Wow, feels kind of self-indulgent around here this week. That's probably because a) there's no news, and b) we are so completely in love with ourselves and our drama and we are endlessly fascinated with what we write about best, which is us. This post will be no exception. It's all about me. Did you know it's my "Gawker birthday?" It's true! I started here a year ago today. In the intervening twelve months I've worked with six different editors, written approximately 2,500 posts, suffered through three staff transitions, and learned more about Rupert Murdoch than I know about my own family. I developed a case of pneumonia that literally almost killed me, I've never slept more than five hours a night, and, once, Nick Denton gave me the finger. ("It means you've arrived," he explained helpfully.) A man can only take so much.