We're just thinking out loud here, but what if Cynthia Nixon were secretly a lesbian? And what if she came out to a local tabloid on, say, Monday?

Thanks to this week's advertisers, who keep our closets full of the Salvation Army's finest. Interested in keeping things natty? Info here.

Ever wish you could experience the thrill of eating horse anus live and in person? Wish you could dangle handcuffed over a shark tank while someone throws lawn darks at you? Curious to know what it feels like to have poisonous snakes in your pants?

We're happy to report that Touré, he of the demurely unbuttoned shirts and suggestive hints of eyeliner, is not CNN's homosexual talking head. He's straight, everyone, and, just to prove it, he got married! To a girl! Sorry, boys, but you'll have to find another lover to whisper sweet, pop-cultured nothings:

David: Man, that episode of PoweR Girls was old.
Audience: How old was it?
David: So old, it was filmed when Paris ego wasn t the only thing bruised. Zing!
[Laughter, applause, roll commercial with someone singing about diarrhea.]

Are you still thinking about purchasing property anywhere near Manhattan? Think again, pauper:

A reader reports that right now the Gap has unleashed promotional robots throughout the Times Square subway station. These evil, young women — "bedecked in gag-inducing pink knits" — are handing out roses to confused straphangers to promote the newest, girlygirlomgpinkispretty Gap campaign. Isn't spring lovely when you're forced to buy into it?

· The West Side stadium is now one step closer to making hell a New York reality, as the MTA has approved the Jets' (apparently they're our football team?) $720m bid for development rights. You know the crowd at Buster's Garage? Things are about to get a lot more like that. [AP]
· Why didn't Rush & Molloy clarify that they got the Teddy Pataki item from the Politicker, and not the regular Observer? Specificity, people. Embrace it.
· Even political PR-whores have to warm-up before they go on air. [Wonkette]
· This just in: Moby is boring! [NYT]
· Koppel leaves Nightline; America shrugs, Jon Stewart cackles. [AP]

You've heard the story: blogger blogs, agent notices, blogger gets book deal. But what happens after the fact?

· The Brooklyn Academy of Music kicks off a Mike Nichols retrospective tonight with a screening of "The Graduate," followed by a discussion with the man himself. Be sure to thank him for putting dreamboat Clive Owen in "Closer." [Paper]
· San Fran indie hip-hop mainstay Lyrics Born skips the bling and raps about life's simple pleasures at the Knitting Factory tonight. Be sure to take the Bentley on dubs over to Tribeca. [flavorpill]
· Sarah Vowell reads from her new book, Assassination Vacation, tonight at the Barnes and Noble at Astor Place. Look out for fellow McSweeney's folk, "This American Life" scribes, and animated superheroes. [Barclay]

And you thought unemployment meant sitting at home in your pajamas.
From a reader comes the above photographs, taken not 10 minutes ago, of a perseverant man in search of work. The presumably assiduous fellow is handing out resumés and holding a sign that says, "Have Series 7 and 63. Will work for salary." Ouch, desperate times. Or maybe desperate for cocaine-filled yachts. It's Wall Street, so we're thinking either/or.

Granted, this isn't as spectacular a self-immolation as Jessica Alba's declaration that she was "done sleeping around in Hollywood." But we expect Suvari's addled publicist to go into a similar spin mode, declaring that Mena meant that she'd never go smaller than a double-D, if that's what it takes to please a producer.

Sightings are sent in by readers; send yours to
tips@gawker.com.

Ever wonder how i-bankers chillax? They've got high pressure jobs, bro, and need to cut loose more than anyone. No diggity.

We're still struggling with the "shit vs. shat" issue. Did our server shit itself this morning? Or did it shat all over the place? Either way, you get the idea. Things are spotty — in the meantime, please don't resort to your workplace duties. Just twiddle your thumbs or something.

· Britney's back, motherfuckers, and she's calling out all of you "false tabloids" for, like, lying and shit. Look inward, yo, and you'll see what Britney sees: y'all are overweight. Oh, and? Throughout that entire rant, she doesn't once address the Federletus. [Britney Spears]
· David Patrick Columbia — whom we've never, ever met — does some deconstructive analysis on Lloyd Grove's pet stringer, Hud Morgan. [NYSD]
· It's not porn, it's an indie sex flick with John Cameron Mitchell. And you know you wanna be in it. [Fleshbot]
· Authors create mix CDs based on their latest book. [Largehearted Boy via Galleycat]

LES denizens, behold your new darklord, hotelier Jason Pomeranc, who has commenced his hostile takeover of Allen Street's "neglected frontier." The new hotel, located between Houston and Stanton, will feature a swimming pool, spa, and, if you're lucky, a shithole only half as bad as that of the Hotel on Rivington.

While reading Virginia Heffernan's negative assessment of Bravo's Showdog Moms & Dads in today's New York Times, we found ourselves wondering how any show that elicits the following from a family paper can be so bad:

· Robert Christgau, the Village Voice's terse rock critic, muses on the importance of being brief with fellow Voice jazz columnist Gary Giddins. Pitchfork, take note. [flavorpill]
· Slim pickins' in the closet? Regular-variety shopaholic? Check out "A Vintage Affair" at the City Opera Thrift Shop between 6-9. Becuse nothing says "this look is the new me" like rockin a bunch of clothes that dead people used to wear. [TONY]
· BlackBook magazine and Vulgar invade the inferno of hip (aka Happy Ending) tonight at 11. No cover gets you what you paid for: new wave, britpop and post-punk, all flowing freely from DJ and BlackBook EIC Aaron Hicklin. Between songs, try to pitch the hell out of him. [Happy Ending]

If H&M's foray into advertecture on the Flatiron building still has you choking on your tongue with disgust, just think of all the pretty pictures to be painted. Doesn't art make it all better?