Plenty of coverage of Barbra Streisand's triumphant! return! to Madison Square Garden last night, her first New York show in six years. Newsday and the Daily News concur that the diva was in top form, her performance sending the hearts of Gays, Jews, and your mother a-soaring. The Times agrees that Streisand's singing was buttery good, but notes that her Bush-bashing — complete with a skit featuring a Bush impersonator — was a "miscalculation." And then there's the Post, which says nothing about the music and, rather, runs with the standard News Corp. angle:

Vanity Fair has finally picked up on the whole Sarah "Ultragrrrl" Lewitinn phenomenon of 2004, including her in their November issue as the little music blogger who could (in this case, the "could" is starting her own imprint under Island-Def Jam), a buzzy wunderkind whose musical picks and praise "haven't been wrong yet." It's a lofty blurb, a milestone mention with no shortage of praise, crediting her influence as critical to the success of Interpol and Franz Ferdinand, amongst others. As Idolator notices, the entire thing was written by music journalist Marc Spitz, who discloses that he and Lewitinn were once co-workers at Spin. What he doesn't disclose is that he's more than just a former co-worker, he's actually one of her good friends — which makes the piece so much more meaningful, like a private little present from Spitz to Ultra, wrapped in the glossy paper of a complicit publication. It's all very sweet.

It may be from July, but we just saw this clever MySpace song and dance (beats the pants off MySpace Freak) for the first time. Revel in the MySpace metaphors in Gym Class Heroes' "New Friend Request."

"There is this song I keep hearing on the radio in Atlanta called 'MySpace Freak' by some lowly rap group," says reader Paul Stamatiou. Any song that begins with "Chillin' at the crib" is guaranteed awesome, and C-Side's "MySpace Freak" delivers.

The Misshapes, those 3 omnipresent party-hosting, death-staring hipsters, didn't just spoil black eyeliner, leotards, dance parties, Eastpak and rosé for the rest of the us — they also destroyed classic Brit pop. Specifically, the Misshapes take their name from the Pulp song "Mis-Shapes," a tragedy on which Idolator elaborates:

• We bet you're so excited for tonight's premiere of ABC's 32nd season of The Bachelor! In the latest incarnation, 25 psychotic single women compete in Rome for the affection of exotic Prince Lorenzo Borghese, who calls the city his second home. Except Borghese barely speaks Italian, had never been to Rome until he signed on with ABC, and is actually from Jersey. You could probably tell that to all 25 contestants, and they'd still go rabid competing for the final rose. [Radar]
• From here on out, the stupid smiley emoticon — :) — will be known as the "Foley." [Wonkette]
• The tables finally turn, and a Harvard man makes his bid to be a Trophy Husband. Alas, the best trophies would have no chance of getting into Harvard. [Feministing]
• Ever-increasing hotel prices keep tourists away from New York. Awesome! Jack the room rate on up! [Crain's]
• A very special, rocking evening with Don Rickles, the only man edgy enough to host the "2006 Music-Magazine Awards." [Idolator]
• A glossy magazine for pretty people who pretend to recycle. [NYSun]
• Giants/Eagles rivalry escalates to bagel-throwing, tire-slashing proportions. [Philadelphia Will Do]

• Tonight through tomorrow, go to Yahoo's campus for Yahoo Hack Day to hang with coders. Oh, and Beck. [Upcoming]

As your blood sugar plummets and you enter that mid-afternoon slump wherein your eyes glaze over and your mind starts wandering to truly inane places, surely you think to yourself, I wonder what Ryan Adams is up to? Well perk up, because we've got the answer! When not making dinner and cleaning house for his lady Jessica Joffe, the troubadour of the East Village is recording streaming hip-hop awesomeness for his website. If you're unable to listen at this moment, here's a sample of his flow (transcribed in random bits and pieces):

Music publishers still struggle to maintain relevance in an online world, as YouTube's deal with Warner Music yesterday revealed. Some bloggers praised the video site for "getting one record label off people's backs" by helping Warner Music find and veto (or license to) videos using its music.

Takeaway: YouTube's new deal with Warner Music looks like the dot-com's salvation, but it could be its downfall.

Rev up the awkward "new baby" metaphors, Gawker launched a new title today. Idolator is the music blog too hip for music blogs, complete with manifesto, glitzy logo (Is that a heart or is it the RIAA's bag of souls?), and a new spin on the Gawker cynicism you know and love.

• Rich dudes who want to be media magnates "look to the inherent worth of personnel and resources able to enlighten and expose, report and reflect, with a voice that can be heard above the din." Funny, we thought it was for the pussy. [Chicago Tribune]
• The UK Telegraph is looking to cut about seventy jobs, leaving us to wonder who'll be left to edit their vicious screeds against Polish plumbers and other assorted immigrants. [Guardian]
• Times questions Ana Marie Cox's "journalistic chops"; presumably it's only okay for her to write book reviews and op-ed pieces. The reverse Maureen Dowd transition, though? No sale. [NYT]
• Who wants to buy into a dying industry? The rest of said industry. [MarketWatch]
• Bee Shaffer, ex-journalist? Put us down as doubtful, but hope springs eternal. [IvyGate]

Tonight's Gnarls Barkley show at Central Park promises to feature an entertaining (if not mixed) crowd, full of music aficionados, Danger Mouse diehards, and progressive B&Ters who just heard the song at Crobar the other night. The real fans, however, will be backstage, enjoying the pleasures included in the duo's rider. Sure, all rappers require wrappers, but not even 50 Cent needed Magnums.

Without the assistance of recently-Condefied reporter Gabe Sherman, the Observer's Off the Record column is free to roam to the wildest corners of editor Tom Scocca's imagination — like an in-depth look at YouTube! And today, that means peppering your article with anecdotal nostalgia:

The Village Voice held its annual Siren Fest in the midst of Saturday's ghastly heat, sending hipsters and freeloaders alike to Coney Island for five-plus hours of melanoma-stoking sunshine. As Siren is a major music event 'round these parts, Rolling Stone and MTV would certainly be remiss if they didn't send their latest batch of ratings slaves to the show; above, contestants from the RS/MTV reality show learn about the tough world of music journalism and boom mics. Not quite sure who's who except for the token hottie-with-a-Sienna-complex Krys Jagger — though names don't really matter. They're all the same menial flashes in Jann Wenner's pan, dutifully serving themselves up for oblivion. (But seriously, do you think the blonde one hooked up with the lead singer of the Stills?)

Late last week, Stereogum linked to a Ryan Adams fansite posting that appeared to be the work of the East Village's tattered troubador. Now that he's "sober" and doesn't have Parker Posey to distract him from cultivating his own rambling insanity, Adams has found the time and focus to cruise the internet, dropping greasy bundles of good news for his fans (he has three albums in the works) and, if you're lucky, responding to blogs that dare to write of his scruffiness. It's always fantastically entertaining when a celebrity of any mild level takes to the blogosphere, especially when the medium is as unforgiving as a comments section — but Adams' rambling, defensive prose reads like a cracky k nstlerroman:

Is there anything more compellingly awkward than a press event based on a magazine cover stunt from last decade? Not if the above video is any indication. In order to announce the American incarnation of the Virgin Festival, the first 50 people who showed at the Union Square Virgin Megastore wearing nothing but a tube sock (in honor of the Red Hot Chili Peppers appearance on the two-day lineup) received free tickets to the festival. Nothing eases the pain of a biblically nasty Monday than watching people with nothing better to do at 11 AM than flaunt the illusion of their manhood as lengthened by a white cotton sock. NSFW if your office has a problem with anyone but Anthony Kiedis pulling this crap.

At right is the first issue of Spin sans Andy Pemberton; notice, if you will, the complete absence of any sort of bootylicious celebrity, providing a small relief in our national media nightmare. FishbowlNY notes that the issue is published without an editor's note (honestly, what's left to say?) and that executive editor Doug Brod is at the top of the masthead. Aside from their non-exclusive Thom Yorke exclusive, the mag returns to some actual music coverage, with album reviews aplenty. Granted, this progress is all marred by a by the inclusion of a "College Guide." But that's OK: after Beyonce, it's baby steps.

Celebrity memorabilia collectors are no doubt filled with joy at the latest gem to hit eBay: what would appear to be an iPod once belonging to actor Alec Baldwin. Or an iPod belonging to someone else named Alec Baldwin, or perhaps the iPod of a weirdly misguided fan of Alec Baldwin. No explanation on how the seller came to aquire the item, but some info on Baldwin's tastes: