I have never paid, and I will never pay, for an "AvantGuild" membership to "freelancer-helping website" Mediabistro. (Also, I hope that I never have to say "AvantGuild" aloud. What the HELL construction is that?) So I will never read this story by Greg Lindsay about how hard it is for him to write his book. The story's deck is: "From borrowing from John McPhee to 'guarding his headspace' our writer fights to pass the 25,000-word mark." All of those things sound really bad! Unless he's in Princeton, borrowing John McPhee's pencil or something? Anyway, if anyone would like to read and summarize, please do. Also, I would like to meet him some time. Mr. McPhee, not Greg Lindsay. I've already met Greg. He wears nice clothes and is friendly. I gave my mom "Oranges" over Thanksgiving, and guess what? She loved it too. Now I am trying to read that one about the bark canoes and also the one about cattle-rustling. But reading, Greg Lindsay, is almost as hard as writing—I say that as someone who actually finished "Annals of the Former World," and where is my medal?—and don't you forget it.

Not that we're counting down the days until our imminent departure for Radar or anything, but when we woke up this morning and carved another X into the wall, we came to a realization that was both full of heartbreaking nostalgia and Cock-arousing joy: Today is my penultimate Fucking Thursday here!

Julia Allison needs your help! The newly single Star Editor-at-Large surely must need help topping last year's Halloween costume—though we're all afraid your suggestions will just be different permutations of 'a vulva.' Oh, Jules, of course they won't! America is your fan. Let's all pitch in and help Ms. Allison find the perfect Halloween costume. It's going to be hard to do better than her previous outfit (a costume made entirely out of Magnum XL condoms), but we're sure one of these choices, if executed correctly, could do the trick.

Because we really needed a massive study to figure that one out.

You may not know it, but press-averse Oscar winner Angelina Jolie is a huge fan of quirky literary quarterlies. While some say she developed her interest in the scene during what we assume was her brief affair with n+1's Marco Roth, it's obvious that she's not beholden to any one particular title. Clearly having heard of the financial drain recently incurred by McSweeney's, the talented thespian took to the streets of Manhattan yesterday with a copy of Dave Eggers' What Is The What? as a show of solidarity. Possibly she also agreed to exchange her lifetime subscription for a pack of playing cards. Celebrities: They're just like a couple of doofuses in Williamsburg! [Ed. Note: Yes, that is a picture of Balk's computer looking at the photo of Angelina Jolie carrying the Dave Eggers book that we were not going to pay $500 to buy. It's a nice picture though! Log into the fine website Splash News and go see!]

Sure, we joke a lot about addiction here at Gawker, but we're well aware that it can be a serious - and dangerous - problem. Recently, a member of the staff had a substance issue, which co-workers were so concerned that, under the pretense of having a company get-together, we lured the editor with the disease (because that's what it is, a disease) into the office to discuss it. Here's what happened.

If your crazy Grandpa is too far away to visit, or just dead, you might just get a little misty watching this montage of some great recent moments from former "Today Show" weatherman and centenarian celebrator Willard Scott. Yes, he's still alive. Anyway, the whole thing was brilliantly assembled for some reason by Gawker videologist Alex Goldberg. Also, "areola" refers to the colored area of skin which encircles the nipple. That's pretty much all you need to know going in.

Longtime Gawker readers are aware that I've been looking for a way out of here pretty much since the first week I took the job. Last night I had an idea that may just be my ticket out. In part, it was due to you guys; the intense response to the bubonic plague post, combined with my recent viewing of 28 Days Later planted the seed in my head. Zombie flicks are hot right now. I think I've got a special angle on the genre that will make me—and someone with the courage and funding to back it up—enough money that I never have to pretend to care about Conrad Black again. Intrigued? Of course you are. Read on.

Summer is nearly upon us. Now necklines begin to plunge, friendships morph into something more and then combust. Hipster parties begin to smell worse and worse. But maybe the most crisisey crisis we face is what to do with those pasty thighs, blindingly white from their months in hibernation. For too long we've been taught to hide these trunks in shame. But isn't it time to accept this no man's land for what it is? Are they not beautiful pillars of chunky marble holding up your torso? Send your pasty whites to thighs@gawker.com along with your age, first name and a little about what your pasty thighs mean to you. It's a movement, people! After the jump, we'll show you some of ours so you show us yours. —Josh

The Politico is offering its audience of congressional pages and lobbyist interns a handy list of ways to get the ear of the blogosphere. While their tips are directed at those who want to make contact with political bloggers, many of them can be applied to those who blog about things like, say, media and celebrity gossip. And cats. And cheezborgahs. We've taken their suggestions and adapted them to let you know how to get your whatever placed right here.

Meet Chad White. Chad's a man on a mission, a crazy dreamer who knows that if you work hard and apply some pressure, your goal can come to fruition. Chad longs for a better world: A world in which we stop referring to electronic communiqués as "e-mail." As Chad so eloquently puts it, "It's now time for the word to take its final step and become simply "email," severing its antiquated 19th-century association with mail delivered by people in blue uniforms—and signifying the ubiquity of this form of communication." A noble aspiration. But how to make it happen? Harness the power of marketing!

From today's Times obituaries:

You know, there's no better way to undermine those silly jokes about Styles being "the gay section" than to run a giant collection of crotch shots in the paper. Still, we can probably have some fun: Let's play favorites! We're partial to first row, right. You?

"In December 1996, inspired in part by [Tony] Randall's well-publicized late fatherhood (his wife was 26 at the time), I wrote an article for The New York Times about men having children at a stage in life when their peers were usually contemplating a move to Florida or their next cardiogram. One proud papa dubbed them start-over dads, or SODs for short.... Under the circumstances, it seemed natural to check in with some of the same fathers 10 years later to see how they are faring in their eighth or even ninth decade."

CNN's Roland Martin Hosts 'What Would Jesus Really Do?' Special

The most interesting thing about Radar's tallying-up of whose reporting necessitates the most corrections at the Times—Alessandra Stanley, gasp!—is the byline. Google has never heard of Rikolas Deagitle. Was someone at Radar so ashamed of this feature that they would only publish it pseudonymously, like how David Lynch made the producers credit "Alan Smithee" on Dune? Is it... an anagram?

Barbra Streisand, Hillary Clinton, and a beard! We're sure Matt is creaming his screen in Miami right now.