• Sincere props to Radar for this gem: During Donatella Versace's naughtier days, "she stumbled into a glass table in Vogue editor Anna Wintour's office, sending shards flying." But really, who hasn't? [Lowdown (2nd to last)]
• A teacher at an East Hampton school has been cleared of child pornography charges but is nevertheless fired. Community members are still angry about the silence surrounding the investigation. WASPs refusing to talk about dirty secrets? Shocking. [Page Six]
• In an effort to prove that she can say more than, "You're still in the running to become America's next Top Model," Tyra Banks has started taping for her new talk show. Confessions of a Video Vixen author Karrine Steffans, however, said that her interview on the show was so bad that she wanted to rip off Tyra's wig. Oh no she didn't! [R&M (2nd item)]
• And because the sun simply won't shine unless someone's ragging on Martha Stewart, her Bedford neighbors are now bitching that the housebound diva is taping TV footage in her home. Still no complaints of Stewart of using her estate as an Al Qaeda training camp, however. [Cindy Adams]

• Start piling the sandbags and boarding up the liquor cabinet: Lindsay Lohan is renting in Sagaponack for the month of August! Finally, a little danger in the Hamptons. [Page Six]
• Cindy Adams delves into the delicious rumor that the marriage of Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson is already over and a facade is being maintained simply for the sake of their crappy MTV show. She also claims we heard it from her first, which is true if you exclude the 75 other rumor-mongers and forwarded emails preceding Adams' "scoop." [Cindy Adams]
• Katie Couric would like you to know that she is not a pi ata, nor is she filled with candy. Fine, so we won't beat her — but this really doesn't stop any verbal assaults. [R&M]
• If Scientology decides to muzzle Tom Cruise, maybe we'll reevaluate our position on things. Cults aren't all bad, you know. [Scoop]
• Nicole Kidman's mother is a loveless wench, but Nicole still loves her. Or something, whatever. [Gatecrasher]

Sitting on the beach Sunday morning, reading Alexandra Wolfe and Gawker Hottie Warren St. John's examination of why people feel compelled to advertise on their bumpers and tote bags where they vacation, we happened upon what we think is our favorite Times paragraph of the summer:

• Former Timesman Dean Baquet continues to be newly crowned LAT editor, as Tom Scocca goes west to confirm. [NYO]
• And Michael Kinsley did "a pretty horrible job" at LAT, says Nikki Finke. Come on, Nikki, what do you really think? [L.A. Weekly]
• RIP, Post's Hamptons Dairy, more or less. [Media Mob]
• Syd Schanberg teaches the right way to read the paper and watch TV. We can't believe we've been so woefully undertrained all these years. [VV]
• More virgins in Manhattan: Richard Branson considers free NYC daily. [Forbes]

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.

AAA ranked the expected worst spots for holiday traffic this weekend, and, shockingly, Portland came in tops. (We didn't even know they drive to vacation spots out there; we always thought it was just one big REI-clad hike.) It's bad enough that New York doesn't come in first — have these people never seen the Midtown Tunnel on a summer weekend? — but it gets even worse. Both the Jersey Shore and the Catskills make the top ten, and the Island — which rightfully should be the best in all forms of summering, from cleanest beaches to fanciest restaurants to $90 million teardowns to even traffic — isn't on the list at all.

There's only one memorial fit for our nation's fallen, and it's called the Star Room. Or Cain at Cabana. Or is it Tavern? We have no clue, but we're certain that you do. After enduring the Mad Max-esque return to the island — complete with looting and rioting on the LIRR — surely you're eager to report back to your Manhattan-shackled friends. Tell us your tales of lounging about Calvin Klein's spread in nothing but a palm frond; grace our inbox with a play-by-play of Brazilian supermodels dining on Olsen bones. As you ease into the first stages of workday recovery, we want you to know we're here for you. So send your Hamptons gossip and/or thought-provoking observations to tips@gawker.com, and we promise to be good listeners.