You know, as we've been sitting here doing these posts all day, we've all collectively been wondering where we're gonna go this New Year's Eve to get our douche on. This has been a slow day, and we've all been distracted by thoughts of "the party," and where "it's at." Lord knows "the party" is the most important thing in New York these days, and if you don't know where "it's at," then you're pretty much fucked. Thankfully, we now know where "the party is at."

Party promotion can be one hell of a lucrative field if you're locked in with the "right" people. It also comes with its share of perks: you're up to your eyeballs in "hot chicks" night after night, your MySpace page will never have less than 10,000 friends on it, and you're blessed with free admission and drink tickets at every nightclub in the city. What, you're thinking, could possibly go wrong?

One can't let a Gawker guest editing spot pass one by without taking at least one gratuitous swipe at Newsday. If my new bosses around here would see fit to take any of my suggestions seriously, this would be a daily feature. Since it's not really relevant to "Manhattan media news and gossip," however - and since it's Long Fucking Island, after all — I doubt this will ever happen. Still and all, a regular strafing of Impulse!, Newsday's reader-driven entertainment feature, is something everyone should consider. For example, Glen Cove's Laura S. explains why "The Office" is her favorite TV show of 2006:

On the year's slowest - SLOWEST - news/tips/anything day, the best the outerboroughs have to offer is a demonstration of what happens when Guidos are charged with protecting the collection box in a Catholic Church. We can only imagine what must've happened when the thieves were confronted: shirts came off, obscenities were lobbed and baseball bats were immediately drawn. Of course, when the getaway car circled back around the block, the Guidos quickly retreated into the church and hid behind the Monsignor.

In a Fly Life cover story in this week's Voice, Tricia Romano discovers some new venues that, contrary to all expectations, aren't filled with total douchebags. Let's see what she has to say about them:

We hardly need to tell you where to obtain your coke: Ever since the passage of the Los Angeles Cocaine Legalization Act of 2004, Hollywood's preferred social lubricant has been readily available at every Starbucks, Ralphs, and CostCo (at deep bulk discounts) in the city. However, we recognize that sometimes you'd like a little company when blowing rails, for while cutting up a couple of lines by yourself and settling in for a night of The Jeffersons reruns has its own rewards, there's really no substitute for crowding into a bathroom stall and enjoying the unique camaraderie of communing with strangers over a shared eight-ball. For those nights when you're craving some companionship, we point you to Gridskipper's guide to the local bars where you might find a new friend with whom to shovel some snow with a tiny spoon. An excerpt:

By now you know we have a slight fascination with Good, the magazine started by Inc. heir and man-about-town Ben Goldhirsh and backed by two generations of the Gore dynasty. Word on the street is that hotelier Andre Balazs finds Good to be "inspirational," and this is why he lent his coveted Beaver Bar for their holiday soiree. We sent shutterbug Nikola Tamindzic and Intern Stephanie to the same place where they were stalked by Richard Johnson and Lloyd Grove just two weeks ago. Bore yourself with the full gallery. After the jump, Stephanie gets three cosmos and a complimentary copy of the good-est magazine ever.

We've pondered its enduring appeal before but we think we've finally solved the mystery of Chelsea twatspot Marquee: It turns out to be Ground Zero for some of the most significant events of this young century. After the jump, the good people who flack for the club remind us why Marquee has made a lasting contribution to the city's - nay, the world's - social and cultural well-being. [Sic] rule in effect.

Word has it that Siberia, the bar once known for its wonderfully hideous 50th Street subway station location and its regular crowd of media-publishing ne'er-do-wells, may be getting kicked to the curb. Though it hasn't seen the drunk journo crowd nearly as much in its current 40th Street location, the dive still drew regulars and newbies alike lusting after the old vibe. Apparently it's landlord troubles, with possible closure on the immediate and permanent side. Any info, or perhaps you'd care to share Siberia nostalgia of your own? Let us know.

TODO is one daily thing recommended for you, by us.

After a couple of party-heavy weeks, we may be the definition of permanently hung over. Team Party Crash craved a night off, fueled by visions of TIVO backups, generic canned soup, a little beer chased with some illegally acquired sleeping pills. Unfortunately, around lunchtime yesterday we got wind of some rush party over at the College Humor loft and, well, we figured our alcoholism isn't going anywhere unless we keep drinking, and frankly, who knows how to binge drink better than fratboys? Beer Pong? Beer BONGS? Ice Luge? A bunch of uber-wealthy internet kids pretending they're still in college? Hello. Apparently they're celebrating some new funding by spending a shitload of money. Awesome. We sent the overachieving Intern Heather, beer bong champion/shutterfly Kate and jailbait videographer Richard Blakeley back to school for a refresher. Enjoy a truly humbling gallery of photos, or speculate on what could possible motivate Kate to post even more. After the jump, Heather deals with her hangover as best as her private Catholic high-school education will allow.

Hello, this is your still-hungover friend Alex Blagg, of Blue States Lose and Best Week Ever fame. I don't know how your Wednesday night went, but let me tell you about mine. I wandered into some Times Square one-word-noun nightclub called "Show" for the who cares annual Paper Nightlife Awards, ready to have my burning questions about the city's best bars, DJ's, and parties for homosexuals answered — FINALLY. Gawker's Nikola Tamindzic was on photo duty; plunge heedlessly into the sleaze with our gallery of photos, or bounce over to Nikola's plumper version. After the jump, dangerous proximity to MisShapes.

Last night was the opening of the unfortunately-named Beaver Bar, the lobby/sales office/bar of what will eventually be William Beaver House, which is real-estate god Andre Balazs's new luxury condominium set to open in Lower Manhattan at some undetermined point in the future. Apparently, when one is looking to sell ridiculously expensive condos to the oversexed power-hungry Wall Street demographic, your marketing scheme should center on an adorable cartoon beaver. We know, we wouldn't have thought it either, but the guy has a ton of money, so who are we to argue? Instead, we sent Gawkslave Erica, photog Nikola Tamindzic, and videographer Richard Blakeley to cover the festivities. Enjoy a beaverlicious display of photos, plus Nikola's extra-adorable full gallery, plus dancing near-naked ladies on fire and the textual rundown after the jump.

Last time we checked, the Gramercy Park area was the epitome of everything that is wrong with Manhattan. This means it's the perfect place for Sex and the City scribe Candace Bushnell and screenwriter Jay McInerney to read steamy sexcapes in front of a gaggle of media folk, socialites, and debutards. We sent GawkSlave Stephanie along with photographer Kate and tipsy videographer Richard Blakeley to make an official record of the blatant debauchery. Waste an additional 20 minutes of your nonproductive day by checking out the Gawker gallery of love, plus Kate's full gallery. After the jump our "I'm only here for the free drinks" trio enter a roomful of a Blue States Lose, with bonus Paula Froelich naughtiness transcription feature.

What's not to love about S magazine, a Denmarkian publication specializing in "high-end erotic fashion photography"? They launched in the U.S. last night with their fourth issue, debuting a show of sexomofied pics at Milk Gallery, and our own Nikola Tamindzic was on duty. If there's a MisShape in attendance, you know the proceedings must be hawt. Plus Page Six's Richard Johnson! Hotelmonger Andre Balazs! And maybe that guy from Franz Ferdinand! A few background NSFW images, but mostly it's just hipsters pawing at models, and (reluctantly, we imagine) vice versa. Check out our gallery of record, plus Nikola's own version, then go take a shower and buy yourself a nice clean copy of Elle.

Here's the last of this week's pell-mell crush of party reportage. Photawg Nikola Tamindzic hit last night's soiree to celebrate the release of designer Valentino Garavani's new fragrance, "Rock 'n' Rose." That's right: This was a party for a funk. An aroma. An odor. Nevertheless, fashion creatures boiled out of the woodwork in response to the scent, and though they may pretend for a moment to be camera-shy, we all know how this is going to end. Enjoy our own gallery of beautiful grotesques, and do the same with Nikola's full gallery. You won't be sorry! Well, actually you will, but at least you can't smell anything off the images.

Photographer Sante d'Orazio has a reputation for doing the sexy picture thing, not to mention the actual sex-the-models thing. His new book, Katlick School, goes right for the groin of a particular fetish — the sexual awakening of a nubile girl in Catholic school uniform. Fulfilling the barely repressed urges of generations of Catholic school boys, the book has aroused adult Catholics in quite a different fashion, though none bothered to show up to protest the book's launch last night at the Gramercy Park Hotel. For this occasion, our week long Party Crash scrambling resulted in headliner photog Nikola Tamindzic getting able backup from lenswoman Our Pal Kate. The end result is a doubleplusgood collection of photos. You can look at a complete gallery of the whole shebang; or, you can sift through Nikola's photos; or, spend time with Kate's collection (full gallery here). Plus, check out an exclusive! gallery! of preview pics from the book over at Fleshbot. Warning: hidden somewhere in all these is a make-out scene involving Mickey Rourke and Val Kilmer. Go fetch! And after the jump, Kate gives up the narrative lowdown.

As part of his Herculean labors last evening, we sent Nikola Tamindzic to document the festivities at the opening night for new hipsterfest High Voltage, this one at LES den Sutra Lounge. Hosted by bandoid/nightlifer Heidi Gallant and Radar photog Nicky Digital, it's got all the usual ingredients — haircuts, tattoos, nudity, pouty lips, shabby chic accessories. You know the drill. Enjoy our visual march to perdition, or experience Nikola's full-bodied version. Beyond that, we have no prose analysis, because really, we've all been down this road a number times, and we'll all travel this way again and again, till we die. Hurrah!

On a November night somehow both warm and crisp, the Gawker gods decided to punish Nikola Tamindzic by sending him to three parties in six hours. By far the strangest occasion celebrated notorious pornographer and fellatio expert Al Goldstein, who penned a 267-page tale of sexual depravity called I, Goldstein. Interestingly enough, we're told there will be a book review in the New York Times this Sunday. No word on whether or not they mention his time at Rikers, erotic escapades with hairy BFF Ron Jeremy, or how he used to hang a former lover upside down and lick her clit. Venture into this gallery of horrors, if you dare. After the jump, Intern Stephanie and overworked shutterbug Nikola arrive late, leave early, and still manage to get felt up by random strangers.

In a decidedly under-dressed clusterfuck in SoHo, Fondazione Prada honored Tom Sachs, the mixed-media artist who has bought the world such brilliant artistic juxtapositions like the Tiffany Value Meal and the Prada Toilette and his "eponymous" new book, aptly entitled, Tom Sachs. We sent Intern Heather and prolific shutterfly Nikola Tamindzic along to observe the ratio of self-important people to actually-important people. (Hint: the ratio was really, really high.) Take a gander at our gallery of alleged "beautiful people," and Nikola chronicles them further over at Ambrel. After the jump, Intern Heather attempts to explain her inadequacies.