Big & Sharp blogger Kyle du Ford is, inexplicably, profoundly saddened by the demise of Cargo. But he's found a silver lining:

So many job changes have been crossing our desktop lately:

In an incredible scoop, today's Post informs us that crackhead rocker Pete Doherty is currently "the arbiter of cosmopolitan sartorial chic." While other generations get Coco Chanel and Jackie Kennedy as their fashion icons, we're stuck with the Olsens and Sienna Miller and, now, a British musician best known for the open sores covering his face. It just doesn't seem fair.

If you're anything like us, you often wonder what magazines have the gayest readerships. Thankfully, Fairchild's DNR got hold of the research this week, and it told us. (On Monday. None of you saw this and could pass it on before now? Jesus, people.)

• Who did the Newsday circ fraud hurt most? The City of Philadelphia, of course, which lost $310k on its Tribune Co. stock. Now it'll never be able to afford that nice place in Cobble Hill, and it might even be forced to move to — oh, wait. [Newsday]
• With fortuitous timing, the GQ teaches of all sorts of interesting things about Dick Cheney, including that a personality test once told him he should become a funeral director. [WWD]
• Carl Icahn to escalate TW fight. Again. [NYT]
• The secret life of Dr. Myra Vanderhood, unmasked. [NYT]

• Lindsay Lohan continues to thrive after her "asthma attack" and Vanity Fair's "appalling" suggestion that she likes to boot and rally — due in no small part to the support of her mother Dina, who guzzles champagne with her daughter at B8 until the wee hours. [Page Six]
• Speaking of our fair young starlet, we too hear that Lohan hit up Saturday Night Live while "bloody cunt" Scarlett Johansson was hosting. But, well, was Lohan actually allowed to stay? [R&M (last item)]
• Rather than do an all-out blind item guessing game, we'll just put it this way: Clay Aiken, this is your life. [Page Six]
• If you care, the Golden Globes are tonight, and GQ editor Jim Nelson is getting everyone all liquored up for the event. Related: Can a glossy exist without extravagant, pricey parties? [Lowdown]
• Forbes.com wine pro Nick Passmore makes a total ass of himself while attempting to review Philippe. [Page Six]
• Desperate not to be forgotten by Brangelina's fetus, Matt Damon and his Anon-a-Wife are expecting a baby girl. [Scoop]

Sometimes, we really love German GQ.

• So who's the well-hung former wrestler turned successful gay writer trolling for bottoms on Craigslist? Guesses include Augusten Burroughs, Alex Halberstadt, Aaron Krach, Brad Gooch, and, um, Gore Vidal. One of you is going to have to go undercover and figure this shit out, for real. [Gawker]
• We can't get enough of "hardcore" rapper 50 Cent's photos for GQ's People of the Year feature. So delightfully emasculating! [Style.com]
• Columbia students are "gonna f— this bondage we call clothing and party like the savages we really are." Yes! Ivy-league, UWS, trust-funded savages! [NY Sun]
• Start preparing now for your Thursday Thanksgiving binge: eat a shitload today, and shit a lot tomorrow. [Thrillist]
• Are the Scientologists coordinating a Craigslist invasion? [Craigslist x 3]

For the first time in GQ's storied history of compiling their people of the year, a woman has topped the list. Choosing Jennifer Aniston, says editor Mark Healy, wasn't some sort of gimmick — everyone knows side-tit shots legitimately move copies.

Post writer Steve Cuozzo has set some sort of record, having nearly 1000 words in the otherwise concise-ish Living section. The topic meriting such space? A rebuttal to GQ's "4 Best Cities on Earth (To Eat In)" feature, in which New York is not included. In fact, GQ includes a NYC sidebar to express that our tomato sauce is "crappy" and our scene is "obnoxious." Stupid jerks.

• Al Gore's cable network, which launches today, is apparently a tapas bar, says a San Francisco Chronicle writer. This is, we think, a good thing, mostly because we had some excellent tapas last time we were in the City. [SFC]
• Katie Couric is a diva, but not one who throws lamps, says Ken Auletta. Not that we can actually get to his article online. [NYer]
• While her husband is on vacation, Judy Miller gets jail visits from journos. [E&P]
• TV on the web is perhaps finally here. Which comes as great news for your friends who worked at Pseudo five years ago. [NYT]
• GQ really, really likes The Dukes of Hazzard. [NYT]
• As if things were looking so rosy for media companies in the first place, now a global ad slowdown is expected. [NYP]
• Ten bought-out employees had their last days at the Times on Friday. [Romenesko]
• Apparently there's a clever guy in Los Feliz running a smart and funny blog about Hollywood. Who knew? [LAT]

Greg Gutfeld has been "promoted" at Stuff to the newly created role of Creative Director, Brand Development. (Greg Gutfeld, if you remember, is the guy who hired midgets to disrupt a media panel a while back and had then-GQ editor Art Cooper's handwriting analyzed. He also made fun of other Dennis Publishing publicationsMaxim in particularwhich probably didn't go over too well with the boss.) From the pre-emptive press release that I can't find online: "[Gutfield will] be spending a great deal of time lounging in executive suites, swanky bars, swimming pools and yachts, fiddling with scripts and consulting his 'little black book.'" Promoted, firedsame thing.
Stuff and Maxim get new editors [Ad Age]

Scene from departing GQ editor Art Cooper's farewell last night: Vogue editor Anna Wintour arrives with Ralph Lauren. A spy writes, "Cooper made a big point to thank his secretary. He said he hopes her upcoming bio'The Devil Wears Blue Label'is a big success. Everyone turned around to watch Anna's reaction...there was none." An unrelated Anna moment, from another reader: "Discussing unrealistic images in women's magazines with Janeane Garofalo on 'the View' this morning, Joy Behar called Anna Wintour a 'war
criminal.'"

I accidentally stumbled upon a Don Delillo reading last night and heard an excerpt from his new novel, Cosmopolis, in which the main character is a Wall Street currency trader and asset manager. Delillo's Wall Street sounds interesting, but nothing like the real thing:
· The protagonist, Eric Packer, cruises around Manhattan in a white stretch limo. (The NYT/GQ's Walter Kirn: "White stretch limousines...conjure up prom nights in Omaha for me, not mornings on Wall Street.")
· Packer manages billions of dollars and has a Manhattan apartment with 48 rooms. He's 28.
· He does what sounds like currency arbitragemaking money off of disparities in exchange ratesbut made much of his money plugging stocks on a website and then trading them, which is usually illegal.
· A typical statement from a Delillo Wall Streeter: "Doubt. What is doubt? You don't believe in doubt. You've told me this. Computer power eliminates doubt. All doubt rises from past experience. But the past is disappearing. We used to know the past but not the future. This is changing. We need a new theory of time.''
Cosmopolis: long day's journey into haircut [NYT]

[Former] Deputy Prime Minister of Iraq, Tariq Aziz, apparently enjoyed reading Conde Nast magazines. Found in his abandoned house: dozens of Vanity Fairs. (He likes the personality profiles.) In the bathroom: copies of Vogue, GQ, Cosmopolitan, and a few dog-eared Danielle Steele novels. In the child's room upstairs: photos of Disneyland and Britney Spears.
A peek at a leader's life [WaPo]

The NY Post's Jared Paul Stern offers a few words of advice for publicists: He warns against overhyping parties and obscure restaurants, lying to journalists about facts that have already been substantiated, and spending exhorbitant amounts of money on badly-produced events. Conspicuously missing from the list: running over innocent bystanders with your Mercedes SUV, demanding that your client's GQ photos be airbrushed, and sending a gossip website editor a press release about a total non-event with the expectation that the hypothetical editor wouldn't possibly make fun of it on said website.
Eight-step program for PR biz makeover [Post via 601am]

GQ Managing Editor Marty Beiser is the first casualty of the post-Art Cooper regime change. Insiders suspect that Conde Nast Editorial Director James Truman is behind the firing. I'd pretend to care, but I'm too busy reading Maxim and Stuff.
Beiser banished from GQ [Keith Kelly - Post]

Elena Benador's agency, Benador Associates, does PR for right-wing celebs. When she's not busy airbrushing Rush Limbaugh's GQ photos, she's shepharding Iraqi-regime-change pundits through interviews. She has a few "pro-bono" clientsRichard Perle, and James Woolsey, for example. (There's a slight possibility, however, that they're pro bono because they exhibit only a flicker of recognition when asked about her. Said one "client": "She hardly knows me! I met her just a year ago. I ve talked to her altogether about 50 minutes."
She's Richard Perle's oyster [Observer]

Jim Nelson has been promoted to the position of Editor-in-Chief at GQ, and he promises he won't turn it into Maxim. "I'm super-psyched," he tells the Daily News. (I don't think GQ has to worry about anyone who uses the phrase "super-psyched" turning anything into Maxim.)
GQ names new Editor in Chief [NY Daily News]

GQ editor Caroline Campion has a piece in the NYT about class warfare in the Tompkins Square Park dogrun. She laments the fact that the yuppies have moved in with their "breedist" dogs. (The owners of the more aggressive dogs say the tiny yuppie dogs deserve to be attacked because they're usually wearing sweaters.) Says one homeless park resident "articulately"her description; not mine"Homeless people were moved out to make room for the dogs, dogs that have been enslaved for domesticity. They should be in the countryside. Not a pleasure for rich people, the rich homosexuals and freaks of society." (Homeless people have opinions, too, you know!) "With the city in the throes of an economic downturn, there may yet be hope for residents sentimental about this grungy little hamlet's rebel past," Campion writes without a single note of intentional irony.
Straining at the leash [NYT]