We've admitted before our fondness for the dark arts of karaoke. (Every now and then, after enough drinks and among the right people, your usually mild-mannered Gawker editors have been known to miraculously transmute into Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes.) And so the Media Christmas event to which we were most looking forward was last night's singalong celebration for New York magazine.
There's a big night of Media Christmas parties tonight, including the one we're perhaps most excited for: New York's karaoke party at Encore. (Though we wouldn't mind being invited for dinner at Ruth Reichl's, either, as is her Gourmet editorial staff is this evening.)
Sit up straight and chew with your mouths closed, because this week's edition of New York magazine's Look Book features Robin Chandler Duke, a grand old dame who doesn't deal with barnfolk such as yourself. Puzzlingly enough, Duke is a political activist and the former chairman of NARAL, yet she seems rather kind to Supreme Court nominee Samuel Alito — we chalk this up to her being 82 and having forgotten her morning round of meds.
Fuck up once, shame on spellcheck.
Just to clear some things up, right off the bat: the individual featured in this week's edition of New York magazine's Look Book is not, we repeat, NOT Fake David Cross. While the bald head and glasses may indicate Fake Davidness, we want to remind you that the beard automatically disqualifies any potential doppelganger.
On the homepage New York's website today:
Poor Simon Dumenco.
In this week's issue of New York, there's a stunning exposé on the dark underbelly of Manhattan real estate. We'd no idea, but apparently all sorts of people have these strange things called "roommates." Crazy, right?!
Meet Strummer Hoffston, the one and only writer living on the Lower East Side who experiences "cheap rent." The lucky bitch is featured in the latest edition of New York's Look Book, where she muses on her stoop-sale blazers, being named after the Clash's Joe Strummer, how gentrification makes bohemia impossible. Also of note: her mother, a hippie, was arrested a lot — mentioning this makes Strummer feel better about gentrifying everything she touches. After the jump, Intern Alexis gathers analysis on Strummer's style from Henry the Intern, AJ Daulerio, and Sarah Lewitinn.
Before we're done celebrating New York Day here at Gawker HQ, we'd be remiss if we didn't point you to an odd front-of-book brief in this week's mag, this one detailing some unplanned goings-on at the Time Warner Center mall:
• Simon Dumenco doesn't buy the revisionist history that Jann Wenner pushed out Kent Brownridge, but he knows the often-incompetent mag business will miss the man Dumenco dubbed Dr. Evil. [AdAge]
• New Plamegate wrinkle: Now the prosecutor wants to talk to Time's Viveca Novak, who's so far cooperating with the investigation. It's nice to officially know that at least one Novak is, even if the wrong one. [NYT]
• Bad news for our favorite gray-haired boytoy: Anderson Cooper's rating are down 19 percent relative to Aaron Brown's last week as anchor. [Mediaweek]
• It's hard being Bob Woodward these days. [WP]
• For its 1,000th issue, Rolling Stone to go 3-D on its cover. Because flashy sales gimmicks are always a sign of a strong, vibrant product. [NYT]
• Another reason you can never leave the city: Newly hired report at Manchester, N.H., newspaper is fired for having "a New York attitude." [Boston Phoenix]
• Hearst's new Quick & Simple simply ain't selling very quickly, suggesting the women's-mag market is cooling — or even cooled off. Also: Maxim learns to appreciate older women. [WWD (second and third items)]
• Four years later, the de-anthraxing of American Media's former HQ in Florida is nearly complete. They're still working on how to de-Bonnie. [Jossip]
• Kazakhstan takes four-page ad in New York Times to refute allegations made by Ali G's Borat. Next week, USPS will take four-page ad to refute allegations made by Seinfeld's Newman. [E&P]
• Good editors protect their staffers. Except, you know, when they don't. [MB]
• Forthcoming New York mag article on Hasidic sect ruffles feathers even before its published. [Canonist]
It's not that any one article in this week's New York proves the death of old media (or at least any more so than any other article ever does). It's more of a penumbra thing: The combined take-away from all the media coverage in the new issue of the mag is downright depressing.
Vanity Fair's big, gay butterfly George Wayne is opening a new Chelsea club called Boudoir — which we expect will either last two weeks or two months, depending on the social calendar. During his sit-down interview with New York (and we are, admittedly, ALL OVER this week's issue), accompanied by Her Flackiness Lizzie Grubman, the discussion turns to Wayne's other professional accomplishments:
It was only a matter of time before New York's resident axe-lady Vanessa Grigoriadis (who, we might add, did not ghostwrite Nicole Richie's book) got on the Peter Braunstein bus — and when she did, by God, she took the wheel and drove that bus straight to Cape fucking Fear. The cover story reveals the disturbing extent to which the alleged fireman/molester and former Women's Wear Daily writer harbored his obsessions but, ultimately, doesn't tell us anything we didn't already know. Dude's a sick puppy — here's a gazillion words on the matter.
• Well, well, well! Look who's on the cover of the latest People magazine: It's the family Federletus! You know, didn't OK! change their Britney-Kevin cover story and bend over backwards with their edit, just to get those baby pics? Yeah, we think they did. Sucks to be them. [People]
• We're thankful for our Adderall abuse, Michael T. of Motherfucker is thankful for his cocaine abuse, and Fancy of Fannypack is thankful for his Asian teen escort abuse. [VV]
• The Holiday Market eats Union Square alive. But the little crafts are so cute, no? [Manhattan Offender]
• The Real David Cross offers his thoughts on the Fake David Cross. [Radar]
• NASA still plagued with pressing dildo problems. [CNN]
• Is that a VULVA on the cover of New York mag, or are you just happy to see us? [Scanner]
• Martha Stewart struggles with whether or not to name her new kitten "Keira Knightley." Seriously. [MarthaStewart]
• The Golden Girls are alive, well, and shilling in Chelsea. It's just not the same without Estelle Getty, however. [OAN]
Last week Ken Tucker announced he's quitting his job as New York's movie critic to return to Entertainment Weekly and the comfortable bosom of Time Inc. This week, Adam Moss & Co. make a quick recovery by snapping up Slate critic David Edelstein to fill Tucker's still-warm aisle seat.
This year, we're thankful for the latest participant in New York magazine's Look Book feature, Lisa Falcone. Ms. Falcone claims she used to model before meeting her hedge-funding husband, and now she's writing an anonymous novel. A quick Google search, however, reveals that Falcone is better known for her topless work (especially her NSFW appearance in Breast Men).
Here's one of the more interesting nuggets we've read in Lloyd Grove's Lowdown in some time:
"Ever wonder what dinner-table conversation between Larry King and wife No. 7, country singer Shawn Southwick-King, is like?" asks an Intelligencer item in this week's New York, and the funny is, we have wondered. More than once. Perhaps it's the simple fact she's his seventh wife, perhaps it's the 26-year age difference between them, perhaps it's that he's a cranky old Jew and she's a pert young Mormon. But we've often wondered what the hell they talk about. Thankfully, red-carpet reporter Jada Yuan finally provides the answer: intelligent design!
You have no idea the opportunities in life that are closed to you when people mistakenly think you're the daughter of a multimillionaire developer and newspaper publisher. There are so many perks — so many interesting people to meet, so many freebies to be snagged — that are available to average folks like us but suddenly become off-limits when people think you're boldface spawn. And so we can understand why New York magazine contributing writer Alicia Zuckerman felt compelled to send this email to her colleagues today:
