The ad industry is home to even more barely-functioning alcoholics than related fields like media or pest control. While the average reporter at least waits until his last story is filed to hit the bar, ad agencies are installing bars right there in-house, so shaky, sweating employees can get some sips of their sweet, sweet medicine to help them focus on the task of thinking up jingles. Ha, no really it's all a very glamorous, Mad Men type of swinging party thing. At least that's what they want you to think.

Lushy journalists turned out in force for Jack Bryan's documentary on the storied, now-shuttered hole of a watering hole Siberia when the flick premiered last night at Soho House. Gawker founding editor Elizabeth Spiers, former Page Sixer Chris Wilson, The New York Observer's George Gurley, publicist / bigtime author Sloane Crosley and a host of other party-loving media types showed up to watch themselves and their colleagues ramble nostalgically about the place that ruined so many young livers. Sadly, one member of that crowd was home with a mystery illness. "Former 'Page Six' reporter Ian Spiegelman opens the film: 'I don't even know how you could make a documentary about Siberia,' he says. 'I don't know how people have any memories of what happened there.'"

So HX magazine has a column called "Homo Dish" and in it is this item about Village Voice gossip Michael Musto: "We hit up Pieces Thursday night, where we ran into gal pals Michael Musto and Chuck Attix, who we'd just kiki-ed with at 'cuda the night before. They told us they'd been trying to beat their personal record of nine bars in one night, and Pieces had put them over the top with 10. Congrats, you crazy drunks! Chuck later slurred that their real dream was to hit 10, and that they were determined to do so this summer. Don't judge. At least they have a hobby." But Musto begs to differ!

When you're in a bar, and you need to get up from your seat for a moment, have you ever felt a desire for a paper square—preferably printed with a cheeky message—that you could place on your chair as a "seat saver" until you return? Us neither. But someone in Philadelphia apparently thought that such a thing would be useful innovation. As well as a perfect medium for advertising messages! So they made the thingamajigs, which are double-sided with two contrasting messages that you can change based on (guessing here) how drunk you are. What branding initiative wouldn't be enhanced by its inclusion on a product meant to primarily sit underneath people's asses? Two more pictures of these unreasonable things [via Adrants] below.

Talk about a cock-block. Community boards are making it so hard for new Manhattan bars to get a liquor license that allows them to serve liquid happy until 4 a.m., because they hate the things that make New York better than everywhere else. Also something about noise pollution or whatever. But what about not-getting-any pollution? These new bars will have to close up at 2 a.m. and everyone knows that true love is only found in the hours between 2 and 4 a.m. And here we thought the city was trying to get us to use all those free condoms. [NYSun]

An online poll declares that Rose Bar, at the Gramercy Park Hotel, has the most attractive female clientele of any bar in New York City. The runner-up bar, Beatrice Inn, immediately burst into tears and became anorexic. [DBTH]

Even with the demise of print journalism and the so-called end of journalist watering holes, writers still drink quite a bit. Gridskipper has done pieces on blogger bars, and we've made references the New York Observer's predilection for Old Town Bar before, but I'm going for a full list of drinking places, so you, the media adoring public, can do a little casual stalking. A cursory Google search leads me to believe this hasn't been done before, but I could be wrong. Feel free to object to my ignorance in the comments. But after that, let me know where your staff drinks. The office is not an acceptable answer. Every writer drinks in the office.

Newspapers aren't what they used to be, what with their declining circulations and evolving missions, and old-school, hard-drinking writers and editors like the Post's Steve Dunleavy are retiring and dying of liver failure in droves. The exciting new "journalists" of the internet like to talk about how much they drink and sometimes actually do booze it up with sources and each other, but really their pageview quotas and intense competition usually keep them from becoming true barstool jockeys. The pansy new era of journalism has resulted in a wave of sad bar closures, which MarketWatch ambitiously documents in five cities and two continents in the video after the jump.

All writer Lynn Harris did was ask people on the Brooklynian messageboard why people hate Park Slope, and all that it represents, so much. (She's working on an article for New York.) The brownstone neighborhood used to be cheaper and down-to-earth, with lots of lesbian couples and artistes, but these days it's known for armies of anal-retentive richie moms with their passive-aggressive strollering. The article will "focus not just on WHAT people say they hate about Park Slope, but also WHY the hate seems to have become a meme of its own. Why PS and not other gentrified, Bugaboozled parts of Manhattan? Why has Park Slope become shorthand for all that is evil and twee?" Answer our poll!

Details Magazine executive editor Greg Williams was caught by a Times reporter sipping Snow Mosquitos, twee blueberry/ mint/ vodka drinks, at a terrifying den of yuppiedom called The Hideout in the already teetering hood of Fort Greene, Brooklyn . Look how precious:

"Cougars." Ladies "of a certain age" cruising for young men. Often used on obnoxious television comedies, by fratty assholes, and on the internets. And Time Out NY would like to know where, exactly, to find them!

Siberia, the Hell's Kitchen bar that was a home away from home for legions of disgruntled alcoholic journalists, closed in May. Its owner, Tracy Westmoreland, has been promising ever since that the bar will reopen. Now he's saying it louder!

Last we heard, recently-busted sort-of underground gay party super-hangout Mr. Black wouldn't be back until January. Now they're saying it's coming at the end of November! With like a 500-person occupancy! And a night devoted to Baltimore Club, to which we say, hell yes. It will be somewhere—possibly in the Financial District? [Next]

We were saddened by the loss of East Village bar Midway's liquor license. Not only because losing a place to drink is like losing a limb but because it meant yesterday's goodbye party for now-defunct zine The Crier was off. Happily for alcoholics, Dave the head booker has good news, "Midway has not lost its liquor license. The last one expired and the new one has been tied up in Albany & Community Board red tape that allows them to wait until 10/12 to object to our license before the State Liquor Authority can issue it. We are expecting to be renewed in time for CMJ next week. The Crier party has been postponed to 11/6, not canceled." Can the same be said for The Crier? Bilious Crier editor Doree Shafrir says, "I hope so."

Julius, the worst and most amazing craphole bar in New York City, a place of such filth that one was reluctant to touch even a bottle of beer, was seized by the Department of Taxation and Finance earlier this week. Where will the roaches, the infirmgays and the wasted teen hookers go now? But at last West 10th Street is safe for Sarah Jessica Parker's nanny and her ilk.

In the real New York, bar bathrooms serve as fitting rooms for trying on potential pairings, an all-important step before making that one-night commitment. Luckily for us, Slut Machine has been around all the blocks. In this occasional column, she rates which restrooms of N.Y.C.'s watering holes are best for non-traditional restroom activities.

We have just emerged into the fading afternoon light from PDT, the soon-to-open speakeasy owned and operated by Crif Dogs' Brian Shebairo on St. Mark's Place. Inside—via the secret entrance through Crif Dogs, that grungy basement hot dog hangout, for that low-end high-end feel—we spoke with mixologist and consultant James Meehan, the man responsible for the "beverage program."

Perhaps because they couldn't find enough bars in the East Village with skinny annoying emo kids in them, the lads from Fall Out Boy are planning on opening a bar at 11th and A. The shame about the whole thing is is that whatever satirical details we try to come up with to underscore the lameness of the endeavor have already been enacted by the band themselves. Come up with a lame name? Okay, "Angels and Kings"! How about decorate the place with the most banal and obvious musical icons? "[The bar] will be decorated with mug shots of Sid Vicious and Johnny Cash." Foiled again! Okay, how about this: Name the drinks after song names by the band themselves? "Drink specials may be tied to their song names"? Sadly, yes. The bar is set to open April 30th, and to close July 18. Probably when the bartender overdoses on Ativan in the parking lot of a Best Buy in Chicago and starts talking about himself in the third person. —josh

The glamorous life of our Team Party Crash reporters takes an occasional toll on their fragile psyches. For an example, look no further than this bonus outtake footage shot at "the busiest, coolest, slammingest bar in downtown Manhattan." Warning: This video is so vivid you will smell the stale beer and bad cologne.

It was probably too much to hope that the space formerly occupied by the awesomely disgusting Village Idiot dive bar — gone lo, two years ago now — would serve as new home to something worth a damn. Instead, the long-shuttered Meatpacking District storefront is reopening as Gin Lane, another nostalgic den of no-doubt excellent though hideously overpriced cocktails and pro-forma nods to informality (french fry tastings! and waitstaff in Ted Baker uniforms but Converse sneakers!). One can only hope the ghostly stench of ancient urine from the Idiot's perennially flooded toilets will occasionally intrude on the upcoming miasma of eau de bridge & tunnel.