Oh, for joy! It's the Thursday we've all been waiting for: The launch of the Times new Thursday Styles section (or, as we call it, The Metrosexual Nail in Your Coffin). And oh my, what a glorious section it is, featuring spanking new subsections (we dare not call them columns; it's just too soon) certain to delight even Adam Moss. Aside from the Online Shopper, which strikes us as a sweet editorial afterthought for those survivors of the Circuits genocide, we're thinking that Thursday is the new Fabulous. Our favorite features:

Our favorite CNN dreamboat, Anderson Cooper, gave quite an appearance on Conan last night. Not only did he confess his affection for a Latino fortune-teller who resembles a "botoxed Liberace," but he also admitted to his girly addiction:

BREAKING: The The New Yorker is the best magazine EVER! Remnick and Co. picked up 5 Ellies at the Waldorf this afternoon, really kicking the shit out of Real Simple and Men's Health. (Don't snicker — it's harder than you think!) Our friend Sy "The Larger Truth" Hersh even snagged a "Public Interest" prize for his three articles on the madcap antics at the Abu Ghraib Spa & Resort. Or at least that's what the ladies from Glamour were calling it.

From this week's New York Press:

From today's New York Times:

The New York Observer catches up with Dawn Eden in 'Off the Record':

Broadcasting & Cable was right! Alessandra Stanley's New York Times TV reviews are loaded with deliciously obscure references that reward only the most erudite readers. Check out her review of NBC's mini-series, Revelations today:

We cannot in any form attest to the veracity of the above screen grab, sent to us by a reader performing a ritual cleaning of his inbox. We can, however, attest to its hilarity. As the story goes, said reader sent an email to Mr. Carter suggesting that he change his Vanity Fair photograph to something more handsome or whatnot. In turn, he supposedly received this kind response from the big G-C.

Andrea Dworkin must've left Maggie Gallagher some money in her will: how else to explain why the pay-for-play "marriage expert" would write such an elegiac column in honor of the firebrand feminist? Here's what Maggie had to say:

Today's Observer has a FASCINATING examination of the rise of downtown DJ (or whatever he is) Moby as the latest socialite accessory. What better to carry to the latest fundraiser than an interesting, bespectacled "hip" fellow? Hell, he even compliments your new Judith Leiber frog minaudiere! A sampling of our favorite bits, in which we've taken the liberty of boldfacing the important parts:

Britney's husband lives in NYC?

The crazy thing is, you have to give your name, address, and social security number to submit.

In this week's very special edition of the Look Book, New York mag hunts down the intolerably hip Mark Recker, a record label assistant who hangs at Northsix and wears Club Monaco (no, you may not punch the Look Book). Mark's label works with Evanesence and Creed, so it should be hardly surprising that Mark loves him some Kiehl's. There was only one man worthy of sitting on Intern Alexis' stylist roundtable for commentary: Jonathan Cheban. After the jump, J-Chebs and Daniel Felder weigh in on Mark Recker's style.

Judith Regan, book publisher to the stars, is packing up her galleys and moving from New York to Hollywood to reinvent herself as a multimedia concern. While this relocation will undoubtedly put her in closer proximity to potential ReganBooks authors (there's a pretty good chance one of her wealthy neighbors will one day off someone and need to tell their side of the story), Regan asserts that she's "not interested in moving to L.A. to do movie star books"; rather, she'll settle for nothing short of inciting a cultural revolution:

...And now for the other perspective on pornography: Al Goldstein (whom we're sure got stiffed by Andrea Dworkin every Hanukkah) is back, baby!

Today's Post has a simple message: Diets don't work, but costly and dangerous gastric bypass surgery sure does.

Our tab-y brother site, Sploid, alerts us to the fact that anti-porn evangelical, Andrea Dworkin, has died. Unlike other recently deceased luminaries, Dworkin probably doesn't have the same built-in retinue of designated mourners: frankly, outside of S.C.U.M. circles, there probably aren't many people who even remember Dworkin, much less intend to remember her fondly.

The Politicker got its ink-stained hands on a hot memo from Times maharaja Bill Keller, announcing a brave new effort to keep the Gray Lady's tits from sagging:

How much do writers love Harry G. Frankfurt and his book, On Bullshit? It must be so liberating for them to use the word "bullshit" all the time, they're practically bullshitting themselves.

· Yesterday's corrections failed to make note of an error in a Monday article about Maer Roshan and Radar magazine. Mr. Roshan is 72 years old, not 35. (Go To Article)