Leitch

A Public Cry For Help: Save Intern Neel!

Jessica — Fri, 10 Jun 2005 16:27:02 EDT

In times of crisis, we try not to be complete assholes. So: One of our loyal, handsome interns, Neel Shah, has just completed his tour of duty at everyone's favorite fake Ivy, Dartmouth (where he was referred to as a "campus gadfly"). He even graduated cum laude — but don't tell his parents, or he'll shame the family as the only Indian who failed to pull magna. Besides interning at Gawker for the past year, Neel also knows how to type words and create sentences, having honed his skills at The Black Table and the Observer.

A talented writer, loyal pet, and fantastic bartender, Neel would die 2 work 4 u. The need for employment is so desperate, in fact, that he's actually contemplating a move to a far western land where people eat granola and last call is at 1:30 AM. Tragic. Neel is submissive, self-hating, and well-groomed — clearly, he is meant to be in New York.

If you're interested Neel's cheap labor, please send all correspondence to Neel.Shah.05@Alum.Dartmouth.ORG. He will fetch your coffee and staple your TPS reports like no other and when you beat him, he ll secretly like it. In other words, Neel s your perfect new hire.

Our Advertisers Give Us Chinchilla Panties

Jessica — Fri, 10 Jun 2005 09:35:23 EDT

Thanks to this week's sponsors, whose blood money keeps our bathtubs filled with caviar. Interested in catching the attention of our well-heeled audience? More info here.

· American Apparel
· High Tension
· Summer of Love
· Verizon
· Altoids
· White Stripes
· Radar
· Max Delivery
· The Pet Set
· Audi
· Showtime
· The Discovery Channel
· Rock and Roll Hall of Fame
· HBO
· Nokia

Gawker Media Now Hiring

Jessica — Thu, 09 Jun 2005 15:53:08 EDT

Have you always longed to be the cousin Oliver to our Brady Bunch? Now's your chance, as Gawker Media is looking to fill some positions:

CSS GURU: We need a CSS master — a real markup genius and a standards freak who's comfortable working in Movable Type, too. We're looking for someone on a project basis that could lead to a larger role in the future, so you must have the schedule flexibility this summer to work on a succession of projects. Please send along samples of your CSS skills along with a brief description of yourself and links to relevant work. Surprise us. Send emails to css@gawker.com.

ASSISTANT DESIGNER: Looking for an assistant designer to help out on a part-time basis with ad hoc projects like banner ads, print layouts, icons, merchandising and the like. Email designer@gawker.com, giving a brief description of yourself and a link to your online resume and portfolio. Please do NOT include a full resume or any attachments: emails with attachments will be 100% ignored.

Back By Popular Demand: The Gawker T-Shirt

Jessica — Tue, 07 Jun 2005 16:48:55 EDT

Back in December, we tried our hand at selling some haute Gawker couture t-shirts — but, alas, they moved more quickly than Kevin Federline's manjuice. We didn't make enough and kinda sold out in, like, 23 minutes, thus leaving you all in a tizzy because we screwed you out of easy holiday gift options for your friends. Who knew we'd be so bad at shamelessly whoring ourselves?

Not wanting to cause you such pain as before, we've made a goddamned store's worth of product for your greedy little fingers. Satiate your capitalist libido with a new batch of our Gawker threads; Hollywood-y and Washington-y tees are also available in Defamer and Wonkette-approved designs. Order yours now, just in time for this weekend's wet t-shirt contests!

Gawker Shop

Reader Emails: All You Have To Do Is Ask

Jessica — Mon, 06 Jun 2005 16:26:29 EDT

In our inbox, a simple request:

how come no posts about how hot it is outside? i love weather-related stuff.

Okay! How about this heat wave? I had to turn on my air conditioner. Crazy stuff.

Clarifying The Rumor Mill: I'm Actually Dead.

Jessica — Mon, 06 Jun 2005 11:15:14 EDT

Today's Daily News contained a lovely surprise: Rush and Molloy are reporting that my large-headed gimpmaster is searching for my replacement. This was news to me, of course — but, just as Jennifer found out Brad was fucking Angelina in Africa thanks to US Weekly, I've learned that Nick Denton has hired Radar's token hetero, Chris Tennant, to replace me. Seeing as I've caught on to the master plan, I expect to be bound, gagged, and shoved in a trunk any minute now.

For the three of you who might actually care, a brighter future is on my horizon. I've heard that I'm pursuing other opportunities — but those cagey assnuts have yet to tell me what those opportunities are. Do they involve food? Living wages? An actual sick day? A town car filled with cigarettes? Oooh, maybe I'm going to Condé and they'll give me a diaper-clad slave of my very own! One can only hope.

In related news, my last name is now spelled "Cohen" and Gawker Media is actually owned by Rupert Murdoch.

Update: Hello? I'm joking. It's C-O-E-N.
Side Dish [R&M, bottom of page]

Guest Editor: We Come In Peace

Leitch — Mon, 06 Jun 2005 08:36:32 EDT

Hello. I'm Will, and it is important that you know that I am pure of heart. This is my first time as a real, live blogger, as they say; at The Black Table, we have always denied we are a blog, if just because we thought that would hurt our chances to get girls. Anyway. I also have done work for Radar, and it's worth noting that I think the magazine is actually good, and that everyone there is nice and handsome and strangely tall. I am also catastrophically sunburned. So here I am. Rock me like an extreme weather pattern. Let's get krump! -WL

Letter From The Editor: A New, Warm Body In My Bed

Jessica — Mon, 06 Jun 2005 08:15:50 EDT

Proving NASA's theory that no human being can tolerate the pain of working with yours truly for more than 10 days, we've moved on to our next helpless soul, Mister Will Leitch (pronounced "leech," and best delivered with a note of sympathy for poor Will's brutal childhood). Will is managing editor of The Black Table and author of Life as a Loser, and his interests include freshly-cut flowers, high thread counts, and rare blends of hot cocoa — all of which helped him fit in with our friends at nuevo periodico Radar, where Leitch was most recently a contributing editor. Having now chosen to pursue the glamour of our revolving roster of underemployed freelance writers, you can catch Will smoking in the Gawker bathroom. Be nice, and maybe he'll let you touch his collector's edition Zuckerman Zippo.

Guest Editor: Our Two-Week National Nightmare Is Over

Pareene — Fri, 03 Jun 2005 19:00:17 EDT

It's been fun, everyone, but I'm returning to obscurity. It pays better.

Thanks to Jessica for patiently explaining to me again and again what "Conde Nast" is and why I'm supposed to care; Lockhart Steele and Nick Denton for both being quite clean and good-looking; and thanks particularly to Thomas Friedman, for teaching me to love again. But most of all, thanks to you, the readers, for sending in great tips and links and devastating remarks about my intelligence.

If you need me, I'll be writing an anonymous blog full of vicious rumors about Denton.

-Alex Pareene

The Gawker Policy on Anonymous Sources

Pareene — Thu, 02 Jun 2005 13:34:52 EDT

As some people have already noted, the Deep Throat story has returned to the public eye just as the media engaged in a debate over the use of anonymous sourcing. Outlets like the New York Times and Newsweek have received a great deal of criticism recently over the quality of their reporting, and have announced very public plans to revamp their sourcing policies. We here at Gawker have thought long and hard about these issues as well — as a shining beacon of integrity and trustworthiness, the last bastion of true objective journalism in the forest of opinionated "bloggers" and shouting partisans, we know we have a responsibility to our readership, who depend on us for solid, unimpeachable reporting from credible sources. To preserve that fragile trust, we give you the Gawker Policy on Anonymous Sources:

1) We will not print information from an anonymous source unless we read it in an email, or are told it while drunk.

The rest, after the jump.

2) We will work to ensure the accuracy of all information from sources requesting anonymity, unless it's pretty funny.
3) Effort will be made to explain to the readers why a source requested anonymity, often with excuses we make up or self-writing jokes about Anna Wintour.
4) Sometimes, a source will remain anonymous because we forget his or her name.
5) Confidential sources must have direct knowledge of the information they are giving us or they must be the authorized representatives of an authority, known to us, who has such knowledge. Or they could have heard it from their boyfriend's friend who works for Hearst, or someone they met at a bar last night. Or they could have dreamed it.
6) Sources abusing their anonymity to engage in personal attack will be printed immediately and egged on irresponsibly. -AP

Deep Throat and Anonymous Sources [FishBowlNY]

Gawker Media Launches Oddjack

Jessica — Wed, 01 Jun 2005 13:37:14 EDT

Much like any family-friendly company, Gawker Media prides itself on vice. We've covered porn and gossip, but our lawyers are getting tired with the boring old libel and obscenity suits. It's time for some real trouble, like gambling!

Meet Oddjack, the unlucky thirteenth site from Gawker Media. Edited by AJ Daulerio, Oddjack covers everything you need to know to fuck up your life, from basic poker tourneys to the odds on all things Paris Hilton.

Now go read up so you can test your luck and your bank account. Your kid doesn't want to go to college anyhow.

Oddjack

The Spider Club: Celebrity Menagerie

Mark — Tue, 31 May 2005 15:03:55 EDT

While the unwashed masses piled into automobiles and legroom-bereft economy airline seats to escape our fair city for the holiday weekend, the industry's distressingly thin stall-monkeys, untalented, less attractive younger sisters, and semifamous, vaguely ethnic television gardeners assembled at the usual spot for the usual night of unremarkable fame-related stuff:

At Spider Club on Friday, hungry bobble heads Lindsey Lohan & Nicole Richie sitting up on the back of their booth for everyone to see, joined by Ashlee Simpson a little later. Christina Aguilera & Jordan Bratman at a table across the room, next to another table where Kimberly Stewart was hanging all over that Puddle of Mudd guy. Some other B-listers cruising around – LeeLee Sobieski, Rachel Lee Cook (waiting patiently in the 500 person girls bathroom line), and the gardener Jesse Metcalf. Good times.

If it weren't theoretically impossible to construct a cuff tight enough to keep Lohan's or Richie's skinny wrists from slipping out, we'd suggest that they were shackled to those Spider Club booths, forced to spend their weekend on display for the shiny-shirt crowd. Maybe the promoters screw the chains directly into their bones, which would probably hold just long enough to get a sufficient amount of Grey Goose into their bloodstreams to kill the impulse to escape to another club up the street.