It became clear to us that Radar Online would be returning this summer on June 5, when we were forwarded an email a Radar intern sent to music-biz publicists seeking CDs for review. And last Friday that window got more specific, when we learned that Radar Online will likely be launching in July. How did we learn this? When we were forwarded a another email, from another Radar intern, sent to music-biz publicists and seeking CDs for review.

A mass email sent to record-label publicists late this afternoon — and, of course, promptly forwarded to us:

A brief reminder to love your Gmail, courtesy of a recent survey of 300 businesses:

This email arrived in our inbox moments ago from Perri Dorset, the longtime New Yorker publicity powerhouse who now works for the TK-eventually Conde Nast business mag:

Just as college students, blessed these days with email accounts, now have the temerity to email their professors, they seem equally eager to approach any publication with listed email addresses to ask for help on their term papers. (Here at Gawker, our recent requests have been from students in Prof. John Mohr's sociology class at UCSB who wish to perform content analyses on our posts, and, yes, kiddies, feel free.) But, while such requests are commonplace, one recently sent to a handful of editors at The Wall Street Journal, and now circulating within the paper, stands out:

Would it be Page Six without entirely gratuitous drama? Of course not. Jossip is reporting that former Sixer Ian Spiegelman, who is being feted tonight for his newly released novel, Welcome to Yesterday, managed to get his old colleagues banned from attending the party. How did he allegedly do this? It's complicated; follow closely. Spiegelman gave an interview for Simon Dumenco's Monday Ad Age column, and apparently he subsequently came to believe that Post editor Col Allan was miffed over some of the things he said. (It's unclear whether any actual miffage had occurred.) So Spiegelman sent Allan an aggressively defensive email, sort of apologizing for the misunderstanding but mostly not.

We know how it goes. You have an amusing little conceit — say, a battle brewing between north and south Brooklyn. You know that it's sort of true, and that it's also sort of bullshit, and you're intrigued by the intellectual exercise of spinning it into an argument you can sustain for, oh, maybe 2,000 words. How clever!, you think, as do your colleagues and friends. But here's the thing, which we all forget: Exercises like this hurt innocent people. Pity the poor Californian, set imminently to move eastward for a new writing gig in New York, whose flummoxed plea arrived in our inbox last night:

The inscrutable logic of Amazon.com's targeted-marketing emails, as manifested in a friend's inbox yesterday:

Making its way to books publicists this afternoon:

This just arrived:

• Problem-ridden ABC News hunts for GMA email leaker. This much we know: It wasn't Krucoff. [NYO]
• Howell Raines' new memoir is good. [WP]
• Is Conde considering moving publishers around? Perhaps. [WWD]
• "The Feds yesterday arrested two young Wall Streeters and a mole at a Business Week print shop for running a trans-Atlantic insider trading scam that enlisted investment bank colleagues and a stripper to rack up $6.7 million in ill-gotten gains." It's ledes like this that make it impossible to stay mad at the Post. [NYP]
• NYT names a new real-estate editor; Joyce Cohen has fun with capital letters. [HuntGrunt]
• 'Times' gets new ThuStyles deputy editor; remarkably it's not a gay man. She is, however, a former Observer m.e., which the Observer doesn't mention. [Media Mob/NYO]

New York mag has a cute front-of-book item today on an only-in-Park-Slope battle that recently raged on an email list for earnest and progressive parents in that earnestly progressive Brooklyn neighborhood. As Ben Mathis-Lilley explains:

We've always thought alleged funnyman Jimmy Fallon had little talent but a cute haircut. So we almost started to wonder whether this crazy email that showed up the other day actually had a point:

Bruce Ratner is happily bulldozing his way through Brooklyn, molding Marty Markowitz's borough to his whims. Nothing can stand in his way; nothing can stop him. Well, only one thing, according to the Sun: Fake email.

We were marveling today at Page Six's rakish lan in passing off an admission of its screwup yesterday as though somehow the underlying facts had changed:

Buck up, little camper. It's not that Remnick didn't appreciate that brilliant pitch for your breakthrough piece; we're sure he loved it. He just can't get word to you. Or at least that's what you can keep telling yourself, thanks to a forwarded memo we received from several tipsters within Conde Nast:

Once, long ago, magazines had their own, separate identities. Typically, this included their own, separate editorial and business staffs, and even often their own real estate. When Si Newhouse bought The New Yorker, for example, he promised that he wouldn't integrate the magazine into Conde Nast, today its business operations are unified with the rest of the company, and the its staff toils in 4 Times Square.

• James Risen wouldn't show Times editors his spying book until a week before it came out — and even then only after they signed an NDA. We can't imagine Denton even stifling a laugh if we tried the same thing. [NYO]
• MPA chief "regrets" making donation to conservative group Abramoff suggested. Just as we're sure Bob Ney regrets taking all those perks Abramoff offered. And Abramoff, we're equally sure, regrets offering them. [Ad Age]
• It's a dorky thing to be excited about, but, still, we're dorks: The Observer website finally gives each article its own URL, and our long national nightmare is over. [Jossip]
• Now only TimesSelect subscribers can email the paper's op-ed columnists. We hope, for Maureen's sake, that Aaron Sorkin's a TimesSelecter. [E&P]
• Jon Friedman misses Walter Cronkite. [MW]

An announcement from UVA's New York alumni club::

A representative sample from "Eavesdropping on the Public Theater of the Absurd," by Wendell Jamieson, Ink column, page B2, today's Times: