Here's a morning brainteaser for you: Why would Michelle Williams' publicist, who was already in contact with a certain magazine regarding a different client, randomly contact said magazine about profiling Michelle Williams RIGHT NOW for her movie Brokeback Mountain, which isn't scheduled to open until late in the year? Allegedly, if the mag wanted to interview or photograph Williams, it would have to be done very soon and then published much later. But why wouldn't the publicist allow the magazine to cover Williams at a time closer to the movie's release date?

New plans for the revamping of the High Line, the elevated train tracks that snake from the Meatpacking District up through Chelsea, have been released. With work to start by year's end, we await the promise of an elevated urban oasis that climbs above the unceasing din of these gaudy hipster streets, elevating us, for one short moment, above the class stratification of New York City...

For the loyal four of you who were still concerned about the state of New York's princess/actress Natasha Lyonne, an update: She's still batshit insane. After showing up an hour late for yesterday's hearing regarding her December episode in which she threatened to "sexually molest" a neighbor's dog (but seriously, that dog was hot), Lyonne left the court after a mere 30 minutes, before her case was even called. Oh, those pesky starlets — so impatient! So crack-headed!

To: Elizabeth Spiers
You were totally right. Writing this site is a nightmare an ether binge without the literary payoff. I can't believe I gave up our languorous lunches for a week of this. (Really, how do you afford those shoes?) We're supposed to be "managing" the bloggers hold on, sorry, wiping tear from eye not "blogging" ourselves, right?

· Inside the David Arquette and Courteney Cox Arquette christening, as seen in thousands of email inboxes across NYC this afternoon. [Defamer]
· On the topic of obits: "Confession time: We've never been able to finish, or even get half of the way through, a novel by Saul Bellow." Amen, brother. [TMFTML]
· The finest in Manhattan real estate porn, starring Chlo Sevigny. [Curbed]
· At the lower end of the real estate market: BJs with your OJ? [Craigslist]

· Siddhartha Deb's newest offering, "An Outline of the Republic," details the exploits of a disillusioned journalist. We're betting it's a long fucking book. At Sebastian Junger's playpen, Half King, 7pm. [Half King]
· Homeboy Pete Rock gets behind the decks tonight for Table 50's Root Down NYC party. Poor? Cheap? Poor and cheap? Get there before 10:30 and it's only 5 bucks. [flavorpill]
· David Remnick hosts a reading titled "The Power of the Pen: Does Writing Change Anything?" at Town Hall tonight, featuring a whole slew of literary hotshots. That's right: they won 5 Ellies, bitch. [PEN]

Local band The Bravery — whose recent rise in label-sponsored popularity has the New York indie purists (if such people still exist) crying foul — demonstrated the fine art of hipster belligerence during a weekend stint in Boston. Our beantown operative reports that after finishing their set elsewhere, the Bravery showed up at The Information's performance with an unreasonably large entourage. When the doorman said the show was sold out, the bass player reportedly charged in and began shouting, "We're in the Bravery! You have to let us in!" Of course. A fine argument.

Monday morning isn't Monday morning if one hasn't caught up on the weekend of Stephanie Klein, the chick lit blogger canonized by Judith Regan with a massive book deal. Today's moment of quiet zen:

For today's Young Jews in Prada report, we venture to Soho, where a new congregation called the Soho Synagogue plans a heady mix of Orthodox services, "Torah cocktails" and excursions to the Hamptons. Reports Intelligencer,

· Was Donald Trump, Jr.'s fiancée Vanessa Haydon romantic involvement with a Latin King gang member a youthful folly, or was Vanessa a "total gangster bitch?" And couldn't the Trumps use some street cred? [Page Six]
· Eliot Spitzer and Al Sharpton pay overly-close attention to Denzel Washington in Julius Caesar, no doubt brushing up on political tricks and iambic pentameter. [Gatecrasher]
· Celebrity "healer" Laura Day is allowing CAA agent Kevin Huvane and Chelsea-destroyer Amy Sacco to host a birthday party for her son's 13th birthday. And if that's not offensive enough, the celebration will be held at Bungalow 8. You, in the meantime, are (or will be) a terrible parent. [ELK]
· The publisher of the Jersey Observer has a problem with copying other people's work for her own column. [Lowdown]
· Sony Pictures Chairwoman Amy Pascal and her hubby, Times alum Bernie Weinraub, are rejected for membership at LA's tony Jonathan Club. Perhaps University Club will take in these poor, club-less souls? [R&M]

Towards the end of the Widespread show at Radio City on Saturday night*, it occurred to me that I probably shouldn't have gotten so baked in advance of guest-editing Gawker for a week. This is obviously a coke-fueled operation; the last thing anyone needs is the peace-love-brownies crowd taking the helm. Well. Too late for that. Up at an impossibly early hour this morning, I saw quiet moments of bliss on the streets of the Lower East Side**: parents walking their children to school; traffic attendants weeping with joy that I was moving my car hours before the 9AM deadline for the first time, like, ever. The blueberry muffins were still warm at Sugar Sweet Sunshine. And so, with glad heart and those fond memories, we're sealing the doors to our own private Sistine Chapel and breaking out the blow. Keep in touch!

In her struggle to reassimilate with free society, Martha Stewart has abandoned her beloved Birkin bag for a shiny new Vuitton tote, retailing at approximately four gazillion dollars.

As you may or may not have noticed, the addition of a guest co-editor to Gawker not only allows yours truly to sleep in past 6 AM, but has resulted in double the content. The system works, and Gawker will likely stay a two-man ship (if not more) for the rest of its days — frankly, this bitch merits the attention of more than just one drug-addled editor. So there you have it.

Friday:
· Gift of Gab, the wordsmith behind Bay-area duo Blackalicious, teams up with labelmate Lateef at Southpaw. Brooklyn's own (as opposed to everyone else who will in attendance) the Real Live Show opens with some homegrown hip-hop funk. [flavorpill]
· Here's a secret as guarded as Anderson Cooper's sexuality: Beck is playing a "surprise" show at Hiro tonight. No ticket? No interest? OC rockers Ambulance LTD play at Northsix in Billyburg. [Paper]
Saturday:
· Flavorpill calls the PEN World Voices Festival the undoubted "literary event of the year." Yeah, if you're literate. Otherwise, it's just a bunch of people we've only read about, and not actually read: Salman Rushdie, Wole Soyinka, Margaret Atwood, Ryszard Kapuscinski, yada yada yada. [flavorpill]
· Calling all Vice/Fader/Spin (psyche! Not quite hip enough) readers: this UK grime thing that has you drooling will finally rear its mish-mashed little head up on the left side of the Atlantic tonight at Crash Mansion. Do it just to do it before the trend's dead. [GoldSpot]
Sunday:
· We'll be honest: we haven't the faintest clue who artist Leon Golub is. We do know, though, that a bunch of people with ridiculously awesome names (Hans Haacke, Declan McGonagle, Phong Bui) are celebrating his legacy tonight at Cooper Union. Who said art's not fun? [flavorpill]
· Weren't you supposed to do some shit for the IRS?

While you might be in a good mood today (the Friday sunshine makes those used needles positively glisten, no?), we all know you'll be back to hating your life by Monday. As such, we're happy to suggest a career move to brighten your spirits: celebrity assistantery! Because ALL a-listers use Craigslist for their staffing needs:

Sightings are sent in by readers; send yours to tips@gawker.com.

Well, that's it for me. If I may fracture the editorial "we" into a discrete "I" for one moment, let me say that today marks the end of my guest co-editing stint here at Gawker. It's been fun, but now I must be on my way.

Defamer is committed to making its readers aware of exciting opportunities for group sex involving at least one celebrity participant. From Craigslist, your internet source for all potential acts of entertainment industry-related congress:

A slurry shout-out to this week's sponsors, whose cash flow helps us celebrate spring in the city's finest biergartens. Interested in keeping us lubricated? Info here.

· Grubman PR employee Joyce Stern was none too thrilled to read in yesterday's Page Six that Lizzie Grubman was dating her erstwhile hubby, Chris Stern. It's appalling what some men will do to be featured in an episode of PoweR Girls. [Page Six]
· While stopping for her post-Gyno ice cream, Britney Spears realized she was out of cash. Good thing the evil paparazzi loaned her $10, which resulted in exclusive lactose-licking pics. [R&M]
· Armed with a shiny new Peabody and a six-figure book deal, former 60 Minutes producer is coming after everyone in her new tome — except for Dan Rather, whom she thinks is as charming as a churlish chicken in a chinese chow house. [Lowdown]
· Dismissed Apprentice Chris Shelton explains a recent scuffle in Vegas as "passion." [Fox 411]