From today's Corrections:

Speaking of The Times 'Style' section piece on amorous internet philosemites, check out this NYTimes.com News Tracker graphic that allows you to set an articles alert for the topics that matter to you most.

Yesterday, the Times' Sarah Richards treated us all to an examination of the gentile infidels who use online Jewish dating service JDate (she includes herself in this gang of online love insurgents). In her piece, Richards profiled several users, but failed to include her interview with official NYC ladies' man Chris London. Chris London will not stand for that, nuh-uh, and he'll use a mass email to tell us so:

This weekend's New York Times Magazine features a cover story by consumer culture deep thinker Rob Walker called 'The Hidden (in Plain Sight) Persuaders' all about the next wave of word-of-mouth marketing coming soon to a party or family function near you.

Okay, we know how much our slutty sister site paid The Times' Alessandra Stanley to plug her in her review of HBO's The Life and Death of Peter Sellers, since she took the money out of petty cash and that's why we won't be ending this week with our traditional Gawker Media Ben & Jerry's Vermonster Social.

From today's Times 'Corrections: For the Record':

This reminds us of the Joker's line from Batman: "Those toys! Where does he get those wonderful toys?"

Aging fans of 80s and 90s alt.culture may get a little jolt from the surprisingly hip—if slightly dated—trifecta hit by Books of the Times today.

We've been making hymen restoration jokes since we lost our v-card in the backseat of a Subaru, but we still felt somewhat horrified when we read the Times' piece on vaginal plastic surgery. For those of you looking to take your ladyflower to the next level, plastic surgeons are offering liposuction and snips on labia length (because, like, violently ripping the hair from your tender flesh simply isn't enough). Columnist Amy Alkon writes:

Thanksgiving is upon us and a cozy weekend in front of the hearth (or burning garbage can), full of thankful reflection, is imminent. So it seems only natural that Times public editor Daniel Okrent will use his weekend column to express his gratitudes. And really, there's so much to be thankful for:

Is there anything that makes you feel better about yourself moreso than tales of suffering on a Sunday morning? Doubt it. That's why we cherish the Lives section of the Times, in which the misery of others makes our existence seem a bit more tolerable. Mediabistro enlists a Citizen Media Critic to ruminate on the matter:

We'd like to think this show of savvy would signify changes to come around the Times (like, trifling shit is GOOD!), but it's Friday and Keller's kids are doing their weekly wake-and-bake. Retraction to follow, no doubt.
Absorbency Plus Puerility, A Blend The World Needs [NYT]

Yeah, support the arts! Or volunteer at your local soup kitchen!
Arts, Briefly [NYT]

The NYT takes a look at Greg Gutfeld's tenure as editor of Stuff, and his abrupt departure earlier this week. Gutfeld contends that his bosses just didn't get his sense of humor. Gutfeld, who got kicked out of grade school for lighting firecrackers in class, continued with the pranks through most of his editorial career. Stuff featured public mockings of other magazines such as having then GQ editor Art Cooper's handwriting analyzed, responded to letters sent to Entertainment Weekly (an oldie but a goodieSPY used to answer letters to the New Yorker), and running a "correction" that said, "In last month's issue of Esquire, we thought we read something pretty interesting; turns out, we were just staring at a wall." Gutfeld's off-the-page stunts were even better. He sent a group of dwarf actors to disrupt a magazine panel and wore a bearskin rug to a fashion show. I know Gutfeld's a pain in the ass, but I think Stuff is going to be incredibly boring now. Then again, if he's looking for things to do, we could always use another unpaid intern.
A publishing pest moves on [NYT]

A reader points out that Spring Street Networks, which produces personal ads for Nerve, The Onion, the Observer, and the New York Times (among others) is taking the system offline today for an upgrade, temporarily eliminating the social lives of a frightening portion of the New York singles population.

A reader reports: "I was in attendance for "An evening with Harvey Weinstein" at the Learning Annex this evening. Actually it was an immense ballroom at the New York Sheraton. The ballroom was full of aspiring bad actors and aspiring bad
directors. Additionally a clutch of people from Flushing, Queens came out to cheer on their home town boy. In fact many found it impossible not to yell out assorted Flushing related messages during the interview."

At Gawker, two = trend. The NYT appears to have adopted the same rule for the Style section. Below is an article about the sudden rash of movies about publicistsrash meaning "Phone Booth" and "People I Know." "How did publicists become Hollywood's villains of choice?" the NYT asks, without a trace of irony. All publicists aren't bad, it points out. No, but if you're going to talk about publicists that aren't bad, don't reference uber-flack Pat Kinglsey. Kingsley's broken many a journalist over less-than-sychophantic interviews by, among other things, refusing to let them interview anyone else she representswhich would be half the entertainment industry.
Publicists, once again in the cross hairs [NYT]

The NYT's Guy Trebay writes, "After years of bad gags about black being the new black, the streets are unexpectedly populated with people wearing trippy stripes, flowered graphics or clothes the colors of Bazooka or the walls of the playhouse where Pee-wee Herman held court." An unofficial poll indicates that this spring color trend hasn't reached the East Village yet. I see black, black, and more black. (Right, Claire Danes publicly demonstrating why Zac Posen is an overrated designer. I used to scribble on my mother's bedsheets, too, but I was five at the time.)
For Spring, color is the new black [NYT]

The cocktail hour is back. I cannot possibly convey to you how happy this makes me. As a free-range smoking drunk, I applaud any trend that involves increased social consumption of my favorite cocktail. The NYT points to a number of factors that are turning restaurants into restaurants/bar/lounges, the primary being that drinks mean less of a commitment. No reservations; no obligation to stick around if it's not entertaining; and no killing your entire night with four courses that you realize you didn't want shortly the hor d'ourves arrived. Yay, lack of commitment!
Care for a drink before your meal? Sure, but hold the meal [NYT]

I accidentally stumbled upon a Don Delillo reading last night and heard an excerpt from his new novel, Cosmopolis, in which the main character is a Wall Street currency trader and asset manager. Delillo's Wall Street sounds interesting, but nothing like the real thing:
· The protagonist, Eric Packer, cruises around Manhattan in a white stretch limo. (The NYT/GQ's Walter Kirn: "White stretch limousines...conjure up prom nights in Omaha for me, not mornings on Wall Street.")
· Packer manages billions of dollars and has a Manhattan apartment with 48 rooms. He's 28.
· He does what sounds like currency arbitragemaking money off of disparities in exchange ratesbut made much of his money plugging stocks on a website and then trading them, which is usually illegal.
· A typical statement from a Delillo Wall Streeter: "Doubt. What is doubt? You don't believe in doubt. You've told me this. Computer power eliminates doubt. All doubt rises from past experience. But the past is disappearing. We used to know the past but not the future. This is changing. We need a new theory of time.''
Cosmopolis: long day's journey into haircut [NYT]