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Resident Democratic strategist Peter Feld has been telling Obama supporters not to get too cocky all during the campaign (a former Dukakis adviser, he knows a thing or two about how Democrats can blow elections). Tonight, he takes a look at the final round of polls and the voting schedule and concludes... well, we don't want to jinx anything, but if you're an Obama supporter, you might just want to be near a TV at 11 p.m. tomorrow night.

7 p.m.
The first polls will close in Georgia, Indiana, Kentucky, South Carolina, Vermont and Virginia. Raw numbers will trickle in slowly, and the networks, burned in 2000 by their too-early Florida call, will resist the urge to tell viewers what they know.

But watch those Indiana numbers. If Indiana — which, like Virginia, hasn't voted Democratic for president since 1964 — looks like it's going Obama's way, the suspense is over and I'll be ready to call it then. Results will start to come in at 7, but the networks will certainly hold off until 8pm, though, because the northeastern section of the state, near Gary, is close to Chicago and a certain Obama stronghold - turnout size being the key factor.

By now, McCain's lead in Indiana is a narrow 1.4 point; two recent polls have it tied. Virginia looks strong for Obama — he's at 50 in three of four fresh polls, and Vermont is solid blue; the other 7pm states should be solid red. The count when those states come in: McCain 42 electoral votes, Obama 16. Not to worry.

7:30 p.m.
Polls close in Ohio, North Carolina and West Virginia. WV should be red; Obama holds a slight lead in Ohio and trails very slightly in North Carolina, but these are states it's almost impossible for a Republican to win without. If these results follow expectations, the count is now McCain 62, Obama 36. Don't panic — it's not shaping up to be a good night for McCain.

8 p.m.
Another 15 states plus DC close their polls. Of greatest interest will be Florida, Missouri, New Hampshire, and Pennsylvania. PA is a blue state by most lights. McCain has been targeting it, mainly to make up for his expected trouble in Virginia and North Carolina, but it's a Hail Mary pass: Obama has a healthy lead and is over 50 percent. McCain's better hope is Florida, where Obama leads but is below 50. Once these states are called, with Missouri going red and New Hampshire blue as polls now show, Obama has caught up, 136-133. Time for a reality check — we know how most of the others are going to come in. Big states like New York, California, the upper Midwest (MI, WI and MN) are blue; Texas, the remaining southern states and the inland west are red. If you add the 8pm states to the known slam-dunks, and the numbers come in as I've suggested, Obama now has 285 electoral votes and will be the next president.

9 p.m.
Still in doubt: only Iowa (likely Obama), Colorado (ditto), New Mexico and Nevada (true toss-ups). If Obama has underperformed these predictions (by losing New Hampshire, Ohio or Pennsylvania), he'll likely need all of them. CO and NM polls close at 9pm eastern; when Iowa and Nevada close at 10, all swing states will be closed. The networks probably won't call it until the polls have closed in states giving Obama the full 270 he needs. When will that come?

At 8:30, Arkansas will come in for McCain, and at 9 another 14 states (including New York, Texas, Michigan, Minnesota and Wisconsin) close their polls. Only two of those, New Mexico and Colorado, will be in doubt, and the count will show a slight lead for Obama — 208 to 206 — if the predictions here hold. This will be an anxious hour if the election is close: only four more states come in at 10, two solid McCain (Montana and Utah) and two that may be slow to call (Iowa and Nevada). McCain pulls ahead, 214-208.

11 p.m.
So the nets will probably hold off till 11. At that hour, every state but Alaska will be in, including the solid blue West Coast. Even if the last four swing states — Colorado, New Mexico, Iowa and Nevada — are still in doubt (and Alaska likely for McCain), Obama has hit his magic number in states the networks will probably call very quickly, leading McCain 285-224. Expect speeches, hoopla, and (shortly thereafter) transformative change to the body politic.

A reader asks, "Emily Gould and Keith Gessen—are they back together?" Emily Gould is a former editor of Gawker who wrote a cover story for The New York Times Magazine about working at Gawker and dating a different Gawker editor who wrote a Page Six Magazine story about dating her. Then she started dating Keith Gessen, whom she'd written about, somewhat critically, on Gawker. Gessen is a novelist who co-founded a literary journal called n+1 and wrote a novel about being a dude named Keith who went to Harvard, like Keith Gessen. The journal and the novel are the Most Important Journal and Novel of Our Time, respectively. They dated, and then they broke up, and then Keith went to Russia, and we stopped writing about both of them, mostly. But apparently you, the readers, demand to know what's up! Here is THE SCOOP:

Emily went to visit Keith in Russia. She stayed a month. Now she's back in New York. We suppose that sort of counts as "back together" except now, obviously, they are thousands of miles apart, again.

(The kitten we got Keith that he couldn't take because he was going to Russia did find a home.)

The End.

Never in the last decade has there been more workplace gossip to leak than now. But—for the same economic reasons—everybody's more paranoid than ever that the boss' IT agents are snooping. Some Gawker tipsters are reluctant to send email from work computers. So we're opening a telephone tipline. Dial *67 to obscure the caller ID and then 646-214-8138 to leave Gawker's editors a voicemail. For the rules, read on.

• We won't be publishing the caller ID but do block the number to be absolutely safe.
• If your voicemail is for our ears only, please say so. (Otherwise we'll assume we can run the audio.)
• If you're leaving an anonymous tip, please still speak as clearly as possible, spell any easily confused names, give web address of any background information and explain your interest in seeing the story published.
• You can also send an email to tips@gawker.com or to individual editors. Otherwise just leave a voice message after the tone and we'll get to it as soon as possible.

In case your ears aren't capable of picking up the high-pitched caterwauling of girls (and, well, yes, some boys too) between the ages of 8 and 18, let me tell you something. High School Musical 3: Senior Year is step-ball-changing into movie theaters next week. It's the first of the series to be splashed up on the big screen, as the first two aired to tremendous success (255 million viewers worldwide, so far) on the Disney Channel. HSM-related product sales have reached upwards of $500 million, and its stars, or at least lead heartthrob Zac Efron, have been vaunted into the paparazzi-stalked realm of superstarletdom. Now advance ticket sales for the third (and final for most of the original cast) movie are huuuuge. It's going to be big, people. So what, dear tweendom neophyte, is all the fuss about? I'll try to explain it after the jump.

I mean, really, it's not exactly a new idea. As a pathetically dedicated connoisseur of all things teenagery, I've seen bits of the whole in a million different movies and TV shows. Kids like to gawp at good looking other kids, they like music, they like dancing, they like romance, and they like more than anything else—desperately, arms pulled close to their chests, eyes tearing—to see something of themselves reflected back at them. And the first High School Musical, when it leapt onto the airwaves in the spring of 2006, combined all of those things in one sugary 90 minute sitting. (As for that last bit, I'm not saying that the denizens of East High with their bright colors and general niceness are at all real, but all kids at one point or another feel alienated and different and many, if not all, secretly want to be a surprise star. Right?) It was a bit of alchemy that is laughable in its obviousness. Why didn't anyone think of this before?

I guess someone sort of did with Grease in the 70's, which, when money is tinkered with and adjusted for inflation, is one of the most successful movies of all time. But Grease featured showtunes where HSM features pop songs. Grease had sex jokes and pregnancy scares while HSM is prêt-à-porter for Evangelical America (the romantic leads don't even kiss in the first one!) The melding of dancing, acting, and singing has made being a triple threat practically necessary in order for a dreamer to become a hero to these bebopping youngs (Generation Z?) Sure Zac Efron, who plays hunky basketball star turned, um, high school musical star Troy Bolton, didn't actually, you know, sing in the first one. But he does now! And he did in Hairspray! You've Kenny Ortega, the film's director (also directed Newsies, swoon) and company to thank for the likes of we-do-it-all! up and comers Demi Lovato, Selena Gomez, and Miranda Cosgrove. (Ask your nieces and nephews to whom I'm referring.)

Oh! Hah! So what's the plot? Well the first one, like I said above, is about Troy Bolton, a doe-eyed young b-ball jock who ends up singing a romantic, upbeat poppy karaoke duet with a mysterious chica at a teen New Year's Eve party held at the ski resort where they're both staying over winter break. Then, back in Albuquerque of all places, gasp! There's the girl. Her name is Gabriella Montez and she is a transfer math and science geek. Troy has his sports, Gaby has her nerd stuff and never the twain shall meet. Except there's that nagging memory of singing among snowy peaks... Eventually they both muster up the gumption to audition for the school's spring musicale, much to the displeasure of resident star Sharpay Evans and her twinky (like they seriously go as far to make him gay as they can without having him make out with a dude) brother Ryan. The status quo is rocked—how can a jock sing and dance? how can a nerd sing, dance, and land the hottest boy in school??—and the kids sing a song about breaking out of prescribed high school molds. And, you know, in the end there's romance and everyone gets a part in the musical and whee! Happy! The second one takes place during summer vacation, and they all work at a country club. There's double crossing and a talent show and it's all deeply, deeply silly and not really worth describing other than to say that at one point Zac wanders the desert and sings a plaintive ballad. I'm still sort of laughing and shivering about that one.

The third installment, well who knows! It's got a bigger budget and like 10! new! songs! And it's sure to be a huge hit. You don't have to see it by any means, but I think it's something you should know about lest you become one of those stuffy grownups who forgets how to have mindless fun (other than like getting shitfaced and stuff which is mindless fun but not really all that wholesome. If you watch the movies while getting shitfaced, well you're just about the coolest person ever then, aren't you?) Purists be damned who say that this isn't a real musical because it's just music videos crammed into a thin plot. The success of these bubblegum fantasias allows actual pop and rock-tinged pieces of Art like recent theatrical critical darlings In The Heights and the masterful Passing Strange to find audiences where they might not have before.

So enjoy it or don't, but know that it's not going away without an elaborately-choreographed pop-and-lock dancefight. Nobody puts baby Rent in a corner. Nobody.

Good morning! We're bringing back our Gawker Pin-Up feature. Today's candidate: socialite and publishing heiress, blogger Emily Brill. She's channeling Sarah Palin and holding a gun. Brill is usually eager to highlight her uptown upbringing—as she told Page Six magazine, "I didn't come from a chicken farm—I cam from Dalton." (Have any suggestions about our next pin-up? Who would you like to see shirtless and holding a gun?)

If the U.S. sinks into a depression, you might want to think about spending the next ten years elsewhere. Why suffer needlessly? Our new series will explain, Maher-style, where you might want to go next. This week: what about Dubai? It's a super-developed port city in the United Arab Emirates. Full of expats, it's a Disneyland of weird architecture built on oil revenues.

Dubai is in the midst of a huge boom. "Somewhere between 15 to 25 percent of the 125,000 construction cranes currently operating in the world today are located in Dubai," Slate says. It has shopping malls and lively nightlife for your Western enjoyment—the New York Times called it a 2008 party destination. Foreign universities like Michigan State, American University in Dubai, and Harvard have set up branches there. There's even a Time Out Dubai!

Every media outlet has covered exploding Dubai in recent years, but whoa! This is not a Zagat rating. Just because there are plenty of expats from all over (its native population accounts for only 20%) doesn't mean you should go there.

Says one British expat, whose lives in a perfect Western-style suburb with her contractor husband, to the Guardian:

"Oh yes, it looks good, doesn't it? But we've all made a pact with the devil to be here. You get the tax-free salary, but in return you have to give up all your rights. There's no accountability, no transparency, no rule of law. There's no legislative body. Very few employment rights. It looks like a modern country, but it takes more than a few skyscrapers to create one of those. Scratch the surface and it's a different story. And if you're a silly young girlie who gets into trouble, then forget it.'

You can face up to six years for having sex on the beach, like a recent couple is dealing with now. You can get fired from your job for any reason. (Just like here! Haha.) You can be held without trial for months! You get 4 years in jail auto-fucking-matically if you're caught with drugs. Oh, and there's the combo plate of these problems: "Cat Le-Huy, a producer with Endemol, spent three weeks in jail without being charged, for possession of Melatonin—jet-lag pills."

Also! The huge construction boom relies mostly on armies of exploited foreign workers who need to pay off a debt to whatever person or agency brought them to Dubai. Large construction sites are referred to as "labor camps."

Says the Dubai Expat Forum: about getting a work visa:

"Men can sponsor their wives and children, but only women in a handful of select occupations (lawyer, doctor, teacher, engineer – on high salaries) can sponsor their husbands. A wife's visa will say 'Housewife-not permitted to work', but she can work provided the husband provides a NOC (No Objection Certificate). You cannot sponsor your partner if unmarried. It is also illegal [for unmarried couples] to co-habit."

Also, you can drink in bars, but you cannot have it in your home unless you have a license. And that's if you're a non-native—it's illegal for Muslims to have it. Also: local laws not a big fan of the gays!

"When I visited last week, it was Ramadan and the restrictions in Dubai are far harsher than in any other Arab country I've visited. Eating and drinking during daylight hours is illegal; even for non-Muslims, having a sip of water can mean a jail sentence," added the Guardian.

So, scratch Dubai. Next week, we'll explore Shanghai.

Hank Paulson went before Congress to ask that he get a shit-ton of money to purchase mortgage-backed securities. The bipartisan Joint Economic Committee hammered out a compromise, giving Paulson some of what he wanted but with more oversight and perhaps a better deal for taxpayers. John McCain ran back to Washington to solve this himself, and as soon as his plane touched down the compromise fell apart, with conservative House Republicans balking at passing anything resembling the Paulson plan. So what happened yesterday, exactly? Who do we blame for everything? And what'll happen now? Your financial and congressional newspapers have the story. In case you're not a Roll Call or Wall Street Journal subscriber, we'll explain what they're saying about this mess.

The Wall Street Journal on what happens now:

Democrats could decide to go ahead with their plan without Republicans. While this would ensure passage, it would essentially saddle Democrats with responsibility for a bailout package that has stirred up strong resistance among both Democrat and Republican voters — with elections just weeks away.
[...]
If Democrats are forced to move forward on their own, the party's demands on the White House are sure to go up. Proposals that once seemed off the table — such as a plan to give bankruptcy judges authority to adjust mortgage terms — would likely gain new life. The prospects would also likely rise for Democratic proposals to stimulate the economy, such as new spending on roads and bridges and extended federal benefits for the unemployed.

But they won't want to do that because the bailout plan is unpopular (depending entirely on how it is explained and described to voters) so they need the support of Congressional Republicans in order to make sure Democrats facing reelection don't have the albatross of bailing out Wall Street around their necks. This close to an election, it's better to be obstructionist (while complaining about a do-nothing congress) than bold.

Roll Call (in a special Friday edition!) on the negotiations:

Senate Republicans are pissed at House Republicans and John McCain, for sabotaging the progress they made:

Senate Budget ranking member Judd Gregg (R-N.H.) said he didn’t know whether the process would break down as a result of House Republicans.

“I certainly hope that rational minds will take control of the process on both sides,” Gregg said. “The problem isn’t hypothetical. It’s real.”

House Fanancial Services committee ranking Republican Spencer Bachus has now pissed off everyone because he acceded to the Dodd/Frank compromise and went to their little press conference and then he announced that House Republicans were rebelling. He was forced to put out a statement announcing that even though he was the ranking Republican involved in the negotiations, he did not represent House Republicans.

Congress will probably be in session through the weekend, though the Senate's schedule is "murky." They still have to pass "a continuing resolution, a stimulus bill and the bailout." Democrats might sneak the bailout into the CR, though that is a last resort move. Probably no votes today on anything.

Mark Ambinder on whether this is McCain's fault.

Yes and no. He didn't say a damn word to anyone during the Cabinet Room meeting. So he didn't bring up the John Boehner/House Republicans plan, and he didn't attack the Paulson deal. He is "urging all sides to come together."

But Boehner and the White House — and McCain — if they want to get something passed — do have the responsibility to persuade these Republicans to support the bailout .

After all, if not to get these recalcitrant Republicans on board, why did McCain go to Washington in the first place?

So he's doing nothing, at all, except providing political cover to Republicans who don't want to vote for this.

Stalker sighting: "I just saw Tom Cruise, Katie Holmes and Suri Cruise getting out of a black SUV at the Liberty helicopter pad at 30th St. at 12th Ave. Tom was smiling, holding Suri, and Katie looked angry."

Tatiana Boncompagni is a total socialite. How do we know? Because she's related to an Italian princess, her husband is the Hoover vacuum-cleaner heir, she's friends with uber-socialites Tinsley Mortimer and Fabiola Beracasa, and because she just wrote a socialite novel and works at a magazine. (Magazine jobs were lost ago lost to the rich. As such, Boncompagni pens a column for Conde Nast's Cookie, the magazine about children.) The Daily Intel interviewed her recently. Example: does she give money to panhandlers? "Double strollers don’t push themselves. So no, not usually." You're probably excited about the book, Gilding Lily. So we excerpted it by doing a search for the required keywords: Jimmy Choo, Louboutin, Bergdorf and Birkin—all the ingredients for a chick-lit society tome!

Publishers Weekly says, "After relocating to New York from Nashville, Lily becomes a society darling and marries the handsome, charming, well-educated and wealthy Robert Bartholomew. But an unplanned pregnancy destroys their nuptial bliss, and Lily becomes flabby and cellulite-laden as soon as she's carrying..."
Blah, blah, blah. What about the brand names? Ah, here we are: Jimmy Choo, Christian Louboutin, and Birkin:


And Bergdorf Goodman completes the circle of consumption. Let us pray.

Real World: Brooklyn cast spotted at the very Manhattan location Cafeteria, presumably eating $12 Green Eggs and Ham. Sadly, no details about inane conversations or outfits that identify characters by color.

5 p.m. August 26 | Just spotted the cast and crew members having lunch and filming at Cafeteria at 17th and 7th on the sidewalk cafe!

In his just-released book, The Man Who Ate the World, restaurant critic Jay Rayner explores the oft-overblown luxury dining of the world. In a scene from New York, the man behind the Zagat Survey—Mr. Tim Zagat himself—takes him on a whirlwind tour. It's fun to watch brash American Zagat embarrass Rayner, a Brit with a sense of propriety. Who do they run into at Meatpacking District monstrosity Buddakan other than America's favorite "One Tough Cop," private investigator Bo Dietl—who tells them that he came for the food, but stayed for the "pussy":

"He leads me into a pan-Asian restaurant called Buddakan, which is exactly how I imagine hell would look if the devil went into catering. It is a grotesquely large restaurant of bare brick walls, and over inflated chandeliers, made up of interlocking echoey chambers reached by huge staircases, and I can’t help but think that somewhere is a final staircase which leads to a fiery pit, full of horne’d beasts, serving only ‘Belarus Home Cooking’.

We shuffle through the crowd. ‘A girl could get pregnant on the way to the bar here,’ Zagat barks into my ear, above the noise. Young people wolf down plates of chilli rock shrimp and spiced tuna tartar as though their lives depend upon it and my ears consider haemorrhaging in time to the music.

Suddenly Zagat spots some friends at a corner table. He introduces me to ‘everyone’s favourite old time cop,’ a late middle aged man, with stubble over his fat-pleated chin. Bo Dietl, a former New York policeman, is reputed to have arrested more felons during his career than any other, and is now a private investigator. His suit, with its stars and stripes lapel pin, shines under the light, and his receding hair is slicked back. With him is a media-friendly Harvard law professor who shares his name with the playwright Arthur Miller, and a silver-haired class action lawyer called Mel Weiss who is under investigation by the Federal government for allegedly paying plaintiffs to bring law suits.

They shout questions about restaurants and food at Zagat, who shouts back. Dietl makes apologetic noises about their choice of restaurant that night.

Zagat waves them away. ‘You're not here for haute cuisine,’ he says to Dietl.

The former cop grins up at him. ‘No. We’re here for pussy.’

Zagat, startled, rocks back on his heels.

‘Oh yeah,’ he says, awkwardly.

I can’t help but look down the table at the two young women, wearing shiny dresses in primary colours with plunging necklines, who are sitting with these old men."

LiRo have been terrorizing the East Village and Lower East Side lately with their blond skinniness and ambiguous sexuality. Here at the Gawker Stalker factory, we've created a handy-dandy guide for you.

They seem to be spiraling outward from Houston and Mott. Hurricane Dolly ain't got nothin on this pair.

Here's the customized map.

As always, send in your sightings to stalker@gawker.com and scream your heart out at the computer screen while perusing our comment-less map.

Stalker sighting, via email: "Just saw Ashley Dupre, ex-gov Spitzer's prostitute, at the Parker House in Sea Girt; Jersey Shore NJ. She was hanging out conspicously with a group of girls. Wearing a white halter string bikini top with her cell phone tucked in between her ta-tas. She was petite and had muscular shoulders and arms. She looked good but unfortunately had a flock of elder (gentle)men hanging around her group." See? The iPhone is not for everyone, Apple people.

If you're new to this website—or even if you're not!—there may be moments when you ask yourself, "WTF is going on?" In order to increase traffic, we feel it's important to make this site's host of internet slang terms more accessible to moms. But seriously—in case n00bs are getting confused by our describing people as webtard/fameball/emosoynistic douchecomplexes, here's a handy guide to the terms and insults of Gawker Media. Inside: the difference between a catbag and a cashfan explained.

Balk's Cock: Former editor Alexander Balk's alter-ego, who he often wrote as (but eventually killed on his last day of work.) As Vanessa Grigoriadis wrote in New York magazine, these were "lowbrow posts that generate page views by dialoguing with a character known as 'My Cock.'"

Blue States Lose: Invented by Joey Arak and popularized by Alex Blagg, this erstwhile column captioning photos of partying hipsters and club kids. Example: "Some people think that the little boy from Problem Child and Problem Child 2 dropped off a little or became a crackhead or killed himself or something, but in reality he's just chasing that Big Apple dream."

cashfan: A fan made of $20 bills, obviously! From this.

catbag: Coined by our erstwhile love columnist Tionna T. Smalls, a "catbag" is a woman's intimate region. Ms. Smalls once provided detailed instructions on how to thoroughly wash the area, ending with "your vagina is your center. Always remember that."

commentard: a cluess commenter

Commie: a weekly award for the funniest comments of the week, started by Richard Lawson (aka former commenter Lolcait). Also see "comination"—a nomination for a Commie award.

Commenter Remorse: "That sinking feeling in the pit of one's stomach after submitting anything incoherent, irrelevant, stylistically challenged,or just not funny." From Ummwhat.

Critical Stalker: When celebrities are either seen or met and written about accordingly. Examples: Whitney from The Hills, Chloe Sevigny.

Emosogynistic: This word was invented by prolific word-coiner and former Gawker editor Emily Gould. She edited it into an early post I wrote! It's perfect to describe boys who act all emo and sensitive but who are actually totes (that's short for "totally"!) not.

Fameball: this term was originated, sadly, by webtard (see definition below) and Vimeo/Collegehumor founder Jakob Lodwick. Fameballs, as Lodwick put it, are "individuals whose fame snowballs because journalists cover what they think other people want them to cover... I believe I am an early-stage Fameball, and nothing I do or say will change my trajectory. I will attempt to use this to my advantage."

Femiladyism: a distinct brand of silly fourth-wave feminism; or, misguided feminism. Coined by Emily.

FNFF (Friday Night Fuck Fest): When commenters choose a post to turn into a commenting chatline for the weekend. Drinking in front of the computer and e-flirting may be involved, hence the name. Like actual sex, you cannot engineer or plan a FNFF—it just has to happen naturally.

Fuckjam: any song whose primary use is in the bedroom. Example: large-headed, sensitive singer John Mayer's "Your Body Is a Wonderland." Or anything by Portishead.

JA: Julia Allison—self-promoter extraordinare, New York dating columnist, and former Star talking head. Sad to say, we've written about her (see: fameball) to the point where most commenters don't even feel the need to spell out her name—they don't need to.

Gawker Stalker: Our map where you can send in your celebrity sightings. The phrase was coined by Jamie Rarus, who says, "I coined the term 'Gawker Stalker' when Speirs was running the show there. I sent her an email in your first year, saying how much I loved the site, and that her writing was turning me into a 'Gawker Stalker.'" He also mentions he wants either $1 or a bag of weed for unofficially giving us the rights to the phrase.

How your sausage gets made: Self-referential, behind-the-scenes gossip that you may or may not find interesting. Also see: too insidery.

Jack Ketch: a mysterious person that nobody knows the identity of who executes commenters who have gotten out of hand. He especially hates stupidity and unwarranted remarks about the personal appearance of others!

journalismism: the kind of fuckups, doublespeak, or general idiocy that you only find in journalism.

Listicle: An article broken down into a list. "Five Reasons Why the Meatpacking District Sucks," the Top Five Celebrity Cocaine Mistakes. Many writers hate writing them because they make them feel dirty and cheap. However, readers ostensibly "love" lists, and our publisher Denton loves them because they are traffic bait.

NewToJezebel: Literally, a former (executed) Jezebel commenter who crazily harassed everyone. Figuratively (as defined by commenter scroll_lock), a "NewToJezebel" is "anyone overly earnest and without a trace of ironic humor."

newsworthy: catchall excuse for running any damned Scientology indoctrination video we want (or gossip item or rumormonger!) Example, from Denton: "Gawker is now hosting a copy of the [Tom Cruise Scientology] video; it's newsworthy; and we will not be removing it." Also known as "fuck you!"

'nilla: We have collectively decided that this is the new slang or a white person. Less offensive that "honky" or "cracker," but with the exact same meaning—a racial slur for white people. Coined by commenter Sarcastro.

Not afraid to be servicey: Magazines tell themselves over and over that they're not afraid to be "servicey," offering up tips on the "Ten Best Butternut Squash Soups in NYC" or helping you "Beat the Heat!" with air-conditioning advice. Sometimes we're servicey by giving away kittens and helping awesome people find $700 apartments.

oversharer: a blogger who crosses the fine, yet distinct, line of writing about your personal life. It's hard to define it exactly, but like porn, you "know it when you see it."

Pageview: Every time you link on the "more" part of a post, a blogger gets their wings—and is paid .005 of a dollar. Pageviews measure both advertising dollars (very important!) as well as our paychecks. Genius capitalist innovation or an evil plot? You decide.

'razzi: paparazzi!

Scary Sadshaws: As a takeoff on Sex and the City's Carrie Bradshaw, Emily defined these creatures as "thirtysomething ladies who walk four abreast down cramped sidewalks on their way to drink colorful martinis and muse about their love lives."

Snark break: When we call a time-out from this website's imperative—snark—and post something earnest, heartfelt, or sad. Example: puppies, or this awesome dancing video.

Shut up, Brooklyn: People in Brooklyn can be so annoying! They always go on and on, in various media outlets, about their kids or their gentrification or how so great their awesome neighborhood is. Shut up! (The same goes for college kids, as evidenced by our "Shut Up, College tag.

Webtard: someone who works—perhaps has made millions, even—in high-tech or the web. However, the webtard remains unable to figure certain things out. They may storm off the Internet like a teen girl forced to leave Livejournal, like millionaire Jakob Lodwick. Or they may be more like Mediabistro's Laurel "Reply-all" Touby—who, despite also having made millions, consistently demonstrates an utter inability to use e-mail.

Kirsten Dunst is in town! You can always tell because we get a bamillion Stalker sightings in the span of a day or two. The wispy and apparently extremely recognizable Spider-Man actress has recently been spotted traipsing around downtown a couple of times and at Madison Square Garden for last night's Coldplay concert. She's one of the celebrities heavily favored by our Gawker Stalkers, who all seem to lurk downtown, eyes peeled for some Gen Y famous face. (It probably helps that Dunst was in hipster fantasia Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.) The stalker emails run the gamut from criticizing Dunst's "pale and sickly," "child prostitute"-esque appearance to saying that she looked super cute in a little black dress. People comment about her, more than other New York celebrities, almost as if they know her (I'm guilty of the same. Nearly bumped into her two in two days and almost said hi the second time out of habit.) Hopefully we're not bothering you, Kirsten, on your little New York jaunts. We just like to peek, it seems. Read the four latest Dunst sightings after the jump.

June 23rd @ Coldplay Concert in MSG Kiki Dunst was sitting a few seats away from me.. hunched between 2 tall guys. Her hair looked nice but she's so thin! David Schwimmer and Joey Slotnik were 2 rows down from me rockin' out with 2 gorgeous girls. Totally normal people, even stayed to see if there was an encore! Kiki left as soon as the lights went down. Whatevs.

i saw kirsten dunst on lafayette in the cooper union area this afternoon. she was looking pale and sickly in some sort of child prostitute get-up reminiscent of jodi foster in taxi driver— short shorts, floppy hat, the whole deal. wearing those red plastic ray-bans, not a pretty sight.

Kirsten dunst at the beatrice inn on 8th ave and 12th street at12:45am she was dancing at the dj booth and mingling around the place. looked sooo great in a little black dress! when i left she was still there.

saw Kirsten Dunst at Bacaro on Division St on Saturday night about midnight, presumably before she went to beatrice. Poor posture. Seemed to go in and out, maybe to smoke out on the street, or stand with friends who were doing so.

Sexual compulsive Paul Janka was last spotted barely responding to charges he sexually assaulted a woman by pinning down a woman, trying to finger her and shoving his tongue down her throat. Gawker commenters thought he should be brought up on criminal charges. Even before that incident, Janka's reputation was starting to precede him in Manhattan, and now a tipster has spotted the New York Casanova in a whole other borough, his game working disturbingly well:

on friday night i was out in sheepshead bay for
a fishing trip birthday party thing (don't ask). on our way back i saw this
dude sucking face with a girl in a shiny yellow dress under the entrance to
the subway. i said, "oh, that looks like serial womanizer/[alleged attempted] date rapist paul
janka, but it couldn't be, because he never leaves his house for dates!"
minutes later, as we waited on the platform, said face sucker bounded up
the steps and my friend gasped. it was paul janka! he sat down next to us.
the group of six of us began whispering excitedly at our douchebag siting.
janka began squirming, stood up and moved several meters down the platform.
apparently he's been forced to the outer reaches of brooklyn for pussy
these days!

Ugh. At least the woman in question wasn't lured into an enclosed space with Janka.

In a famous scene from American Psycho, pathological investment banker Patrick Bateman shows off his new business card only to be trumped by a colleague's with gorgeously understated typography, raised letters and perfectly off-white stock. The book, made into a movie with Christian Bale, is a bible for psychopathic Wall Streeters. But Prescott Hahn—the fashionista-chasing self-styled hedge fund manager photographed by the New York Post at a douche-dating event—wasn't paying sufficiently close enough attention. We've obtained a copy of the business card he was handing out at this month's Fashion Meets Finance mixer: it exposes him as a conman, and an incompetent one at that!

One Philip Hahn registered for the event. When we emailed, he replied: "Although I was invited to the event, I couldn't go – I'm spending June on my family's ranch in Kenya. Also while the party's idea might be a good one, I've no interest in getting married off to a fashionista so soon….! I haven't a clue who Prescott Hahn is either, no relation."
Funny that, because calls to the numbers on Prescott Hahn's card went through to one Philip Hahn's voicemail. And Philip Hahn confirmed by he was indeed the man behind Kensington Square Capital, the same company which Prescott Hahn's card showed he represented. Liar!
"Yes I run a hedge fund, regrettably a small one but a very young one," said Philip Hahn. "Started it when I was 26, am now 27." It must be very small indeed. We can find no record of its existence beyond a rudimentary one-page website. It appears to be hosted at a sketchy investment management firm called W.D. Witter. When we called, a nervous British man put us through to Hahn; and then changed the story to say he was in a meeting. (Incidentally, an "analyst" claiming to work for Kensington Square Capital also registered for the Fashion Meets Finance mixer, as did someone working for W.D. Witter. Good scam, guys.)
Let's examine the card itself. It describes Hahn as a "Hedge Fund Manager." How absurd. Real hedge fund managers don't put "hedge fund manager" on their card, just as investment bankers don't put "investment banker." They put something like "Vice President" or "Managing Director." One's name should be in capital letters, as American Psycho makes clear, and certainly not in dated italics, which work only if you're working for an old-school English private bank.
The only element of the business card that's appropriate is Pegasus, the winged horse, a creature as mythological as Prescott Hahn, the hedge fund manager.
There is no listing of Kensington Square Capital in Morningstar's hedge-fund database.

Like the economy, the "hedge-fund guy" scam to attract women and impress people is getting weaker—especially since the credit crunch. The ladies need a man with an income that's more than just fancy gambling!

Is baby-daddy Carlos Leon a lover of little ladies who look like little laddies? Two stalkers seem to think so. Also, is he a cheapskate?

Sighting No. 1, Monday afternoon:

I just saw the original sperm donor aka carlos leon at Broadway and Spring with a girl that looked very much like a boy. Overly skinny platinum colured very short hair, did not look very attractive to me at all walking around soho on broadway and spring. They both looked like they were on some kind of dieting competition since both of them looked extremely thin. I assume carlos likes women that are very manly/menly considering madonna has very strong arms as well. The girl looked like she was a little boy. Very overly drugged up skinny, not attractive and carlos leon looked overly skinny with sunken cheeks. He just did not look like he was doing well at all. He looked very depressed and tired.

Sighting No. 2, Monday night:

I saw Carlos Leon at Socialista last night. Please someone tell me why is it that everytime I go to socialista I see Carlos Leon, the douche bag, hanging out by himself luring at girls that look like little boys. He never gets a table or buys any drinks.

Send in your sightings of douchebags and wannabes, celebrities and celebutards, to stalker@gawker.com. Include the exact time, date and location so we can, you know, map 'em.

Fresh stalker email: "It's confirmed - Kate Hudson and Lance Armstrong are definitely a couple. Just checked out next to the them at Whole Foods on the Bowery. They had a full shopping cart. Guess everyone needs to buy groceries." Preparing for Tour De Lance.

Fresh stalker email: "It's confirmed - Kate Hudson and Lance Armstrong are definitely a couple. Just checked out next to the them at Whole Foods on the Bowery. They had a full shopping cart. Guess everyone needs to buy groceries."

Yesterday I posted an item about the sad Sex and the City ballad of handbag designer (and bestie of cewebrity Julia Allison) Mary Rambin. You see, the fetching young lady was viciously not allowed into the film's premiere and abandoned by her two friends, Julia and socialite Meghan Asha. Mary, as it turns out, bothered to read the claptrap and has decided to post a rebuttal. Well, OK, not so much a rebuttal as a Vimeo video in which she reads (sort of) the whole post aloud while Jules throws compliments at her from off-camera. I'm not really sure if she's being sarcastic or being a good sport and playing along or what, but I love it! This should happen more often. It's like books on tape. Except instead of being read by Jim Dale, the posts are read by drunk (hopefully! "glaze"!) New York City It girls. So the first installment of Audio Gawker, Mary Rambin Shot Down at 'Sex and the City' Premiere produced by Julia Allison and read by Mary Rambin, awaits you after the jump. Also, Tinsley Mortimer! If you're reading this, please please please do one. I could die happy.

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Sex pervert and known prick Paul Janka (no, not him, but close!) may have been spotted this morning in Astoria. Janka, some sort of writer who was also recently spotted making a gigantic ass of himself on the Dr. Phil show, was, of course, infuriating to look at: "swear to Christ almighty that I saw skanktasmagoria himself Paul Janka this morning on the N train -Broadway platform in Astoria. I don't think I am great at recognizing people, but I'm sure it was him. Allow me to submit my evidence..." Continued after the jump.

He had Paul Janka face, but longer hair than in the Dr. Phil interview. He looked unwashed/unclean and was wearing a dirty/vintage corduroy jacket and gray cargo pants. He definitely stood out, because most everyone is scrubbed for work at that stop at 7:40 in the morning, and he was the only one that looked like he rolled out of bed after a three-day bender. Trademark Janka 7 o'clock shadow. He was with a cute/hipsterish black girl, and both had an awkward one-night-stand vibe. She talked non-stop and seemed a little nervous - couldn't hear what she was saying, but her mouth kept moving, even as the train went underground, and he didn't say a word. As we pulled into 59th St./Lex, they started awkwardly making out with lots of tongue (vomit) and I honestly contemplated missing my stop so I wouldn't have to brush up against him to get to the door. But he got out at 59 as well. He didn't look like he was going anywhere, but seemed to be pretty happy with himself.

From a BlackBerry-wielding tipster minutes ago: "Maggie Gyllenhaal sitting behind me at cafe colonial on houston and elizabeth. She's pounding out a beat on the table-sitting with a guy and a girl about her age. She looks great-very sweet, smiling, rosy cheeks...post baby bliss?" Well, her daughter (and only child) was born in 2006, so post-post baby bliss.

Gawker Media Publisher (and acting Gawker Managing Editor) Nick Denton just sent word around that he's sold three sites. April Fool's! Except for real this time! Maura Johnston's Idolator, the music industry gossip and news site, goes to Buzznet—the "music-focused web and social
network" that recently bought Stereogum. Gridskipper, the urban travel site, goes to Lockhart Steele's Curbed network. And Wonkette, Ken Layne's political news site, is now Ken Layne's alone. If you're looking for official comment from us, we think all three sites will be better off under ownership by people who actually care about their respective topics (even though no one should ever buy blogs). Denton's internal email is below, because he's off this morning and why not beat the Observer to running it?

I'm amazed we've managed to keep a lid on this news; that, given your naturally gossipy natures, must be a first! We're spinning off three sites: Idolator, Gridskipper and—this one may be a surprise—Wonkette. There were indeed some rumors about Maura Johnston's music blog late last year; they were true of course. For reasons that I'll explain below, both it and our travel and politics sites have better commercial futures outside Gawker than within. (Excuse the corporate lingo: some of it is unavoidable.) But, first, the facts, which will be hitting the wires late