The trailer for the movie version of the hugely popular graphic novel by Alan Moore, The Watchmen, is out. Since 1986, various attempts have been made to turn it into a film— it'll be out for real next March. Of course, Moore won't be watching—he didn't want to be attached to a film adaptation and has told Entertainment Weekly that he wouldn't watch the movie should it happen—but it looks awesome. Click for pretty stills from the trailer.

Back at the start of 2006, Gawker ran one of those classic shock-starlet items that just tends to stick with you: Lindsay Lohan and new best friend Kate Moss, doing their part to prop up the Colombian economy, stumbled into a New York bar bathroom, whereupon Lohan reportedly asked if anyone had a Sharpie. Someone did. She then wrote something not very nice about Scarlett Johansson, which, according to photographic evidence, went something like, "Scarlett is a bloody cunt / L / Peace and love / [illegible] / fucker." Almost three years later, Scarlett was asked to address the vulgar communiqué in an interview with Allure

Hey, let's all be disappointed! Did you hear that President-elect Barack Obama is already a huge sell-out? He's not even going to cut Joe Lieberman's nuts off! (We think it's dumb to give Lieberman subpoena power over the incoming president but whatevs, it's Barry's call.) Now, he's apparently going to let Hillary Clinton be Secretary of State. That is, if you believe The Guardian. The lefty UK paper says the Clinton selection is a done deal, though no US paper has been quite so bold. Michael Wolff thinks this is brilliant media strategy on the part of either the Obamas or the Clintons, to punish the New York Times for some unspecified crime or simply to bypass them in order to teach them a lesson about who's in charge. We, uh, aren't so sure. Neither the Clintons or the Obamas seemed to show much favor to the foreign press during the campaigns, and no UK paper, let alone The Guardian, was handed a scoop of this magnitude over the domestic press. So why now? As Wolff points out, the Europeans love Bill Clinton much more than we do, here where he used to run things, because we had to see his shouty red face so much during the primaries. So maybe it's just wishful thinking? But now the speculation has lasted days, without denials from anyone, so, yeah, it seems like the SecState gig is Hillary's. The trial balloons been floating out there for a while now, and no one's yet come up with a great argument against the nomination that doesn't boil down to "the Clintons are a headache." We are probably happier with her than with, say, hilarious clown Bill Richardson or old man Richard Holbrooke, but we were kinda warming to the John Kerry idea. That guy's been in the Senate way longer, and is clearly way more sick of being there, right? He was investigating Iran-Contra when Hillary was in Arkansas doing whatever she was accused of doing in that Whitewater thing! (Remember that?) Both of them were dead wrong on Iraq, obv, but we're probably not going to sell anyone on Secretary of State Russ Feingold. At least she's smarter than Condi Rice. Still, Clinton's rehtoric on foreign policy has always seemed more resolutely, defensively hawkish, in that "Democrats can be war-mongering badasses too" way we deplore, than that of genuine old-timey liberal John Kerry. Of course, Obama's language has been similar, so we probably shouldn't expect the doves and peaceniks to run the foreign affairs department in an Obama administration. Which means it's disappointment season! Turns out the new politics of hope might involve some hopeless old politicians! Because, hey, the only Democrats hanging around Washington with any experience in the executive branch are old Clinton people (there might be some Carter guys, at Brookings or something, but no one talks to them). So the faces of triangulation did not melt, Raiders of the Lost Ark-style, when Obama won the nomination. It is a great excuse for us Coastal Liberal Elites to Hate America Again, for the very first time. Just keep Mark Penn far away from 1600 Pennsylvania, Barry, for the sake of the country.

Wall Street won't have much to celebrate this holiday season. Most firms have announced record losses in recent weeks, thousands of employees have been let go, and even that banking birthright, the annual bonus, appears to be in jeopardy this year. Goldman Sachs announced yesterday that its top seven execs would forgo multi-million bonus checks. UBS followed suit hours later, and there's word that other banks will make similar moves in the coming days. Of course, the impact of the downturn isn't just felt by the bankers themselves. Some unlucky wives, for example, are just finding out that they're going to spend Christmas at the Four Seasons in Maui, instead of the Altamer in St. Barths, since someone decided that $10,000 for a beachfront suite was a little too much money to spend on a vacation right now. Fortunately, we're here to help. Friends, Wall Street cannot lift itself out of this mess alone, even if they happen to have tens of billions of taypayer dollars. If they're going to pull themselves up, we're all going to need to chip in, and then we'll all be rewarded when these financial titans return to their frivolous lives and start spending ridiculous amounts of money on real estate, clothes, and dinners once again. We may not be able to send them big bundles of cash (they've got the Treasury Department for that anyway), but there are countless other ways to help, little gestures that can make life easier for men who could use a little comfort as they experience sudden lifestyle changes, like having to fly commercial for the first time in years. Below: How we're going to lend some assistance to Lloyd Blankfein, the CEO of Goldman Sachs.

LA Times columnist Patrick Goldstein used his blog yesterday for the entertaining purpose of viciously mocking Variety and its Hollywood fixture editor, Peter Bart. Mocking them for being poor! This column is awesome for the following reasons: because media outlets don't usually air their dirty laundry like this; because Peter Bart and Variety certainly deserve the mocking; and most of all because Patrick Goldstein seems totally unconcerned that his own paper does the same exact thing he criticizes Variety for, and that that very thing keeps him employed. Ha: Peter Bart wrote a column of his own (Headline: "Will fiscal funk trip kudo contenders?" WTF) bitching about the lack of Oscar-related ads from the studios in Variety. Patrick Goldstein appropriately tells him to shut it:

Does anyone else feel like The Hills might be, gulp!, wrapping up? I mean, with Lauren barely in it anymore, Heidi and Spencer not even bothering to act like they don't completely hate each other, Audrina all content, finally, with Justin Bobby... I mean, it feels like it's almost over. There are still a couple of miles to go before they sleep, what with Heidi and Spencer needing to have some sort of spectacular meltdown (or, shudder, make-up), and Whitney needing to pack her steamer trunk and herd on over to New York City for good. But still... there's a lingering late-summer feel to the whole affair these days, and last night's typically melancholy proceedings were no exception. We were greeted, as always, with the swirl of mountains and late afternoon sun and the glittery title card that said "One Last Chance." The goal of the episode, I guess, was to figure out for whom was there a last chance? Was it Lauren's last chance to show the producers she still cared? Heidi's last chance to work at SBE? Audrina's last, best hope with grumbly Justin Bobby? Holly and Spencerina's last chance to be characters on the show? Spencer's last chance to not ruin his fake relationship's slim credibility with his relentlessly unforgivable assholishness? I think, really, it was all of those things. An episode as quiet-yet-busy as life itself. Lauren and Audrina went for drinks at a noisy bar (lots of annoying dubbing in that scene!) to talk about how they should talk more, now that Audrina has abandoned her little hermitage at Conradshire to live in a sprawling apartment of her own. They chatted about Holly, Heidi's chipmunkish sister who was crashing at Lauren's for the time being, and Audrina seemed vaguely surprised but mostly just happy that she no longer had to deal the protracted silliness of the whole feud. She had the sorta-frustrating but mostly charming serenity of someone contently in love. Nothing could phase or upset her. Well, save for her beloved. Who was nice in this episode! They went to Venice Beach and Audrina marveled at how it was sooo different from the little enclaves of Hollywood that she usually rattles around in. It's true! It's like Los Angeles is a big city with lots of neighborhoods and different kinds of people or something! Justin Bobby said that this was his jam, this is where he wanted to be, because being here made him feel like he didn't need to be the asshole that he is when he's in Hollywood. So I guess that's some weird, sideways way of saying that you've grown up a bit, and the same petty trappings no longer concern you. They lay on a little mound and spoke of happiness and it was, as staged and camera-adjacent as it may have been, a genuinely nice little moment. They walked off into the sunset and I wish they'd stayed there for all time. Not that anything got ruined! They had dinner later and he presented her, in charming fashion, with a little gift. It was, I guess, a shirt she'd seen in Venice and he'd gone back to get it. Which is nice and means he was paying attention! What was sad, though, was how ridiculously happy she seemed about it. I mean, yeah, it was cool. But, erm, it was just a little shirt, not an engagement ring. I guess it's testament to how resoundingly shitty JB has been in the past. Then they made plans to go on a trip, a Cabo do-over!!!, and you kind of realized that maybe they weren't all that changed and grownup. But still, there's something there. I think we're almost ready to give them our blessing and send them off into the great unknown. Meanwhile, at Crappington Corners, those two hideous vulture creatures were cawing and pecking at each other ceaselessly. Well, OK, it was mostly Spencer who was doing the antagonizing, but Heidi glumly played along. They're both complicit in this misery. She was cleaning her closet because she doesn't have a job and Spencer came in and asked if she wanted to see a movie. She said she didn't, because she was mad at him for getting her fired. He snipped back about her crazy moms and stuff and they went back and forth for a while and eventually Heidi looked like she was just going to pass out from all the agony of having this conversation once again, with this dreadful person, in this sad blue room. Later Lauren dropped the bomb to Spencerina that Holly was shacking up with her, so of course Spencerina immediately gopher-tunneled over to Castle Dracula to tell the bickering harpies. Heidi just looked shocked and hurt (well rehearsed!) while Spencer was, of course, nasty and said things about Heidi's sister, and about his sister, and about Heidi's mother, and not about his mother. The only nice little thing came from Spencer making a little noise behind his sister, she turned, and he had made up a little plate of food for her. That was like, natural-seeming and comfortable and not aggressive, but the teeny tiny moment quickly disappeared and we were back to Starship Troopers, in which the couple plays both incredibly stupid Denise Richards and Casper van Dien wannabes and the bugs that regularly try to devour them. I just want Neil Patrick Harris to come out and do some mind bendy stuff and make them calm. Or I want one of the big-brain sucking bugs to show up and just end it once and for all. But alas we got no relief and the, well, big brain-sucking bug gave us a glimpse of what it has in store for us next week, which looks like more of the same tired, sun-splashed agita. If it does end soon I'd like the last shots to be: Lauren: Wanders down crowded street and disappears, a la Carrie B. at the end of the Sex and the City series. Or she's at some big fashion event and has had a success and the camera slowly pulls back and out the door, leaving her alone at the party forever. Audrina: She and Justin Bobby on an airplane, going somewhere. They grab hands and hold tight, smile. She stares out the window. Then a look of slight panic crosses her face. Like at the end of The Graduate. That's all we get from her. The Sisters: Spencerina is shown pregnant and smoking a cigarette on some dreary corner of Sunset, sipping a Big Gulp. Holly is shown disinterestedly working the boot and ski rental at a mountain in Colorado. She checks her cell phone to see if anyone's called. No one has. Heidi & Spencer: Spencer is shown by the side of the road. His car has broken down. For some reason, he doesn't have his wallet with him. He realizes he has no one to call to come help him. Finally he swallows his pride and calls Heidi. She sees the phone ringing on the seat next to her, but she doesn't answer it. She's got a head scarf on and she's driving in a convertible on the highway and she's off for somewhere else. She floors it and her scarf comes flying off. The camera follows it for a second, dancing in the breeze, then pans up to the twirling sun and then credits roll, like at the end of The English Patient. Anyway, that's how I see it.

The first audience to see the finished version of Australia should be drunkenly stumbling out of the afterparty right about now in Sydney, where Baz Luhrmann's $130 million epic held its world premiere today. Early reviews from the homeland are mixed ("While it will be very popular with many people I think there's a slight air of disappointment after it all," notes The Australian), putting Fox on edge for this weekend's first American press screenings and underscoring downswung star Nicole Kidman's red-carpet threat to walk away from the whole sordid business:

Om Malik has some brash advice for Yahoo. Too bad no one will find it: Three different publications' logos clog the top of his article's page. The lead paragraph is disrupted with another promo link, a broken stock ticker link, and a blogroll for Kara Swisher, whose name really ought to link to Google Finance to disclose her wife's current worth in GOOG shares. Second paragraph: "Yang's decision isn't a surprise ... In June 2008, I wrote about ..." Om, I know you love it when we pick on each other, so here you go: Start your friggin' article already. I went deep-sea diving in Om's prose to fish out his admirably brazen suggestions to fix Yahoo without Yang:

The Associated Press does it again. "Yahoo's Yang decides he's no longer the right CEO." That's gotta be a fun job, coming up with the dryly sarcastic headlines. But you gotta be careful with those, because unwitting Web surfers who don't get the jokes-inside-jokes voice of the Internet might actually think you're reporting that Jerry Yang made the decision.

Haven't we warned you people that Twitter and all of its attendant microtrends are nothing but trouble? That also goes for "the internet" and "bloggers," and especially for "mom bloggers," a particularly virulent and dangerous subset. Corporate America has now learned this lesson the hard way. The outrage of Twitter moms has forced the big bad Motrin corporation to pull its totally innocent ad campaign for aspirin. Power to the people! Detect the horrible offense here for yourself:

Why would the President and COO of News Corp. take a job running Yahoo? Money, of course, but does Yahoo have that much? Nonetheless, relentless Yahoo blogger Kara Swisher reports that Peter Chernin is "the No. 1 choice of most inside and outside Yahoo." Swisher says Yahoo's current President, Sue Decker, is being "considered" for the job, which in Valleyspeak means she's not being considered at all. Kara lists another seven potential Chief Yahoos. Kara's even more obsessive about Yahoo than Owen, so you click her and I'll go back to looking for caption contests.

Did you dutifully rush out and buy the $22,000 picnic basket featured in Elle Décor a few months ago? Well, the magazine's editor Margaret Russell would like to make it clear that such items will no longer be darkening her pages: "It just seems vulgar, and vulgar is not a word I want to associate with our magazine." Russell, who was moderating an interior design panel with Cynthia Rowley, Bunny Williams, Celerie Kemble, and Annabelle Selldorf last night at the Pratt House, suggests that quilts are now the appropriate "humble" purchase, while Rowley recommends art: "That's the only thing I buy now." After seeing Rowley's home, we slightly doubt that. But we'll take her advice and resist splashing out on even her Target housewares.

It was Turkey Day yesterday on Gossip Girl, and sort of turkey night for us, as a series of flightless bird storylines gobble-gobbled and feather ruffled uselessly before us. No murders, no sex, no drugs, no drinking (well not really), no gay stuff (again, not really). Just old pumpkin pie in a can family dramz, from Jenny the quite literally mop-topped rebellious fashion designer to Natalie Archibald, a young girl whose daddy did some mean things and now everyone is sad and yelly all the time. Put on your buckle shoes, buckle hat, and pantaloons, grab your musket, and come a'huntin' with me after the jump. Where we started: Jenny was mostly a hobo who was staying with gravelly-voiced Erik; Blair was mad still about her mom's new main squeeze, Wallace Shawn; Serena was still inexplicably drawn to little Fievel the mouse; and Nate was poor and having the-police-are-after-papa problems. Luckily EVERYTHING was resolved by the end of the episode (well, almost everything) because that is the way that Thanksgiving ends: with everyone happy and loving each other and not sitting alone in a darkened room of the house, gulping wine, still reeling from when your brother-in-law smacked your nephew right at the dinner table and your mom threw the fucking turkey out the window and your father yelled "all right! all right! all right!" as he banged the dinner table, which made your nephew cry more, and your sister wouldn't stop shrieking and shrieking and shrieking and somewhere in all of this your younger brother disappeared and for some reason you feel like he might be gone for good this time, I mean he took his guitar, and fuck your flight is going to be delayed if it snows and you can't believe you'd rather be at that miserable shitpile you call work than be here right now. That's never how Thanksgiving ends. Anyway! Jenny was trying to get legally divorced from her parents, because her crusty old rockstar dad just didn't understand her love of fashions and irresponsibly stupid haircuts. Erik was at the meeting with her because I guess they are best friends now and Jenny was shocked—shocked!—to hear that she'd have to, you know, like tell her parents that she was dibborcin' them and not just like mewp off into the fashionz sunset with nobody's feelings hurt. Well eventually Pa Humphrey found out that Jennifer had been staying at van der Bass Acres and he and Lily hatched a plan to get her back into the comfortable fold of warehouse Brooklyn where she belongs. Erik got dinged by the 'rents for harboring a fugitive, but not before Bart Bass ominously (and cattily, meow Miss Thang!) said that Erik best to check up on his mans, who may or may not have been jeepin' with the captain of the swim team. Were I a high school geigh, I'd probably have to stick with the captain of the swim team rather than a little Christmas elf who consistently scores highly in the Overly Earnest Voice Olympics. But that's just me! Erik was sad and curious as to how/why Bart knew such bitchy info, so of course he gushingly went to stepbro Chuckles, who showed him Bart's safe, which was full of gold bullion and richly embroidered hats and strange potions and elixirs and eye of newt and the lost Shakespeare play and Snow White's heart in a little wooden box and a single red apple and, most importantly, secret files. Ever the curious kitten, Erik read his and was shocked. "I'm gay???" he bellowed. On the other side of the same side of town, or somewhere downtown who the eff knows, Serena was feeding bits of cheese to her mousy little friend Aaron Rose. He had big news for her. He had decided to make it exclusive. This was good news for women everywhere, because previously Serena had been spouting some seriously messed up stuff about how she couldn't win him if she wasn't in the fight and all this stuff and you just wondered why this particular creature was so worth it and then you found out why: because he's a boring, super judgmental, Sober prick! Whee! Yeah, he doesn't drink because it really helps his "work," because, oh yeah Aaron. Because it must be completely impossible to put random shit in a pile and then play a movie on it when you're canned. Good on you. So Serena decided that she would lie and say she was a teetotaler when she is, in fact, anything but. So, awkward! Luckily for no one involved, Dan ran into Aaron at a little gourmandy Brooklyn greengrocer's, and like the big-mouthed idiot his character has never been on the show until this episode, he started gabbing about how Serena is a total drunk and probably killed a dude and how Aaron's mama was like a hardware store, three cents a sc— Whoa whoa whoa! It was all to much for Aaron. He looked puzzled in a "sometimes TV writers think that acceptable relationship obstacles are when someone thinks that their lover has done something bad in the past and they would completely break up with them if that was in fact true and that's supposed to be totally OK when it is in fact shitty and judgy and like, you should never date someone who is that condescending and boringly principled" kind of way. But whatevs, Dan took the blame for lying to save Serena's narrow, blonde little behind but then she felt bad. So—after Lily confronted Bass about the secret files (she was in a mental institution!! why??? we don't know!!) and the van der Woodsens left the manor—S took her secret file to Aaron because it is never weird when your girlfriend hands you a dossier of her life and says "read." In the end they had a talk and everything was OK. Much like the other two plot points that involved Blair being upset about her moms shutting her out of the whole I'm-dating-a-Sicilian plotline of her life. So she dragged dutiful Dorota (who is so sweet and pretty in real life, I met her this weekend, she's fab!) around town when all poor Dorota wanted to do was go feed the ducks. She understands simple pleasures, ones that don't involve oyster stuffing (ick, oysters) and fancy fancy gay dudes from Paris who just happen to be your dad. Anywayyyyyyy, Blair's mom ended up caring in the end and her dad made a surprise visit and new, happy, awkward family traditions were formed and everyone was so happy for these mind bogglingly wealthy people. Nate's dad came back and Nate was going to run away with him to a magical island where no one arrests you and the Archibald family has money and maybe, just maybe there is a SCUBA instructor from Australia with a nice toned, tawny physique and crinkly blue eyes and hair the color of hay and maybe his name is like Legolas or something and maybe he and Nate could be, uh, friends. But no! All was a lie! The Captain was going to hold Nate and his weak, dimwitted moms for ransom money! Which is the silliest thing I've ever heard! What was he going to do? Hold them at gunpoint? Tie them up? Bah. So instead Nate ended up asking dad to turn himself in, watched wistfully as he was carted off , and thought about how lucky his dad was to be going to a place where men to do each other what they do. Then he made up with Vanessa and had fun limo drinks with Chuck and he was happy again! Jenny came home!!! Storyline over!!! She was tired and poor and didn't want to divorce her parents because divorce means having to say you're sorry and that your parents were negligent when, in fact!, they were the opposite. So the Humphs and the van der Snitsens (minus artist-boning Serena) all had dinner at the Brooklyn brokedown palace and were joined by sad minority orphan Vanessa, who made up with Jenny... but then found an unread letter that Nate had sent that said "Jenny, I totes love you! What should we do, omigod!!" that had hearts over the i's and a picture of a bumblebee doodled in the corner. She stole the letter! Wicked Vanessa! Meanwhile Bart lurked outside and said "yes, bring me the head of Lily van der Woodsen." Or, rather, just the history of her head. He wanted to know why she was in that asylum. Um, because, yes, oftentimes it makes sense to ask a PI "give me only half of the information. I want the what, but ohhh mercy no, I don't want the why." Sure. So there this week's tale ends. Happy disjointed families eating meals and entertaining and feeling warmly dulled by wine and the crisp air whipping its way around the corners of the buildings all here in this big twirling glittering city, so brimming with love and mystery and all the other pearls that form the rich adornments of their lives, and meanwhile the rest of us will be choking down dry turkey somewhere cold and unpleasant while the steady whine of family members fighting in kitchens and living rooms and porches and guest bedrooms fills our ears and drowns out what we're saying to ourselves over and over again in our heads to make us forget: "xo, xo, xo, xo, xo, x....."

We're back from vacation and need to learn to hate again, so let's check in with famous New York Times conservative columnist David Brooks, shall we? Today, the last conservative intellectual in America is writing about this new recession we're in, and how it will make so many people sad, and mad. There is no money! Where is the money? This thing called "the market" was supposed to make the money get bigger and bigger every year forever until Jesus came back, but instead it just ate all the money, but David Brooks doesn't really want to talk about that. He wants to talk about The Middle Class! There isn't one, anymore.

Here's a preposterous contrarian strategy: Evil diamond merchant De Beers is more than doubling its marketing spending this holiday season, because they have "new research showing diamond jewelry will be the number-one gift for the holidays in 2008." Oh really? Diamonds made out of compressed spam, boiled into a thin soup and served with watery Kool-Aid, maybe. De Beers says their ad campaign will be "philosophical." That philosophy is egoism with a touch of apocalypticism. [WWD]

HPQ shares jumped more than they have any day since 2002, after CEO Mark Hurd announced a fourth quarter profit of $1.03 per share, three cents above Bloomberg's compiled estimate. H-P nonetheless will extend its holiday vacation for employees from one week to two to cut costs. The best analyst quote is the simplest: "Despite worries about an economic slowdown, the company can still grow earnings." So what's your excuse?

In yet another sign that the entire media industry is completely Obama-dependent, the President-elect's magic touch is being felt in book sales. Obama's mere mention on Sunday's 60 Minutes that he was reading a book about FDR without "specifically naming a title or author," reports the New York Times, caused all hell to break loose. Which book could it be? Publishers have gone insane, re-printing FDR books that they'd published and scrambling to see if theirs was really the book that Obama had mentioned. He's being compared to the new Oprah for his new influence on the book-buying habits of middle America, which is normally hard-pressed to read the back of a cereal box. Can a Presidential Book Club be the bailout the book industry is looking for?

Keira Knightley walking in SoHo with her mom ... Natalie Portman filming scenes for her new movie at the Wollman Rink in Central Park ... Carla Bruni and Nicolas Sarkozy walking out of a downtown restaurant ... Penn Badgley carrying takeout from Cafe Habana on Prince Street ... Brooke Shields hailing a cab in the West Village ... Naomi Watts pushing her son's stroller in NoHo ... Robin Williams carrying a Juicy Couture bag in the West Village ... Ed Westwick walking on Chrystie Street ... Emma Thompson posing for photographers outside the Letterman show ... Kid Rock leaving the Trump International Hotel ... and Anna Wintour getting out of a car.

Wondering what Paula Zahn has been up to since she was dumped by CNN in 2007 and replaced with Campbell Brown? Well, there was her messy divorce from real estate developer Richard Cohen, but that isn't a subject Zahn has any interest in discussing. ("I don't want to talk about that. I want to talk about what I'm doing.") So what is she doing? Since departing CNN, Zahn has done a special for PBS and she'll be co-hosting Ch. 13's Sunday Arts beginning this Sunday, teaming up with Philippe de Montebello to take a weekly look at arts and culture. More importantly: She's headed to Carnegie Hall. The amateur cellist is scheduled to perform at the city's most prestigious musical venue on December 2nd, when she'll play alongside the Sejong Soloists. Okay, that's not as exciting as Anderson Cooper tinkling the ivories or Lou Dobbs on the harmonica. But it isn't every day that you get to see a cable news host dabble with an instrument other than the human voice. [NYDN]

The New York Times folded Play magazine yesterday, which actually had good editorial content but bad business prospects, because many of its advertisers were auto companies, and they are all crumbling and taking the media along with them. On the plus side, the NYT business section actually hired somebody yesterday! (David Segal, from the Washington Post). The paper's special magic investment fund dedicated to Biz section hiring is obviously paying off. At least the good editorial=weak advertising equation has a flipside: the vapid T fashion mag lives!: