We pulled bank on hiring once, too. Then we came to work here instead, and, sadly, no longer pull bank.

For the longest time, we didn't quite understand why the Times continued to let Alessandra Stanley write about television. She has paid her dues as a foreign correspondent, sure. She's been at the paper for years, fine. But, apparently, she suffers from a congenital inability to get anything about television — names, dates, facts — correct. So why, we wondered, did they allow her to continue? Then we saw last night's Colbert Report, on which host Stephen Colbert made this commentary:

It just keeps getting harder for people working at the Times: Now the editors are even posting staffers' performance reviews on the web.

Yesterday we learned that Judy Miller might now be — who'd have thunk it — staying at the Times, and yet today there's no follow-up. (Timesman David Barstow made a very limited Judy defense in Utah, but that doesn't count.) There's nothing more from the Observer, no second-day piece from the Times itself or from the Journal, nothing new, even, from Arianna Huffington.

The inferno of Chelsea's glittery nightlife hell, Marquee, is approaching its second anniversary. To examine why the venue thrives while others disappear every other day, the Times sent poor Lola Ogunnaike to experience the magic. To best understand Marquee, we turn to the words of its people:

As if it's not sad enough that Judy Miller is now seeking career counseling under the guise of "reporting," it's even worse that this once high-powered, well-sourced investigative dynamo has been reduced to posting on ProfNet, American's best way for lazy reporters to meet eager quote whores.

Hey, so remember last week when everyone said Judy Miller was on her way out of the Times? Well, hold up there, cowboy, because the winds they are a-shiftin'. As of today: Judy's back!

From time to time, we find ourselves commenting that, all present employment evidence to the contrary not withstanding, we are fundamentally Luddites. We use IE rather than Firefox; we keep our appointments in an antediluvian Filofax; we do not — this part we feel a touch of guilt about — own an iPod. We tend to argue that many things work just fine as they are, that hifalutin technical "upgrades" and "advances" are merely marketing scams and inconvenient timesucks. (Yes, we've been crotchety since we were about 10.) Then an article like this one comes along:

See, they were on a first-syllable basis. Because she and Art Sulzberger were so tight.

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[Courtesy of MB]

Every now and then, something cross our inbox so brilliant that we couldn't possibly add anything to it. (Rephrase: Every now and then, something cross our inbox so unbelievably brilliant that we're, atypically, not arrogant enough to think we can improve it.) This is one of those times. Ladies and gentleman, from the fertile mind of Mr. Andrew Hearst:

Little new Judy Miller news today — she's still a Times employee, she's still not actually going in to work, she still doesn't have a book deal — except for yet another nail in the coffin, this time from L.A. Times house leftie Bob Scheer, who, in a neat rhetorical trick, blames Miller for John Kerry's presidential loss. But it's more than that; he just kind of hates Miller — her "theatrics," that she "cared far more about protecting someone who abused his power ... than about protecting the right of Wilson to speak truth to power." He, clearly would like to see her gone, too.

In high school, of course, they were well-known for their group Anna Quindlen costume.

• R.W. Apple Jr., the Times political reporter-turned- professional gourmand and a guy who knows a thing or two about bigfooting through the newsroom, spoke yesterday at the Texas Book Festival. He was there to read from a new book on food, reports the Austin American-Statesman, but also ended up taking questions on politicis. "Apple, who had flattering things to say about Miller's doggedness as a reporter, nonetheless called her 'relentless and totally out of control,'" said the paper.

Speaking of Maureen Dowd, a reader was perplexed by a line in yesterday's 5,000-word Magazine excerpt from her new book. (Yes, between New York, the Times Mag, and — oh yeah — her column Saturday, you could read 12,000 words of Dowdiana over the last three days.) He writes:

We're still accepting entries in the Millerpalooza Sweepstakes. Have a guess on when Judy finally puts on her Panama hat and leaves 43rd Street for the last time? Then play along. Read the rules here, and then send your guess to us here: tips@gawker.com. Here's the new wrinkle, though: The entry period will end at midnight tonight. So get your guesses in soon, or you may never get to taste the delicious, delicious yellowcake.

We have no idea who Justin Patrick Schwinghamer is, or even if that's his real name, but after receiving these photos of his Tom Friedman-inspired Jack-0-Latern, we can surmise at least one thing: This is the face of TimesSelect.

In fairness, we imagine "Bush Picks Not-Unqualified Judge," or, "Bush Picks Penis'd Judge" — which are the two actually newsworthy parts of this nomination — don't quite pass the Al Siegal test.

For those of you inexplicably itching to get a jump start on your holiday shopping, a few of the holiday shops at Bryant Park have opened up early, presumably for the cracktards who happen to be ice skating in 70-degree weather at the new pond. Lucky for us, one of those early-bird shops is the New York Times Store, which carries a wealth of options for the Sulzberger lover in your life.

Remember back when Maureen Dowd was secretive and mysterious and didn't do interviews or sit for pictures?