Today's compilation of rants on The Black Table (why's it gotta be a black table?) attacks the brave actors who are chauffeured from their Hollywood Hills mansions to the soundstage where they repeat the words that writers slaved to come up with:

· More speculation on which Desperate Housewife is coming out on the cover of The Advocate. In the immortal, grating words of Jan Brady, "Marcia! Marcia! Marcia!"[Google News; Gatecrasher]

One Strokes door closes and another opens: Drummer Fabrizio Moretti is left with no one to stroke but self, after being dumped by Drew Barrymore.

Like drunk.

The Times 'Arts, Briefly' reports that Larry Mullen of U2 is apologizing to fans over a ticketing snafu:

· Mayor Bloomberg is totally afraid of gay marriage: It's not so bad, honey, just close your eyes and remember to breathe. [Newsday]

The Cinemocracy blog went hunting for the Citizens United billboards thanking Hollywood [Ed.note—See, we told you it was all Affleck's fault!] for helping George W. Bush get re-elected, reminders which "the Liberals will see as they walk down the red carpet outside the Kodak Theater." The Hollywood Liberals are going to have to really crane their blue-state necks while they process into the Kodak if they want to see the billboard rebuke—the closest sign is about four blocks away, and it's facing the wrong direction.

· Get your fill of Norwegian music at Bowery Ballroom tonight, where Scandinavian duo Kings of Convenience kick off a two-night stint. [Bowery Ballroom]
· Have you ever wanted to pay money to go ice skating with Michelle Kwan, Sasha Cohen, and Viktor Petrenko? If you are one of the small number of people who answered "yes" to that question, head on over to Wollman Rink today for the cleverly-titled "Skating With the Stars, Under the Stars." [Paper]
· Intern Alexis suggests stoner nursing home vehicle Assisted Living. "Very funny. Very touching," she says. Sounds good to us. [Angelika]

This just in from our Fashion Week bureau (basically, a hole beneath the runway where our operative smokes used butt ends): In lieu of giving out swag bags after the show, the pholks at Baby Phat passed out 'shag bags' which contained condoms, Altoids, lube and clitoral stimulation gel.

Rumor has it that Vogue's aptly-named editor-at-large, Andre Leon Talley, has been requesting (gasp!) third row seats at the fashion shows because the front row seating is super-tight. Talley is supposedly tired of everyone watching him do the The Squeeze. More details when new shit comes to light.

Story time! Everyone grab your raisins and apple juice and lie down on your mat while we open the Anna Wintour biography Front Row to a random page and pick a passage of note. Today, from page 217:

· There goes the gayborhood! A Vogue fashion dept. assistant is responsible for breaking up Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez, the couple behind Proenza and Schouler. Anna Wintour s houseboy (who was dating a male model at the time) started an affair with McCollough, inspiring Hernandez to play wife swap and hook up with the model. Girls will be girls! [Page Six]

Very late Saturday night (1:53 AM, to be exact), blogger and SPIN writer Sarah 'Ultragrrrl' Lewittin decided to address the tempest in a Teany cup that arose after last week's New York Post story Under Their Influence, about super cool kids and their super cool goodies.

According to the Times, sponsorship is rampant at Bryant Park. Models at the Duckie Brown show went so far as to carry Olympus mp3 players as part of their outfits.

We re floating theories on Heineken s Super Bowl commercial that lampoons our celeb-obsessed culture. Who was Brad Pitt talking to on the phone at the end? It s the biggest mystery since Bill Murray whispered in Scarlett Johansson's ear at the end of Lost in Translation.

Like the endless salad and breadsticks at Olive Garden, articles on the 90s Club Nerveana just keep coming. As The Times 'Style' section reports:

Winner of today s WhatTheFuck Award: According to The New York Times 'Business' section, clothing designer Heather T. Ross has designed a line of panties bearing cartoon images of past boyfriends. When scratched (heh heh), the images emit scents. For instance, the set called "Handyman," releases the scent of cedar while "Mower Man" emanates the aroma of fresh-cut grass. "BBQ Guy" smells like tangy sauce. Read that last sentence again.

Gossip for the Centrum Silver set. This week we flirt with the darkside by actually reading the elderstateswomen of gossip.
· Liz Smith: Head Hunter
The highest paid woman in journalism gives a plug to Rachel Leifer, who wrote last week s Times article about female boxers (Hey, someone should make a movie about that!) and is apparently ripe for a career. She also happens to be the step-grandbaby of Ms. Smith s friend, Tita Cahn. Seems to me Rachel would be a perfect pick for Maer Roshan's new Radar magazine, bowing any minute. Columbia J-School minions should send resumes to Liz Smith at the NY Post, 1211 Avenue of the Americas. [Liz Smith]
· Cindy Adams: Former Gang Member
In an overextended rant on the AT&T take-over, Cindy Adams bemoans the recent corporate merger mania saying: Modernization is breaking up that old gang of mine.
Bloods or crips, Cind? [Cindy Adams]

Come in. I ve been expecting you. For the next few days, Jessica is off doing some fashion something-or-other (I wasn t really listening) and is having me, Noelle Hancock, fill in. Mostly I m just here to make sure there are no air bubbles in Gawker co-editor Matt Haber s syringe, but would still appreciate any gossip or nasty remarks you might have for me (tips@gawker.com). I ve never blogged before so feel free to send along any sage advice. Or just sage. I m making stuffing for dinner.

Good morning, class (and I use that term in the loosest possible sense). As you know, Miss Coen will be out this week. Your substitute Gawker will be Noelle Hancock. You can call her Noelle, or Miss H., or Miss Hancock, or, if you're really tired and you didn't have your government issued breakfast this morning, you might slip up and call her mommy. And, yes, we know her last name sounds sort of dirty: you're so, so clever.