In a piece about Gawker and celebrity news, Heather Havrilesky asks Salon readers:

But in this head-spinning year of celebrity obsession and backlash, did we gain anything by listening in on Alec Baldwin’s private phone message to his daughter, or watching camera-phone footage of David Hasselhoff drunkenly scarfing down a hamburger, or reading Charlie Sheen’s alleged e-mails to his ex, Denise Richards?

And the answer from FBLA is yes, yes we did. We learned that fame, fortune and talent do not equate good judgment and a refined sensibility and that trashy behavior is not confined to the obese who shop at Wal-mart, drive SUVs, vote Republican, eat at chain restaurants and give their children kre8tive names.

HH decries what she calls the logic of the Year of the Lunatic:

If the rich and famous are happy and carefree, then you, by dint of your relative insignificance and poverty, have every right to make them as unhappy as humanly possible.

This from a woman who authored The Pop-up Book of Celebrity Meltdowns, vols. I, II.

Evel Knievel dies at age 69.

Martin Scorsese’s newest film: La Clave Reserva

Just in time for the holidays! KOST fires Kim Amidon, after 22 years. via Franklin Ave.

Hollywood Bitchslap has an Oscar tote board up. Sasha Stone as well with better commentary but less useful visuals.

EW lists the 50 Smartest People in Hollywood, which is insane as well as inane. They can’t mean book smart, as Spielberg is notorious for never reading anything. They can’t mean career smarts, as Ben Stiller just made another stinker. So what do they mean?

Nikki Finke is now known as Sista Toldja.

Writers Balk in Talks or Talks Hit Pause Button. A little birdie told us that Variety writers are really tired of the emails accusing them of bias. Really, really tired.

Katie Holmes and a little dear and a little deer.

And Gawker has some openings.

Gawker posts about Spencer Pratt’s old tutor who got the Hills resident evil mastermind through freshman English at USC. The tutor, Nicole Kristal, wrote about how dumb rich kids suck for Newsweek in 2005.

The aptly-named Pratt was outed by some tipster, but we’re betting on Kristal herself. She should pitch a sitcom based on her adventures with the cute, dumb and loaded.

Does the Huffington Post pay by the word? 4511.
On the live Saturday Night Live show. And only 5 comments.

Gawker, however, recaps the recap, and Rachel Sklar shows up to defend herself from the vicious readers.

Sklar has quite the schwarmerei for SNL.

Author Charlie LeDuff traveled the globe for the NY Times, and now lives in Hollywood, but he’s a million miles away from all the strike action. Why? Because he and his little daughter are at home or driving to Yoga World or going to the park. He writes in Men’s Vogue:

I made a promise to my kin and I’m keeping it. My child will never call someone else Daddy. And so we run our epic little routine: Breakfast. Nap. Walk. Church. Park. Lunch. Nap. Bath. Book time. Toy time. Mommy time. Dinner. Bed. Then a nice glass of Pinot for Papa.

The Mommy and Me Yoga class turned him away, as some of the mommies might feel “uncomfortable” with a daddy in the class. If they only knew.

Gawker, predictably, takes the snide road.

The WGA members seem to be worried about their public image. Maybe if they start the picket lines before 9 (like when the Teamsters go to work), the strikers might be taken more seriously. And lose the lattes and the Blackberries.

United Hollywood suggests there’ll be chaos. They wish.

We stand corrected: a picketer got hit by some crazed fool who must really hate reruns.

TV Guide has a handy guide for viewers, whoever they are.

At The Artful Writer, Craig Mazin’s blog, commentors seem to think journalists are all against them, because Big Media Corporate Owners want movie ad revenue. Which explains why so few journalists want to write for the movies.

The NYT piece shows the need for a re-write on the chant:

No money? No downloads. No downloads? No peace.

Wired’s guy in LA tries to prove that he knows what he’s writing about.

Gawker is chortling because there won’t be an Amy Winehouse SNL.

Twitter has a WritersStrike post.

The LA Times has news of an apologetic reality show worker crossing a picket line–like the WGA would do the same for her.

Tom Bomb has some viewing suggestions if the thought of re-runs is disheartening. On the other hand, if you’ve ignored most of the crap on TV, it’ll all be fresh if you watch now.

Vanessa Grigoriadis gets back at Gawker for making fun of her wedding write-up. Writing in New York, Grigoriadis writes:

Like most journalists, I tend to have a defeatist attitude about Gawker, dismissing it as the Mystery Science Theater 3000 of journalism, or accepting its vague put-downs under the principle that any press is good press.

She liked Elizabeth Spiers, but then she felt sorry for Judith Regan, too. She also has a very odd perspective on things, writing:

A Town Car pulls to the curb: It’s the most famous young journalist in the city, Julia Allison.

Julia Allison is a journalist? This is a joke, right?

Nick Denton responds with a shrug.

FishbowlNY points out that Grigordias doesn’t have much dirt to share, which is a real pity. Maybe living in LA is mellowing her out. Oh, wait–she did find out this:

Until recently, most Gawker bloggers were paid a flat rate of $12 per post for twelve posts a day, with quarterly bonuses adding to the bottom line; these bonuses could be used to buy equity in the company, which took two years to vest. Now, Denton is moving to a pay-for-performance system.

No wonder Balk left. No wonder Gawker’s always so mean about mb.com.

Gawker hit a new low, posting a hit piece about a 4-year-old this week. They called said 4-year-old “the worst,” declared they “hate” him and justified it all by explaining that he’s not a 4-year-old; he’s Neal Pollack’s 4-year-old.

Now, we’re no fans of Pollack, but this is out of line. And since 4 seems to be the median age of our readership, we feel the moral obligation to defend Elijah Pollack and the precocious spawn of self-absorbed writers everywhere.

Gawker, you either say sorry for hitting children right now, or you’re getting a time out.

While Gawker was speculating about the state of John Connolly’s Vanity Fair story on sleazebag Jeffrey Epstein, the Mail on Sunday published an eye-widening piece about

Johanna Sjoberg, a church-going, all-American brunette, was recruited six years ago into Epstein’s household as an occasional home help, and was induced to perform demeaning sexual services.

When she was a college student in Palm Beach, Sjoberg says Ghislaine Maxwell, the daughter of the late, disgraced Robert Maxwell (seen here with Epstein), offered her a job at the billionaire’s home, answering phones and serving drinks. Of course, her duties were soon expanded.

She claims she was groped by Prince Andrew as well as Epstein, who asked her to do something icky to his nipples.

Glossed Over live blogs the September Vogue, and lives to tell.

Gawker notes that the same issue has gained a little weight, while Jossip points out that last year’s issue was bigger.

Sienna Miller’s on the cover, despite all the Amy Winehouse gossip.

And Cathy Horyn actually found reading matter hidden in the dead-tree ad forest. Her readers tear the issue to shreds.