For those of you who missed yesterday's little note about why things are so slow around here the last couple of days, an update: things are still kind of clogged up on the back end, but we're valiantly straining to squeeze out as much content as we can when the server allows us an opening. Luckily, things seem to be loosening up now. (Sorry, yesterday you got leprechauns and unicorns, today you get unpleasant gastrointestinal imagery. Such is life.)

Normally we hate to bother you with the mundane details of our behind-the-scenes difficulties, but a number of you have e-mailed us to let us know that you think our new design (now with a 400% larger and creepier Mr. Defamer!) somehow "broke" your computers, or is otherwise malfunctioning. Let us assure you: It's us, not you. We're having some server problems (when you forget to feed a steady diet of leprechauns to the unicorn on the treadmill, it quickly dies, and the union is a real pain in the ass about sending a replacement) which is responsible for a) the extremely slow load times you may be experiencing and b) the failure of the site's images to properly load.

Like any other self-respecting starlet who looks in the mirror a week before the Oscars and decides that things are looking a touch saggy, Defamer had a little work done to make ourselves presentable for the ceremony. (Given the way things turned out with Best Picture, though, we probably should've just cut out our crow's feet with a shard of a broken mirror, which would've been a lot less painful.) Have a look around, and if you see anything that doesn't seem to be working properly (like if Mr. Defamer's eye doesn't seem to follow you around the room), drop us a line and let us know. We'd hate to walk around all day with some unsightly flaps of skin hanging loosely around our ears.

If you're not a subscriber to Defamer's daily text messaging service, you missed out on incredibly important news flashes like these delivered directly to your cellphone:

Because we realize that some of you never leave your desks for fear of missing the freshest news on Tom Cruise's miracle baby or a memo announcing that your studio has just laid you off, the good folks at Gawker Media are embracing the technological revolution of "text messaging" and giving you the opportunity to be released from the tyranny of your computer screen. That's right, kids, while you're wolfing down that Caesar salad at the Newsroom or parking your boss's Lexus, you can receive a daily text message from Defamer or Gawker (or both, if you're crazy like that!) covering either the Hollywood celebrity/showbiz gossip or NYC celebrity/media dirt you've come to depend on to waste your employer's time. The service costs $4.99 per month per site subscription, which gets you 15-20 alerts a month.

I was only away for a day (a Monday, no less), so I'm not going to bother with the usual story about how I chewed off my leg to escape the bear trap that keeps me at my post, thus freeing myself for a quick sex tourism trip to Tijuana or radical gender assignment surgery in a Scandinavian chop-shop. Besides, you wouldn't want to hear about how I spent Superbowl Sunday strolling Santa Monica Boulevard, claiming I'd directed Stealth, and finally trying to determine the going rate for a passenger seat blowjob from a C-list director in a beautiful Lane Bryant frock.

The hatchery over at the Gawker Media blog-farm has yielded yet another fluffy chick. Today marks the launch of Valleywag, a site dedicated to pursuing Silicon Valley like a roving band of search engine executives killed its family while it looked on in helplessness. Official home-office blurbage follows:

The folks on the Gawker Media mothership came up with a brilliant solution to the problem of Original Wonkette Ana Marie Cox's graduation to the world of full-time book-writing: Hire two dudes to take her place. That's right, Wonkette now features two decidedly non-ette editors, David "Underneath Their Robes" Lat, and Alex "In Case Of Gawker Hangover Emergency, Break Glass" Pareene, both of whom you may already be familiar with if you're as blog-crazed as we think you are. We welcome them into the family with open arms, and look forward to having some new people with whom to share the awkward silences at Gawker Media Thanksgiving dinners. (Note to the boys: If you don't let Denton cut the turkey, he'll pout all night and intentionally burn the yams.) Stop by and say hello to the new politics-obsessed regime; if their first day is anything like ours was, they're already drunk on Wild Turkey and cruising Craigslist in search of temporary companionship.

Thanks to the magic of the internets and relatively affordable Southwest airbus fares, Defamer will be covering the Sundance Film Festival for an unprecedented (for us, anyway) second straight year. I'm off to Park City, Hollywood's temporary refugee colony in the mountains of Utah, to file man-on-the-street, man-waiting-in-line-for-four-hours-to-see-something-for which-Paramount-Classics-will-tragically-overpay, and, most importantly, drunken-man-at-the-open-bar-typing-on-a-Treo reports. As always, the offer stands: If you have a party with some free booze that demands guzzling by a blogger you later want to dig out of a snow drift, you know where to find me.

We promise that we haven't been neglecting you all morning, or engaged in some kind of cruel plan to make you read about Angelina Jolie's uterus over and over again. The entire Gawker Media Blogging Concern has been plagued by technical difficulties all morning, which seem (holding breath, crossing fingers) to be resolved now. Don't miss the exciting James Frey and Colin Farrell sex tape posts below, which our stopped-up server finally farted into existence moments ago.

· Whether or not this is a picture of Britney Spears is rather unimportant. If we believe it to be Britney, then it is Britney, in all her incognito. Sidekicking glory.
· Thanks to the LA CityBeat for reminding us that the NY Times bought Gawker Media (our "company," if you've been asleep for the past 18 months) for $32 million. (Maybe they picked up this story, explained here and made brilliant here?) Still waiting for those benefits to kick in. [via Fishbowl LA]
· We had no idea what a "Yindie" was until we read this LA Weekly list, but here are 10 reasons why the Yindie apocalypse is nigh. Also, if you're really desperate to read another list, your editors contributed one they wrote while drunk.
· Seriously, though: What's up with this whole Walmart website thing with the Planet of the Apes and the Dorothy Dandridge movie and whatnot?
· There are probably many reasons why these three men are laughing, one of which is that each of them is rich enough to buy the moon.

It happens every time I take a few "me days" away from Defamer around the holidays: After a week spent emptying a duffel bag full of five-dollar bills at the finest Tijuana donkey show I can find with the help of the first street urchin I catch trying to pick my pocket, reality sets in, and existential questions nibble at the edges of my rapidly smoothing brain. Is this really any more fulfilling than my day job? What would my parents say if they knew that the "business trip" that made me miss Christmas involved twenty-five cent margaritas and gawking at the obscene deployment of ping pong balls? How much longer can I convince the concerned waitress that the blood stains caked into my Santa suit are from harmless nosebleeds, and not from a face-first collapse onto the unforgiving surface of a trash-strewn alley each morning? Eventually, the answer to each question becomes clear, and the realization that I could be having an analogous amount of head-clearing fun at any number of trendy nightclubs on Hollywood Boulevard (albeit with a larger duffel bag jammed with a higher denomination of currency) finally gives me the inner strength to begin the punishing walk back to Los Angeles, back to this computer.

Unlike a "sick" phone call to dear Krucoff (and may we all forever hold that lad near to our racks, 'cause he saved our wounded asses), the dearth of content this morning has nothing to do with the state of our lungs or livers. Instead, we're experiencing some classic tech difficulties, thus preventing us from delivering the typical dose of cuddly dementia and diuretic wit. Our apologies for inconveniencing any procrastinating you had planned.

As part of our continuing efforts to whore ourselves out, we've found a new way to make Defamer accessible on your mobile device (Palm, Blackberry, or Pocket PC). This new service downloads the latest Defamer content whenever you sync, so you can read it on the go, whether you've got a wireless signal or not. Oh, lucky you.

We feel a contractual obligation deep responsibility to inform you that this might be your last chance to give the only gift that can adequately express your feelings for anyone you care at all about, a t-shirt from the Gawker shop. In fact, we can't guarantee that the impulse purchase that will certainly follow this entreaty will arrive before Christmas, but that is no reason not to buy, buy, buy. Ask yourself: Is it more awkward to explain to that special someone that their gift may arrive a day or two late because you're a procrastinator, or that there will be no gift at all? And as long as we're asking questions here, which is a more dignified way to broach the delicate subject of moving back into the family home to one's parents: this commemorative "Hollywood Kicked My Ass" t-shirt, or a tear-drenched nervous breakdown? Yeah, we thought so. Consume!

Not to put too fine a point on it, but you're running dangerously short on holiday shopping time, and in the event that you're not done yet, you're a bad person. Luckily, the fine people at corporate blogging mothership Gawker Media (motto: Give Until It Hurts, And Then Roll Over And Go To Sleep) are here to save you from the evil, procrastinating elves who live inside your head. They're offering Free! Priority! Mail! to ship your order from our t-shirt shop, ensuring that your Christmakkahwanzaa won't be ruined by the thoughtlessness of old-timey snail mail. Order now, and often, lest shirts like "It's not whoring if you do it for free" (pictured at left, and tattooed in a place we're too modest to reveal in this space) fail to stuff your greedy stockings in time for the holidays. Consume!

As if the fine, generous folks on the bridge of the Gawker Media mothership haven't given you enough today with the launch of the new blog, we're going to remind you about their munificence by pointing out that a number of fine t-shirts are available for purchase at the impossibly swanky Gawker shop. This week, we're going to spotlight the Defamer Inspired™ (though not logo-bearing) shirt at left, perhaps the most efficient way to broadcast your clubbing needs short of pounding on the stall door and demanding a little powdered candy, "just for the gums."

Like a frontier family that continually squeezes out young 'uns to help work the land and keep the rest of the brood alive, Gawker Media has birthed yet another blog, The Consumerist*. Its mission statement:

Because we at Defamer are dedicated to fostering high-level discussion about topics such as Paris Hilton's doomed monkey, Endeavor superagent Ari Emanuel's winning smile, or the quality of buffet cuisine served at movie premieres, we've decided to embrace the "internets revolution" and roll out Defamer Comments. Effective approximately right now, Defamer readers will be able to attach their thoughts, prayers, and dreams to every post on the site.

It's come to our attention that e-mail to the tips@defamer.com address might be bouncing back with an error message. Hopefully, this problem will be cleared up early on Monday morning, but in the meantime, we'd love you forever (Have we told you how pretty/handsome you are lately? Well, you are!) if you would send e-mail to defamer[AT]gmail.com until the nerds tech people get it sorted out. Thanks!