Today's Voice has the inevitable feature on the French musical invasion, led by media darling du jour Keren Ann. Hmm, haven't we heard of this woman before? Like, a lot? Using our new little Lexis-Nexis toy (which we love so much, we're never buying another magazine again!), we learn that Keren Ann has had no less than 70 mentions in the past 60 days. Not bad for a relatively indie (we use the term semi-ironically), Gallic chanteuse.

Can you guess which celebrants are rejoicing over a basketball victory and which are merely journalists in ecstasy?

Who doesn't love a good blooper, bleep, or blunder? Nothing yanks the rug out from under some stuffed shirt better than a boinger of blundery blooper!

We all laughed when we saw the FOX job listing calling for a 'fact writer.'

This week's extremely unpleasant mental image comes via The New Yorker's resident comedian-cum-film critic, Anthony Lane and his review of Matt Drudge's favorite film, Sin City:

jessicagawker: Hey, hon.
jessicagawker: Are you alright? I heard about your sidekick/servant Andrew Breitbart possibly leaving you for the arms of Arianna Huffington...
jessicagawker: It's okay, you needn't speak. I know it hurts.
jessicagawker: Listen, why don't I swing by? I'll bring Pretty Woman and Bridget Jones' Diary, some Ben & Jerry's, a bottle of white zin...

Let's take a minute to study Glamour editor Cindy Leive (who happens to be verrry pregnant — and thus a hormonal DELIGHT to work for right now, we're sure):

· Ben McGrath referees as The New Yorker sullies itself with the Post/News public Jell-O wrestling match. [NYer]
· Jonathan Mahler looks at Rupert Murdoch, "a thick, sad-eyed, harried-looking fellow with an outsize head and furry eyebrows, more day laborer than press lord," and his most beloved plaything, The New York Post. [NYM]
· From the paper that brought you Bridget Harrison, a cry that celebrities reveal "TOO MUCH INFO" on their blogs. [NYP]
· What if Malcolm Gladwell wrote about you and you had no idea? [Straight Up]

You should probably be grateful that this picture didn't come out too well. No one should have to see this sort of thing.
For whatever reason, I was allowed inside the 2005 Inner Circle, an event in which City Hall reporters willingly don costumes and perform a two-act musical lampoon of the mayor. Take the world's worst high school musical experience, subtract 50% of its quality, and cast the production with City Hall reporters, and you have both visual and auditory hell. Add Mayor Bloomberg, Senator Schumer, and free alcohol, and you've got a special-ed version of the Gridiron Gala.

Those familiar with the cryptic weekly email newsletter She Loves NY, which covers the NYC food and nightclub scene with impenetrable shorthand like "koi — hello may i place you on hold, hold, hold, 5:30 or 6," have an invaluable decoder ring at their service this week.

In her weekly study of the Times Book Review, Alexis finds herself relieved to see that the Letters finally say what she's been thinking all along: gossip, elitism, and books just don't mix. (Oh? Fuck.) After the jump, Alexis smacks down the Foer smackdown, picks up on the NYTBR's new embrace of Seth Cohenisms, and immerses herself in the wreckage that is the review.

Sometimes brevity isn't the soul of wit and only an ungrammatical, spittle-flecked mini-diatribe can effectively express your cynically affected moral outrage. We shudder to think what might have happened if the heathens at Dimension went with their original working title, Popefuckerville.

Guy Trebay, eager to assert his status as the most fabulous reporter since Jeff Gannon, spends a weekend in Palm Beach with potter turned decorator/designer Jonathan Adler and his partner, Barney's creative director Simon Doonan (we'd discuss the boys' terrier, Liberace, but we can handle only so many reinforced stereotypes for one day). Jonathan is best known for his love of kitsch and his use of "Mary" as a universal name for pretty much everyone:

Because, as we earlier noted, it is your god-given right to pen a memoir, Erica Jong's daughter, Molly Jong-Fast, is releasing a collection of self-reflectionastic essays, The Sex Doctors In The Basement (unleashed tomorrow). Normally, we'd feign only mild interest in such a book, but we couldn't help but notice an interesting passage on page 166:

A funny thing happened on the way to our inbox: We received a copy of a quiet little email from Times' head counselor Bill Keller to maybe a handful of extremely senior editors. Apparently, there's going to be some "significant" changes to the Culture pages (something about competition from Yahoo!, no joke), including the main Arts listings:

Matty D. sort of outdid himself this weekend. We hope his spleen is okay.

Oh, our bad: we're still in April Fool's Day mode.

If you're like us, you're pushing 30, the largest readership you'll ever have is when you append messages to eVite RSVPs, you live in an apartment with the dimensions and charm of a bomb shelter, and the only way you'll ever get some attention from an agent is if you try to smuggle hash over the border.

This week on Topic A, T-Bro rides the Terri train all the way to PunditTown, where guests ruminated on topics regarding right-to-die issues and eating disorders. With a last-minute dash of the Pope, White House intelligence, and Shakespeare, Henry the Intern found himself remarkably not bored. It's a spirtually important weekend, indeed! After the jump, his "surprisingly pleasant" report.

A reader email compels us to be "serious" for a moment: