Wake up and smell today's blind items, from Page Six and Gatecrasher:

There are so many reasons we're not good enough for the Hamptons. We have too many pounds and not enough dollars. Our jeans are merely Levi's; our sunglasses are purchased on the street. We hate to pay more than $5 for a beer. We do not use summer as a verb. We grew up — and this may be the worst part — going to the Jersey Shore. We know these things, we've always known them, and we're OK with it.

In this big, crazy world, there are few things as near and dear to NYC's collective bowels than Times Square. Amidst the lights, the glitz, and the cheap digicams, the Naked Cowboy, our patron saint of parasitic glory, stands tall. His tight panties welcome you to our fair city; his guitar-driven country anthems lift your soul; his chiseled, David Barton-esque physique leaves not a single loin unstirred.

Is Sunday truly Sunday without a Times article on sexy, sweatshop-free American Apparel and its founder, Dov Charney? Of course not. Yesterday's beacon of hip brought us a Styles piece on Charney's latest legal woes, courtesy of some former employees who are suing for sexual harassment. Now, God knows Gawker is full of strident feminists, but this sort of complaint is kind of like going to work at Playboy and then suing because you had to look at boobies.

• Some bad shit went down in London, and we were, characteristically, obnoxiously insensitive about it. Even more characteristically, so was Greg Gutfield.
• Judy Miller goes to jail — and looks fabulous on her way there.
• Matt Cooper doesn't go to jail.
• And, elsewhere, Lil' Kim is sentenced to a year and a day for perjury.
• Angelina adopts a baby boy with Brad. Or a baby girl on her own. Whichever.
• At the Observer, a new website but no lunch breaks.
• Old Kurt Andersen had a farm. A completely unironic farm.
• Natalie Portman, terrorist?
• Staten Island high-school basketball coach indicted for spanking students. Which apparently is frowned upon.
• And, to cap it all off, maybe William Rehnquist is retiring. Swell.

• Finally, at last, Mary-Kate Olsen seems to have found happiness. She's bouncing! She's in love! She's even tan! Danny Tanner is nowhere to be found! [yeeeah]
• This is, perhaps, the most frightening interview with Katie Holmes to date. Joey Potter is gone, gang, and she ain't coming back. [Style]
• Pray, won't you, for this uninjured American jackass in London. Pray that he's not murdered within the next 24 hours. [Reuters]
• Now you can wear your Lohan. You're thrilled, and you know it. [I'm a Slavophile]
• As if it weren't freaky enough that Alberto "Quaint" Gonzalez is the Great Liberal Hope for the Supreme Court, now it turns out Sandra Day is a rabbi. [Forward]

• Determine, if your calculator has sufficient decimal places, how insignificant a bombing must be to be reported only on Blottered. Now make it twice as insignificant, to reflect that Blottered felt compelled to cover this East Village bombing twice. [Blottered and Blottered]
• Why does a bouncer choke a customer? Because he has to, dammit. [Clublife]
• But, really, does the date on the newspaper matter? Oh yeah, guess it does. [This Is What We Do Now]
• Mmmmm... free Nobu sushi... [Unbeige]

Friday:
• Express your love or hate of Pitchfork (applause if the former; stoic, Pitchfork-style gazes of condescending disapproval if the latter) at Mercury Lounge tonight, where former staff writer Matt Lemay plays a show with his Get Him Eat Him; Oxford Collapse and the Constantines to cover his ass if he blows. [flavorpill]
• Call the quadriplegic rugby players from Sundance hit Murderball "special" and they'll beat the piss out of you. We can't even do the shit they do with four fully-functioning limbs, so show some respect and see the flick. [Fandango]
Saturday:
• A Gathering of Tribes, much to our chagrin, isn't some Jewish aggregate hell-bent on world domination — it's some artsy-pants non-profit organization. Check out Rummage, their art yard sale, on 285 E. 3rd Street today. [Tribes]
• Shake your ass to the Brazilian sights and sounds of Busquelo Productions, which throws its annual Tropic of Cancer party at Supreme Trading in Brooklyn. This year's event is thrown in conjunction with the Small Planet Fund, which supports grassroots movements dedicated to fighting world poverty and social injustice. Just like Live 8, but without all the bad music! [flavorpill]
Sunday:
• There's one cure for your hangover, and it's more booze before you head to the Hudson River Park for their first Sunday night Moondance. Turn off your Swing Kids DVD and take advantage of free dance lessons starting at 6:30 PM; David Berger & the Sultans of Swing hitting the stage at 7:00 PM. [HRP]

Here's something to keep in mind when you're not quite ready for your Saturday night to end this weekend. The New York City triathlon will start swimming down the Hudson at about 6 a.m. So as you're reaching the end of your own pizza-beer-coke threefer, you can head uptown to watch a bunch of overaggressive and overambitious i-banker types start their swim-bike-run.

Hyper-thyroidic, Flash-monkey brother site Screenhead digs up this nugget from Omarion's official website, in which the singer denies any connection to the publicist who released yesterday's flak-magnet "pray for the unhurt and not inconvenienced singer" press release in the aftermath of yesterday's London terrorist bombings:

Contrary to popular belief, we are not mind-readers. As such, we really can't explain why monthly email book review Boldtype would have its spirtuality issue guest-edited by Wu-Tang Clan guru the RZA. Perhaps the Church Lady was unavailable.

As far as we can tell, Sony Recording Artist Omarion has remained safe since yesterday's tragic terror attack in London. Your publicist-requested prayers have been answered! (Your work isn't done, however; keep beseeching God so that nothing but Cristal touches O's lips on the first-class flight back to the safety of America, and that he's not delayed too long at airport security. And while you're at it, ask Him to make O's Louis Vuitton luggage miraculously tumbles through the baggage claim first—signing autographs while waiting for your bags is such a drag.) But while Omarion "suffered no injury or inconvenience," his publicist back in LA had to explain yesterday's curious press release to Reuters:

• The Range Rover driven by Prince Charles during his honeymoon with Princess Diana was put up on eBay yesterday, then abruptly removed after the terror attacks for fear of being insensitive. Rightfully so, but wasn't it just as insensitive before the bombs went off? [Page Six]
• Lloyd Grove asks, "Is there a more exquisite form of torture than hand-washing Fabian Basabe's underpants?" Yes, Lloyd, and it involves your underpants. [Lowdown (last item)]
• Brad Pitt and George Clooney sign on to build another, much-needed Vegas casino. Then they'll concoct an elaborate scheme for a major heist and rob themselves blind. [Page Six]
• Robert Trump, tired of living in the shadow of his bombastic brother Donald, is gearing up for his own high-profile divorce from his wife of 20 years, Blaine. [Gatecrasher]

It's Friday and, as we're sure you know, Friday means Lowest Common Denominator Day 'round these parts. Unfortunately, we don't have a Britney Spears picture for you, but we do have the next best thing — poopy talk! From Overheard in New York:

If memory serves us correctly, the NYC as Cupcake Town thing peaked around 2003 (but don't tell the lemmings lined up outside Magnolia, they're just catching on), then tapered off into a general acceptance and acknowledgment of the cupcake as the latest ubiquitous New York food. The virtual omnipresence of designer cupcakes, then, leaves us rather confused, then, about a fresh new legal drama.

• We imagine that, one day when we're famous and worth more than a nasty eye-roll (and dammit, we WILL be, just you see!), our published "letters" will actually be IMs littered with phrases such as, "slkjfalkfaalksjHAHAHA! stfu!" [TMN]
• You can judge a book by its cover, especially if you've seen that cover somewhere before. [NYT]
• Usually when we think of someone as a stinky cunt, it's not in a way that would be easily cured by new panties. [VV]
• Congrats to Daily News Christiblogger Dawn Eden, who has been dubbed by Rolling Stone as "young and sexless." [RS]
• Gay romance novels should forever more be referred to as "tank-top-tearers." [BostonHerald]

After spending all day checking CNN for the horribly depressing updates on the terrorist bombings, finally, some good news out of London:

Attention all visitors to Las Vegas: While you may have concerns about Elisha Cuthbert's career trajectory following House of Wax, it's highly unlikely that she's going to come to your room at the Palms for $47 to "run lines," no matter what this escort handbill seems to promise. (Scans submitted by a reader fresh off a Vegas trip, you can click the picture for the complete handbill.) But just in case you decide to gamble your $50 (obviously, you're prepared to tip) on the crazy chance that "Cathy" (a real girl, not a model!) shows up, the back of the flier promises to protect your faith in miracles: "NO OBLIGATION. If you don't like her send her back—NO CHARGE."

• More incestuous ... West Virginia, Part 3: Estranged stepfather Daily Transom is obsessed with last night's debacular Fantastic Four premiere on Liberty Island, and so he consults with our cousin on the Coast, Defamer. [NYO]
• The dastardly Times rips off another blogger! You know, except with, like, reporting and stuff. [GalleyCat]
• Hoboken is great!!!!, says, natch, some deluded individual who is forced to live there. [This Is What We Do Now via Curbed]
• When we hear about pussies on public-access cable, we usually think of something else. But, in this case, it's actually a reality show about housecats in Brooklyn. Frighteningly, we know people who will love this. [Verbose Coma]

• IGNITE!, Gen Art's annual multimedia extravaganza at the Puck Building Ballroom, features 12 artists, 30 short films, live burlesque, a fortune teller, a snake charmer, and an open bar. Because nothing goes together like excessive alcohol consumption and excessively poisonous snakes. [flavorpill]
• In keeping with the Hollywood trend of fucking up a good thing, the powers that be at NBC prematurely cancelled the totally awesome Freaks and Geeks. In bucking the Hollywood trend of fucking up a good thing, the powers that be at Fox actually decided to give the totally awesome Arrested Development another go. Paul Feig, the man integral to both shows (creater of the first, director of the second), reads from his new book, Superstud: Or How I Became a 24-Year-Old Virgin, at the E.17 St. Barnes and Noble tonight. Don't act like you can't relate to the title.
• The Wrens frontman Charles Bissell puts on a solo show at Pete's Candy Store in Williamsburg. Expect pretty little Jersey-inspired pop ballads anyhow. [Upcoming]