That's going to do it for me; if you need me I'll be drowning my sorrows in the well-mixed Old Fashioneds at East Side Company Bar. And my sorrows are legion. In the brief five days I've spent here I've come to realize how Choire Sicha went from barefoot boy with cheek of 29 to wizened old crone of 33 in the space of year. The swift transformation of Jess Coen's apartment from charming LES walkup to makeshift meth lab (well, swift for that neighborhood) also suddenly makes sense. They couldn't pay you to do this job on a regular basis (that is, in fact, the business plan). Anyway, thanks for putting up with me, thanks to all three of my co-editors, and thank you for the tips and e-mail abuse (memo to the guy who wrote that the New York Press' "Taibbi & Zaitchik could write better copy in the snow with their dicks than you can with a laptop": I use a desktop.). Finally, thanks to Nikki Finke for keeping things interesting; next time you're in town the club sodas are on me. Okay, there's wallets to dent and livers to damage. Catch you around. AB