We're only vaguely aware of the Fashion Week activities that are raging all around town, though it seems that there's been a slight increase in the number of distressingly thin women in fancy clothes at the local Starbucks. A reader picks up the slack with this unimpressed report from last night's party for the opening of a new Marc Jacobs presence on Melrose Place.
Friday:
· Still weeping like a camel cause you couldn t make it down to SXSW? Take solace in Xiu Xiu s gig at the Knitting Factory tonight. Their sound is both violent and sexual, we hear, so you'll probably enjoy it. [flavorpill]
· Speaking of sex and violence, the Deitch Projects houses overexposed photog Dave LaChapelle s latest retrospective, Artists and Prostitutes — subject matter that we actually give a hoot about, minus the whole artists thing. [Deitch]
· An obviously hungover Van Morrison stumbles into the Apollo tonight. Let s just pray the Sandman steers clear. [Apollo]
Saturday:
· The year was 1991: Bush was president, Kirstie Alley was huge, and a horde of tweaked out clubs kids were getting jiggy wit it over at Shelter. My, how things haven t changed. Celebrate Shelter s 14th anniversary tonight with a stellar roster of DJs we ve never heard of. [Shelter]
· The Allman Brothers Band, or what s left of them, nearly brings to an end the never-ending annual Beacon run tonight. Who knows, you just might catch the 34,872 performance of Whipping Post. [ABB]
Sunday:
· Wanna make a quick buck? Head on down to Coney Island for the season opening of Astroland, ride the Cyclone three or four times, and then sue for whiplash. You ll be flaunting ice from Jacob & Co. in no time. [Astroland]
Premiering this Sunday at 7 PM:
Sightings are sent in by readers; send yours to tips@gawker.com.
· Proof that Marquee is the 5th ring of the inferno: Ashlee Simpson shares a banquette with her family while simultaneously making out with a member of her band (d'ya think Daddy watched?), Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore canoodle near Chelsea Clinton, and Mario Vazquez stalks Jessica Simpson for a photo-op. [Page Six]
· Securities lawyer Ted Farris (writing under the last name Morgan) has a new book proclaiming Donald Trump is a lowlife. His source is Kate Bohner, but Bohner issues denials. Something else might've happened, but then we fell asleep. Oh, wait, Lloyd is back in the office! [Lowdown]
· R. Kelly's the victim — no, wait, Jay Z's the victim. Or is "Ty-Ty" the victim? Where the fuck are we? [Page Six]
· Everyone hates Andrew Lloyd Webber. [R&M]
Sometimes articles—even short ones—have speed bumps too abrupt for us to get beyond. A perfect example of this is today's New York Times' Arts 'Listings' item on the new Neil LaBute/Ben Stiller show, This is How It Goes:
There may be a celebrity baby a-brewin' in the Kutchmoore's womb, and we put it to our readers to come up with some serious baby name suggestions. Keeping in mind the potential spawn must have a name that is both appropriate for a celebrity seedling and respectful of Kabbalah's mystic nuances, our readers have bravely answered the call of duty. Oblique, Tofutti, Profiterole, Habbakuk, Gary — the responses were overwhelming and, dare we say, a bit touching. After the jump, a lengthy list of the best and most plausible picks for the little baby that could.
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.]
Hey, why aren't you all out getting drunk on green beer and car bombs? Oh, that's right, you're still at work, for Hollywood stops for no holiday without the threat of a Teamster riot. At least Fox lot is trying to keep thing festive on the studio lot:
· Finally, NYC's best Irish pubs to get your drink on, if you can still get through the door. As it's amateur hour out there, we'd like to note that if you can't get your drunk ass laid tonight, you likely never will. [Gridskipper]
· Everyone knows the meathead in the striped button-down shirt: "My boys are coming out with me tonight! They all have striped shirts too! I figure we ll kick off the night with some Golden Tee! I am going to smack the shit out of that little white ball!" [The Phat Phree]
· A pretty celebrity does not a sports column make. Exhibit A: Ashley Judd. [Kentucky.com]
· Searching for a Gannon, and any ol' Gannon will do. [Washington Socialites]
Last night's episode of UPN's gripping fashudrama America's Next Top Model was seriously intense. Not only did host Tyra Banks keep it real and spit out her usual dose of "modeling is tough" insight, but contestant Rebecca actually fainted under the bright lights and harsh criticism of Janice Dickinson. The reasoning? "A rare disorder." Yeah, we know that disorder. It's called stress and hunger. Cruel Stereogum has a video of the incident, if you're into watching stick-figure girls lifelessly fall to the ground. And we know you are.
· On Radian, who play at Tonic tonight, Flavorpill notes: "Neither jazz, dub, electronic, nor rock, this electro-acoustic trio's gray-scale abstraction sculpts a wholly engrossing sound field in which subtle musical incidents advance, retreat, and mutate to stunning, and frequently menacing, effect." Jesus fucking Christ, someone get us a cigarette. But yeah, um, Radian play at Tonic tonight. [flavorpill]
· Three editors, a book agent, and an author convene at Coliseum Books tonight for "Getting Published: What You Need to Know." Here's what they'll say: No matter what your parents and roommates tell you, if it hasn't happened yet, now's a good time to pick a different career objective. Or career. [Coliseum]
· Early 90's throwback band Slint play three shows with Gang Gang Dance at Irving Plaza. Tonight's appearance is the only one not sold out. Do with this information what you will. [Irving Plaza]
Tom Cruise has to be the most generous person to ever touch an e-meter, clear a body thetan, or lose his breath after reading the prose of Dianetics. Not content to share the wonders of Scientology with his crew on War of the Worlds (as interpreted through the fingertips of model-quality masseuses), Cruise just keeps on giving. This time, it's entertainment journalists that have experienced his Hubbardy largesse:
