We're closing in on what might be the most important week of our lives, rounding out a full week of The Situation with Tucker Carlson MSNBC debut. And the reviews are in:

For the New Yorker who has everything — including a spare studio apartment in which to store the 1,082 titles.

• After all these years, Deep Throat finally gets to cash in. Or, at least, now-senile Deep Throat's family gets to. [NYT]
• At church service marking end of journalism on London's famed Fleet Street, one journo in attendance passes on opportunity to kill Rupert Murdoch. [Guardian]
• Elsewhere in London, Archbishop of Canterbury blasts web media for "paranoid fantasy, self-indulgent nonsense and dangerous bigotry." So much for loving the sinner, eh, Rowan? [The Times]
• Jacko journo Diane Dimond knows you hate her. [NYT]

"And this is the room where we translate Harry Shearer's posts into standard English..."
An incredibly brave Gawker operative brings us documentation of The Huffington Post's exotic offices, where the walls are lined with feta and staffers lounge on marshmallow-soft chairs and chinchilla rugs. For perspective, the combined square footage of every Gawker Media "office" (read: editor's apartment) totals roughly 1/15 of the space pictured above.

Radar Online today published the first dispatch in Mim Udovitch's four-part expose of the Kabbalah Centre, "Hollywood's hottest cult," as the magazine puts it. The fruit of a "four-month Radar investigation," it's a compelling premiere: A well-crafted overview of the Centre's odd religious mysticism-meets-pop culture popularity, complete with an ominous nut graf (or, really, nut sentence) — "a close look reveals an organization more committed to questionably financial deals and celebrity wrangling than to advancing an ancient Jewish mystical approach to life" — and a ten-item list of "findings" Radar will present in coming days. Some of the more interesting examples:

We're not sure what's wrong with us today. Maybe it's the abrupt change in temperature, our exhaustion, or that old fried rice we just ate, but we're feeling...reflective. Thus it's time for some media-inspired self-flagellation:

Syd Schanberg revealed in this week's Village Voice that he once got a tip that "a gifted and well-known newspaper editor liked to have sex wearing diapers." Responsible journalist that he is, however, he did not follow up on the tip. Fortunately, we are not responsible journalists, and, accordingly, we asked you for your thoughts. Not only wasn't there sufficient consensus among the responses to suggest that one was correct, indeed many of the guesses didn't even fit the criteria. Still, because we like any excuse to put famous media folks' heads on the bodies of diaper-clad babies, here are some of the more intriguing responses:

When we learned that Time magazine would be asserting its hip-osity through a faux-underground marketing campaign, we almost fainted from the resulting combination of snorting and gurgling. Then we sent spanking new Intern Caroline to document said campaign, which is a blank billboard at Houston and Wooster that will be slowly covered in graffiti for the next four weeks. At the end of what we're sure Time suits charmingly call The Street Art Period (so very early Basquiat), the billboard will be graced with a big fat Time logo. Get it? Graffiti is edgy, and so is Time! Click to enlarge the above image and relish phase one of this conformity-challenging foray into media marketing.

A reader who's too lazy to register for the Post site (it finally works, by the way, and it's quick) sent us this plea for assistance:

Today's Daily News takes an in-depth look at a certain breed of New Yorker, those ladies who spend more time at the gym than a lonely, sweaty man. They aren't just the stick-figure women you naturally hate; they're the ladies whose svelte arms have a frightening bit of Madonna-esque ripple to them. In short, they could kick your ass and they know it:

A tipster with special access to internal Today show information — OK, just someone who watched it this morning, which we didn't — noticed some wacky, sitcomesque, sexual-orientation confusion when Ann Curry interviewed the heretofore unidentified Idahoan who won a $220 million Powerball jacketpot. The conversation, our tipster reports, went something like this:

Not completely unrelated, we're sure. Tuck, don't you let that fedora-sportin' fool play you like that.

We were all set for this week's Death Watch, in which we compare the page count of free satirical paper The Onion to that of the incredibly shrinking alt-weekly, the New York Press. While we easily found a copy of the former (clocking in at 45 pages), spotting a copy of the the Press has been considerably more difficult.* In fact, we're not seeing the paper at any of its usual spots: coffee shops, street corners, under the bodies of slumbering homeless folk.

A piece of 20th-century postwar furniture, a trestle table by Carlo Mollino designed in 1948, broke the million-dollar mark at auction at Christie's New York last Thursday, a first. But nobody expected it to keep going, sailing to a selling price of $3.824 million — nearly 20 times the high estimate — that left an audience of insiders smirking and shaking their heads.

• If this gets any more incestuous, we'll be forced to move to West Virginia, redux: We love Choire's column on going party reporting with Elizabeth.* [NYO]
• Page Six calls out Today show's media ethics. With a straight face, even. [NYP]
• Wall Street doesn't like tabloid powerhouse American Media any more than Cameron Diaz does. [NYP]
• And Russ Smith doesn't like The Twins of TriBeCa. Of course, we can't remember the last time he liked anything, so that's not really very helpful, is it? [N.Y. Sun]

Apparently bored by hosting cocktail parties for unemployed freelancers, mediabistro.com doyenne Laurel Touby has promoted herself to hosting lunch hours for overcompensated media executives. At least, that's what it seemed like this afternoon, when we treated ourselves to celebratory salads at Michael's and Touby made a beeline to our table, to "welcome" us to the restaurant.

The New York Post is like Karl Rove: As much as you hate all it represents, you're also periodically forced to stop and admire its sheer, unapologetic, evil brilliance. This is one of those times.

In the aftermath of radio host Don Imus' outburst towards his guest Tucker Carlson, our beloved HuffPoster Greg Gutfeld is searching for answers.

Ever since the Times' Jon Pareles went to town with his earth-shattering damnation of Coldplay as "the most insufferable band of the decade," we're noticing a trend. Let's call it the Pareles Effect:

As part of the job cuts The New York Times Co. announced last month, the flagship paper will eliminate its Employee Assistance Program, the in-house counseling office most famous for attempting to assist employee Jayson Blair. The program's, director, Patricia Drew, received a buyout offer, and, in the Observer, Blair is rallying to her defense.