Our favorite stalker discovered this note on Gay.com today:

• Memo to Dan Doctoroff: No matter how great your desire for (literally) flag-waving support, it is not a good idea to give wooden sticks to runners who will soon be pumping their arms furiously in close quarters. [BuzzMachine]
• God we love this perfect subway map for fucking with tourists. [Work Magazine Blog via Panopticist]
• No fireworks in the Hamptons this July 4. You wouldn't want to disturb a piping plover, would you? [Amy's Robot]
• Verlyn Klinkenborg saves the Times from itself. [Eurotrash]

Accordions: All the coolest tools are getting them!

• Riot grrrls and the boys (and girls) who love them head on over to Roseland tonight for the Sleater Kinney show. [flavorpill]
• Half-straight, half-gay Danish duo Junior Senior make you dance and sing your little socks off as only a half-straight, half-gay Danish duo can. Mercury Lounge, 8:30. [ML]
• Pay tribute to the New York comics who will hopefully make you laugh for many, many years to come at the Upright Citizens Brigade's Emerging Comics of New York Awards. You likely haven't heard of any of them, but that's probably the point of the "emerging" thing. [UCB]

Yes, there was an anthrax scare at Maxim today. No, staffers weren't sent home. Yes, everything's fine.

In today's LAT, Hollywood jill-of-all-trades Amanda Scheer Demme describes her vision for the "revamped" Roosevelt Hotel and the three new hotspot bars (the Tropicana, the Lobby Bar, and the upcoming Teddy's) housed under its historic roof:

There are a couple of different ways that a hot up-and-comer can get started with the arduous process of trading sexual favors for a career boost in the entertainment business. He can haunt the bars along Santa Monica Boulevard and look pretty until he catches the eye of closeted exec who told his heavily-in-denial wife that he's be home late because he's "busy putting the finishing touches on a deal." Or, if the ambitious thespian wants the world to know that he's not just another pretty face with a set of abs on which one can smash cinderblocks, he can post the gossamer poetry of desperation on Craigslist:

As we continue to document the nauseating display of love between Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, we got to thinking: What does it all mean? Desperate for clarification and direction, we turned to our friend Lexi for answers. After all, if the media can't tell us what to think, then we're a lost cause.

Our chain-smoking baby brother will gamble away his savings on anything and everything, so he's gone to great lengths to determine the odds on this weekend's Gay Pride Parade. (And you thought it was going to be fun purely for the ab-ogling!) Some of our favorite betting opportunities:

• Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes beam back to NYC and set up camp in the Carlyle with their respective families...but only one mother will emerge alive. [Page Six]
• Meanwhile, Holmes has been introduced Cruise's ex-beard, Penelope Cruz. [Scoop]
• And, because we keep writing this sort of shit, all print reporters have been banned from the NYC premiere of War of the Worlds — except for People magazine, apparently, as they've expunged the necessary thetans from their masthead. [R&M]
• Jennifer Aniston is staying at the Peninsula in Chicago under the name "Mrs. Smith," which she apparently finds funny. She laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs — then rips her hair out. [Page Six]
• Wait, you mean the deaths of Tupac Shakur and Biggie Smalls might have been connected?! [NYDN]

Sadly, advertising your magazine with 100% cotton is not 100% foolproof:

Robert Iler, the Dell Dude, and Zach from Desperate Housewives respond: Now you tell us?

In the killing of hipsters for sport, realtors are the ruthless bounty hunters, quietly sniffing out dive bars and thrift stores and gay enclaves before moving in for the kill. Once the realtors smell blood, it's only a matter of time before the endangered hipster is priced out of his or her own habitat. (For reference, read: most of lower Manhattan, Park Slope, Williamsburg.) So where, then, are the homeless bohos to go? Somewhere unchartered, undiscovered, untouched by the hands of trendiness — the Upper East Side, of course. Just ask pioneering 27-year-old Will Hooks, who recently defected from Williamsburg and is a fan of uptown life:

It's a little bit old, but we were just pointed to a joint interview Tom Cruise and Steven Spielberg did with Germany's Der Spiegel magazine:

Because you're totally tired of dragging your visiting family to see the Lion King, there's a new musical in town, sure to be loved equally by both your apron-bedecked mother and your closeted gay brother:

Surprisingly, this boy was not identified as Jonathan Safran Foer or Conor Oberst.

• If you hurry, maybe you can catch the protest outside the new IFC theaters on 6th Avenue; the evil (yet fabulous) arthouse cinema doesn't employ union projectionists! If you're not on the union side, join your comrades down the street at Da Silvano.
• Tinkerbell the chihuahua may have bit a Today producer, but Kathy Hilton's publicist made sure the story was in the columns. [MSNBC]
• While America seems to still favor Tom Cruise 2-to-1, at least most people are smart enough to loathe Paris Hilton. [Gallup]
• Forget the Freedom Towers; let's get our panties in a bunch about Columbus Circle, shall we? [Grubby Kid]
• Scientology, Scientology, Scientology. Shit, we'll look into it for $5 million, too. [Kittenpants]
• We're going to link to a funny picture, because we suspect you're not really reading anyhow. [Yahoo]

A study out today in Nature suggests that individual cells have the capacity to identify famous people. All Things Considered explains:

Christ on a crutch, we're going to have to write about Lindsay Lohan again — at least we refrained from covering her post-Today show appearance on The View. (But as long as we're on the subject, Lindsay told the Viewsters that she has strep throat. In Lindsay speak, we know this means she was actually at Marquee last night, well after three AM, with a certain Wilmer fellow. Or so we hear, ahem.)

Do you sometimes feel that after a half an hour in front of The Insider or flipping through US Weekly, you feel "foggy" or unable to focus even on the most simple, non-celebrity-related memories? While you might have previously attributed that feeling to a little piece of your soul dying, some "scientist types" say that the parts of your brain responsible for forming memories might be riddled with cells that only fire when confronted with images of your favorite celebrities: