If there's anything one can say about Manhattan's media world, it's this: everyone wants to watch the car crash but no one actually wants to be in the car. The one exception to that rule may be New York mag media critic and author Michael Wolff himself.

Wolff's book party last night, like any accident scene, was thronged. Women's Wear Daily's Greg Lindsay was looking well; he's lost that parboiled-ham-in-a-suit look which plagued him for a while. Former mayoral candidate Mark Green's huge face haunted the party like the ghost of relevance past.

The pretty-boy writer contingent of Seth Mnookin and David Amsden practiced their pouts in the direction of Michael Wolff's stunning daughter (who, according to one of her teachers, the novelist Alexander Chee, is a fantastic writer). Blinded by photographer Patrick McMullan's flashbulbs, unemployed Radar editor Maer Roshan briefly forgot where he was and tried to tip the bartenders with his foodstamps. Mediabistro's Laurel Touby disremembered to add her trademark boa to her loud outfit, but did somehow manage to book Wolff as a speaker at a November Mediabistro event. Some blithering guy was attached to New York editor Caroline Miller like a field bandage, while Miller kept her own counsel throughout the night. Nearby, the Daily News's gossip man Lloyd Grove towered over the little people. (Random: separated at birth: Lloyd Grove and NY1/CBS's Andrew Kirtzman?)

If Mr. Grove's take on the party is to be believed, Caroline Miller is troubled by the insinuation that Michael Wolff will compel his moneyman Donny Deutsch to buy New York mag and replace her as editor with Wolff himself. Although that would be particularly awkward (given that Ms. Miller is the one who took on the then-unemployed Mr. Wolff), surely Ms. Miller could expect to be the sacrificial lamb no matter who purchases New York? She can't be schemeless about her future.

Of course the party-addicted writers of the New York Observer were notably absent, given Wolff's now-famous email correspondence with Observer editor Peter Kaplan. Today's Post reproduces the heated exchange verbatim, but neglects to mention Wolff's final response to Kaplan's reply: reportedly, a two-word email with the entreaty "Fuck you" finished that conversation forever.

But then, so many conversations ended in "Fuck you" at the accident scene last night. As the line of ambulances outside spirited away the Vanessa Grigoriadises and the Kurt Andersens and the Meghan O'Rourkes, you could smell their relief: leaving the scene of the accident with all their typing appendages intact, they'd simply reinstall their airbags and live to party dangerously another day.

[Update: multiple reports indicate the presence of one Mr. Sridhar Pappu and one Ms. Sara Nelson, both of the New York Observer, at the party. Mr. Pappu was even spotted shaking Michael Wolff's hand. Is this a sign of frenemy status between the Observer and Wolff? Is the hatred as faux as the rest of the hatred in this town?]