• Avoid any guy who lists "blogger" on his resume. The reasons to do this are too numerous to list.
• Avoid any guy who starts a sentence with "If you Google me…"
• Avoid any guy who quotes Judd Apatow and/or refers to his friends as "my buddies."
• Avoid any guy who watches Gossip Girl.
• Avoid any guy who crashes the office Christmas party. He's there to bang secretaries. Unless he's unemployed, in which case he's there to shmooze, pound free booze, and then bang secretaries.
• Avoid any guy who is a lawyer. He's either about to lose his job or desperately wants to, so he can have an excuse to start that baseball card trading business he's always dreamed of. In the meantime, he will expect you to support him while he "gets back on his feet."
• Avoid any guy who keeps old Victoria's Secret catalogues in his bathroom. Find some respectable Internet porn, for chrissakes.
• Avoid any guy who saw The Road and liked it. He'll never commit.
• Avoid any guy who lives on the L train.
• Avoid any guy with more than 500 followers on Twitter. His virtual ego will be inflated to levels his physical existence can't match.
• Avoid any guy who claims not to own a TV. Everyone owns a fucking TV. You may be too broke to pay for cable, but you own a TV.
• Avoid any guy who drinks gin martinis and sneers at vodka. He'll be shitty in bed.
• Avoid any guy who reads Gawker.
• Avoid any guy who says the same thing over and over, but thinks that if he puts the emphasis on a different word it means he's right ("It is Ridley Scott's BEST movie. No, it IS Ridley Scott's best movie.")
• Avoid any guy who tries to be cool by saying Megan Fox "isn't that hot." Please. Vaginas don't cause blindness.
• Avoid snowboarders. Which won't be hard, since they won't be around much this month.
• Avoid any guy who tweets about his bodily emissions. Particularly while they're happening.
• Avoid any guy who has had naked photos of himself posted on Deadspin.
• Avoid any guy who is the "mayor" of any location on FourSquare.
• Avoid any guy you meet in the basement of Lit. Or any basement, for that matter.
• Avoid any guy who puts "gasm" at the end of words. "Dude, that was a total party-gasm" or "man what a throw-gasm by Brady" all apply. (This rule also works for "tard.")
• Avoid any guy with a bad haircut. Because he looks funny.
• Avoid any guy who shows any signs of having read The Game. "My friends all thought you were hot, but I wasn't so sure" is a clear sign. He'll be rubbish in bed.
• Avoid any guy who has more than 10 female numbers programmed into his phone. He plans to inseminate all of them, if he hasn't already.
• Avoid any guy who tells you his ex-girlfriend was crazy. He made her that way.
• Avoid any guy who refers to the Dallas Cowboys as "America's Team." Because he is a douche.
• Avoid any guy who shaves more than 20% of his body surface area.
• Avoid any guy who is "microfamous." His name is John Carney and he's married.
• Avoid any guy who has done speed dating, match.com or j-date. He has herpes and carpal tunnel.
• Avoid any guy who claims to have written, be writing, or aspire to write a novel. Seriously. Fucking run.
• Avoid any guy who has business cards that say "Internet Entrepreneur."
• Avoid any guy who is into Premier League soccer. He'll show up at your apartment on a Sunday morning and vomit on your floor.
• Avoid any guy who checks his power ranking on Mediaite more than once a week.
• Avoid any guy who brags about spending his unemployment check on vintage Styx records.
• Avoid any guy who tells you he "really hates condoms." I really hate periods. God is cruel.
• Avoid any guy who wears ironic glasses. He thinks he's the geeky-but-sweet hero in an '80s movie, and that it'll get him laid.
• Avoid any guy who works at Google. Wait, what am I saying – date any and all guys who work at Google. Have you HAD their chili-smoked ribs?
• Avoid any guy who comments on blogs under the username "John Galt."
• Avoid any guy who uses Tom & Jerrys as an office space.
• Avoid any guys who write lists like this and post them on the Internet. They're under the delusion that they have a chance with any of the women listed.

This was originally published on John's Tumblr

It's that time of year (again) when even the most independent of lads can get a little desperate for more companionship than one can find in the bottom of a bottle of Jameson's Irish Whiskey. If I thought it would make any difference, I'd tell you that you should avoid becoming involved with the lasses during this season. It's just too dangerous, and will almost certainly lead to disaster. But it wouldn't make a difference. These winter nights are too long and too cold to avoid the urge to spend them with someone shorter and warmer.

So, instead, I offer you this guide to holiday romance.

1. Avoid any girl who has lots of overly-enthusiastic followers on tumblr. She's an attention whore.

2. Avoid dating a girl just because she is your favorite bartender. Where are you going to drink when you want to forget her?

3. Avoid girl who tells you she she is on a cleanse. She hates herself.

4. Avoid Kirsten Dunst. She's a walking time-bomb.

5. Avoid any girl who frequently blog about her sex life. You know how that one goes.

6. Avoid any girl who works for a Hearst magazine. She's about to lose her job and you'll have to pay for everything.

7. Avoid any girl who really likes girls who blog about their sex lives. She's just too lazy to ruin your name right now. She'll find a way later.

8. Avoid any girl who ever mentions The Box or Beatrice Inn. She has herpes and just wants your for your cocaine.

9. Avoid any beautiful girl who wears ugly glasses. She thinks she's in a romantic comedy for teens.

10. Avoid any girl who follows you on twitter. She's already stalking you.

11. Avoid any girl who smells too nice all the time. There's something strange happening.

12. Avoid any girl who smokes heavier cigarettes than you. You're already her bitch.

13. Avoid any girl who is a DJ. She'll make you listen to her terrible music.

14. Avoid any girl who didn't like "Once." She's dead inside.

15. Avoid girls whose clothes are all retro, period costumes. Just trust me on this.

16. Avoid ballerinas. She's too flexible and you'll just wind up hurting yourself.

17. Avoid any girl with more tattoos than you. She'll never respect you.

18. Avoid any girl who is still angry because her last boyfriend cheated on her. You'll cheat on her too.

19. Avoid any girl who lives within two blocks of you. It's too soon for that kind of proximity.

20. Avoid any girl you meet in the basement of Lit. That's also Kirstin Dunst.

21. Avoid any girl with tattoos in Chinese. Unless, of course, she's from China.

22. Avoid any girl who drives in NYC. She's already proven she's a nutcase.

23. Avoid any girl you meet in the bar where you and your friends are watching a game. She thinks she's figured out guys. She hasn't. She'll fuck everything up all the while thinking she's very clever about men.

24. Avoid any girl who wears jewelry given to her by her ex-boyfriend on your first date. She is still in love with him, and only him, and will still be wondering why no-one else ever gives her anything nice when she's living with six cats and getting her meals on wheels.

25. Avoid any girl who tells you she hates her ex-boyfriend. She hates herself.

26. Avoid any girl with a bad haircut. She spends enormous amounts of time and money on her hair and if it is still fucked, she's incurable.

27. Avoid any girl with poor hygiene or too much hair where too much hair doesn't belong on women. If you ever attempt to help her out on this score, she'll hate you for it. And then she'll take all your advice and look great for the next guy she sleeps with.

28. Avoid any girl who is "microfamous." Her name is Julia Allison and you'll end up on Gawker.

29. Avoid any girl who has done speed dating, match.com or j-date. She's got commitment issues, and since you're an emotionally unavailable alcoholic, neither of you will ever call each other.

30. Avoid any girl on anti-psychotics. She'll go off her meds one day and plant a corkscrew in your ribcage.

31. Avoid any girl who has dated a website founder. That's also Julia Allison and you'll end up on Gawker.

32. Avoid any girl who has rules or tests for men she dates. She should be on anti-psychotics.

33. Avoid any girl who doesn't drink. Do I need to say anything else here?

34. Avoid any girl who is really, really into tanning. You'll end up on Hot Girls and Douchebags.

35. Avoid any girl who won't make out with you in a taxi. She lacks a properly functioning sexual instinct.

36. Avoid any girl whose best friend just got dumped by her boyfriend. Together they are a committee of manhaters and you are the next target for hate.

37. Avoid any girl who tells you she thinks she feels a spark between the two of you. Her mind is trapped in a Sweet Valley High novel.

38. Avoid any girl who talks about her father on her first date. She'll demand you spend the night at her place but will only want to cuddle.

39. Avoid any girl who won't kiss you if your breath smells like whiskey. She has oral-purity issues that are undesirable.

40. Avoid any girl who wants to monopolize your time on New Year's Eve. The night is too wrought with emotions and memories. Spend time with as many different people as possible or else stay home and alternate heroin and absinthe until you pass out at twenty till midnight. Also, she's probably on ritalin and won't share it.

41. Avoid any girl who won't wear a skirt in winter. The winter is too long as it is without having to do without legs. You'll end up in the stairwell of a Christmas party making out with a girl in skirt.

42. Avoid any girl who cries when she's drunk. Her self-pity will destroy you.

43. Avoid any girl who you think looks even hotter when she is miserable. You will destroy each other.

44. Avoid any girl who tries to come off as more emotionally unavailable and cavalier about relationships than you are. She's secretly a tightly wound bundle of need.

45. Avoid any girl you've dated before. Pace Friedrich, if the first time is tragedy, the second time will just be worse.

46. Avoid any girl in a headband. She's a slave to fashion and will try to make you use expensive hair-products.

47. Avoid any girl you meet at Cocaine Anonymous. She won't do drugs with you.

48. Avoid any girl who you never found attractive before but suddenly looks hot. You're drunk.

49. Avoid any girl who tells you she wasn't interested in you when you first met but has now developed feelings for you. She's just been dumped and is desperate.

50. Avoid any girl who buys you shoes for Christmas. You will return them for ones you like and she'll hate you forever.

52. Avoid any girl you meet at an office party. She is your boss's wife and wants to hurt him.

53. Avoid any girl who knows the names of all the bartenders in more than four bars. She's out of your league.

54. Avoid any girl you meet near the Conde Nast building. She's writing a book and you are going to be in it if you don't watch out.

Bonus Round: Avoid any girl who tells you that you are emotionally unavailable. She's got your number.

[Apologies to the obvious candidates. You know who you are.]

Here is where things stand for Tiger, this morning: His love life is pretty fucked. Although his sex life sounds great! Of the five or so extramarital women everybody thinks he boned, the big news today is about the original Tiger Fling Girl, Rachel Uchitel. Just two days ago she gave a big front-page exclusive interview to the New York Post about how this is all bullshit and she never did anything at all with Tiger and god, this is all bullshit, because of lying whores who hate her.

Well! She's changed her mind. Rachel's having a press conference this afternoon to announce that she did, in fact, do all that sexy stuff, with Tiger Woods. (Update: The press conference was just canceled, but the admission to boning the golf star is now out there.) We assume this is because she read our advice and wants to clear the air as she moves forward with her nightlife career, but, Rachel—not so abrupt next time. The turnaround from total, vehement lie to revelation of truth that everyone already suspected must be a little smoother, so as not to make you appear to be either a psycho or blackmail victim. Although we will consider everything forgiven if you make a point to mock the New York Post's dead-wrong exclusive at your press conference.

Tiger Woods: Your job is simple. Just be Tiger Woods. That means, continue being the most robotic, uninteresting sports megastar of our time. You, sir, are a cipher. Fans and sponsors love you for it, because they can project whatever image they want upon you, and your inscrutable, uninteresting being simply swallows it up.

Golf is the most uninteresting spectator sport in the world. Golf fans are not moralists. They are people who believe that golf shirts in various shades of coral are acceptable outerwear. They are the bland upper crust of Middle America. That, and rich assholes who love to cheat on their wives. Neither of these groups of golf fans cares one bit about your marital infidelity, Tiger. Nor do your sponsors. What they do care about is being forced to think about something other than golf.

People play (and watch) golf to escape the real world. The world of golf is a world of creepy perfectly manicured lawns and rolling greens as far as the eye can see and lots middle-aged white guys. People want to embrace you as the staid, unblinking image of perfection on a golf course, Tiger. They don't want to be forced to consider who you're fucking. The masochistic desire of sports fans for a feeling of inadequacy next to their heroes does not extend into the bedroom.

So just shut the fuck up and play golf, Tiger. You'll be boring the hell out of America again before you know it.

• What do you want to be when you grow up? This is the question you must ask yourself now, Rachel. Out of scandal comes opportunity. But you must know what you're pursuing if you are to achieve it. Think about it. We have some ideas too!
• Only talk to your friends. The corollary of this being, "Know who your friends are." The New York Post is not your friend, Rachel. It is not anyone's friend. So why oh why did you give them the big interview today? The gist of your interview was "I barely know Tiger Woods and nothing happened between us." The cover headline: "TIGER & ME: Beautiful 'other woman reveals the truth about her relationship with sports' biggest star." See how that does not serve you well, since many more people will read the headline than will read your actual words? Yes. A "friend" in the media is an outlet that will cede you friendly coverage in exchange for access. And don't go too far downscale. RadarOnline, for example, would just make you seem like more of a nut. Aim for Barbara Walters. Settle for Bob Costas.
• Pick an image and stick to it. From a BlackBook interview, June 2008: "Although I've been romantically linked to a famous baseball player, a Broadway star, a musician, and various film and television actors, I will never kiss and tell!"
  From your New York Post interview today: "It doesn't look good because of stories in the past about me and other celebrities, and everybody thinks I'm just a celebrity f - - -er. Well the truth is, I live alone, I don't have a boyfriend, and I have my gay best friend staying over most nights. I'm a recluse. I don't go out, I stay home with my dogs and friends."
  So which is it? Clearly, it is "Celebrity fucker," in truth. Which is okay! Many people in this world aspire to become a celebrity fucker, but few ever live that dream. You have, and you should not be ashamed. Just go with it.
• Work that nightlife angle. Hmm, what would be a perfect industry in which a woman such as yourself could use the fame associated with vague celebrity sex scandal to her advantage? An industry in which the mystique cultivated by more silence, Rachel,selective silence, could be beneficially used to draw people into your orbit? And industry in which you already know everyone? Yes. Nightlife. You should right now be out hustling investors to open your own club down the road. A sexy and dangerous club. A club where the notoriety that goes along with fucking Tiger Woods et al. will not be shameful. It will be celebrated. It will make you popular. And you will win.
• Calibrate your edginess carefully. Nightclub, yes. Porn, no. You're no Ashley Dupre.

According to a story in the New York Times today (in which the NYT tries very hard to suppress its glee), the Post's circulation has fallen by 30% in less than three years, to just a hair over half a million; and its financial losses were around $70 million last year, making the paper an expensive habit even by Rupert Murdoch's standards. And the fact that Rupert's adding local reporting to the WSJ makes Post reporters (reasonably) nervous they're falling out of favor.

We must not let this perpetually money-losing right-wing tabloid fall from grace! New York would be such a boring newspaper city without a loud, drunk voice of opposition. A few helpful suggestions:

• Andrea Peyser's sexxxy, but is she sexxxy enough? Millions of people in New York have sex every day without being mentioned in Andrea Peyser's column. Work on that.
• Col Allan is drunk, but is he drunk enough? Secretly rig the water fountains to emit gin, if you haven't done so already.
• Sean Delonas is racist, but is he racist enough? Racist cartoons are all well and good, but try upping Sean's visibility by getting him out there on the street, among the people, beating up minorities, then quick-sketching it on a blog. After he's all done promoting his children's book.

All your knick-knacks with deep personal meaning and your special desk and your crazy exercise habits and your office location in gentrifying urban wasteland? Fine, fine. Until it gets cataloged in a newspaper, which kills its magic and makes you look like a twee, stereotypically unbearable Brooklyn Literary Person.

A treadmill is jammed up against [Lethem's 'talismanic' desk]. He explains the jerry-rigged system: a wireless keyboard and a giant computer-font setting allow him to walk and work simultaneously.

Apparently that's just what it takes to maintain his "youthful nerd-chic vibe belying his age (45)" in his "communal artists' workspace by the Gowanus Canal" while wearing his brown glasses and matching brown corduroys. It all just looks bad in print. Keep your door locked, Lethem. Then treadmill to your heart's content!

Try Super Squats too.

On Monday, Lucinda's advice column featured a letter from a girl who said that someone slipped her a roofie at a club; she had to be taken to the hospital, and when she called two of her friends in the middle of the night to "beg them to join me while I was recovering," they didn't want to come until the morning. And she was upset about that. And Lucinda was like, well, who the fuck wants to go drive to the hospital at 4 a.m. for something that is not a life-threatening incident and, indeed, may have sounded at the time like something that was your own doing, crazy girl? Your family or your boyfriend would be obligated to come, but your friends probably thought you were just way drunk or took too many drugs or whatever and they were pissed at you a little bit. So, don't sweat it too much. Chalk it up to miscommunication.

Which was our reaction too, exactly! Tough to judge the friends in this case without knowing what the drugged friend was actually doing and saying at the time. (Although we are neither women, nor the type of person who has "friends"). But the internet commenters were basically like: Lucinda, you are a horrible person, I have gotten up in the middle of the night 43 times to visit my roofied friends, plus this girl was probably sexually assaulted, did you even think of that, you awful, awful internet advice columnist? And Lucinda replied no, she didn't really think of that, since there's nothing in the letter about it, but really, come on, people. It's not that big a deal. But there's that "Remove Lucinda Rosenfeld" petition, still there, on the internet!

Shit. You internet commenters are putting all this effort into firing an online advice columnist who's not Cary Tennis? You people need help.

The NYO says that Armen Keteyian is out bulldog-reporting the story already, upholding the integrity of the news side and whatnot. Why? First of all, CBS is hopelessly, hopelessly conflicted, Chinese wall or not. Digging up serious dirt on the network's biggest late night star just doesn't pay. Second, the scandal's already been—and will continue to be—overcovered by the other networks, and the tabloids, and everyone else. Third, see point one. The only three possible outcomes to a CBS News investigation:

1. They turn up pretty much the same stuff as everyone else, meaning it was a waste of time.
2. They turn up more dirt that makes Letterman look bad, meaning they screw their own network. In this case, their report either gets censored to some degree by the corporate types, or they run it as is and still get accused of pulling punches due to a conflict of interest, because they do in fact have one.
3. They turn up dirt that makes Letterman's accuser (also a CBS employee!) look bad, and get accused of trying to help Letterman out.

So, just skip it, guys. Have you looked into baby kangaroos? People love that shit.
[Pic: AP]

He always thought he was doing good. And sometimes he was. He oversaw one of the greatest expansions of industrial production and civil improvement Germany had ever experienced. His government sponsored architectural wonders, invested heavily in infrastructure and hosted the Olympic Games. Yet he emerged as probably the most evil man the world has ever seen.

See, a true leader doesn't just 'blindly follow down someone else's path" and massacre six million Jews; a true leader asks, "Does this massacre match my own objective sense of my principles?"

Leadership.
[Pic via]

Lizzie's solution, according to Gatecrasher (late pass for us, but it's worth it!), is to drag Vince to all the fanciest Fashion Week events to be photographed with celebs. That's one way to go. Or:

• Get Plastic Surgery—It's useful not only for repairing the facial damage inflicted by a crazed, teeth-gnashing cannibal hooker, but also for subtly altering your look so that people who spot you in the future don't immediately point and say, "Hey—isn't that the guy who got arrested for fighting a cannibal hooker?"

• Flee the Country—Uruguay, Gambia, Micronesia. We've just named three of the dozen or more nations where ShamWow and SlapChop infomercials have not so saturated the television broadcasts that you could not take two steps without being recognized as that ShamWow guy—the one who had the bloody confrontation with the cannibal hooker.
• Become a Hermit—Throughout history, many of the holiest men on earth have made the decision to take to a cave on a windswept hillside, isolating themselves from society in order to meditate and get closer to god. This is also an effective way to isolate oneself from the prying eyes of the public and media, who are always eager to pigeonhole you as "The guy with the cannibal hooker problem." Although we have to be honest: God is not so great on forgiving cannibal hooker fights, either.

[Pic: Getty]

[Teen Vogue editor Amy] Astley recalled a recent job applicant who was clearly unqualified to work at her magazine.

"I interviewed someone who hadn't seen ‘Twilight,' " she said. "You can't work at Teen Vogue if you haven't seen ‘Twilight.'"

That cuts it down to 87 million people. Next, those of you not related to Conde Nast executives may also leave.

Fashion!

What Will Happen?

We got some fascinating insight into the McKinsey corporate bulldozer process, from people who have experienced it firsthand. First, look for your chance to put your thumb on the consulting scale: "The McKinsey team and the management team will usually form a joint working group. That working group will often have several lower level people from the client working on it to gather facts, run analyses, and so forth. Get on that team. At least you'll see what's coming, and at best you might influence it."

But don't expect to feel too important: "The big firms don't bother interviewing individual employees (a la the Bobs in Office Space) - they'll gut entire departments that they deem strategically insignificant or issue edicts like 'cut out 50% of management at this level.' The actual firing is all done by the client firm's management (McK would never get their hands dirty that way)." Another vet confirms: "McKinsey doesn't give a shit, they are not interested in you. They want to get rid of entire divisions, not individuals."

What Can You Do?

Be Nice to the Consultants—It does not pay to be an asshole, unfortunately. One tipster advises you to "cooperate with the consultants (they always report back to senior management)." Another survivor says, " If interviewed by a McKenzie, answer everything question nicely. If you hold back, or are snotty, they fire your ass. Threee of my former collegues tried the stonewall approach and got canned."

Suck Up—Kiss ass, Kiss ass, Kiss ass. "Suck up to your own superiors, and their superiors, and theirs." It's just that simple. A brown nose could give you a minute edge on your fellow layoff-eligibles.

Practice Subtle Backstabbing—You don't want to be seen as a desperate bastard ready to sell out any and all of your colleagues to save your own job (even though you are). You just want to plant the seed. Take it from someone who's been there: " Don't talk shit about individuals, talk shit about DIVISIONS in a passive-aggressive way. Saying things like: 'Those fellows that work in [blank] division are really nice guys, but I've worked here for five years and I still don't know what they do' is a winner." Corporate espionage at its finest, ladies and gentlemen.

Watch Office Space—Several of you sent this tip. Har har. This will only have value if you can bribe a McKinseyite with, like, a hijacked truck full of Office Space DVDs.

Slut It Up—"If all else fails: Find out who the senior partner at McKinsey is, and fuck them." This is experience speaking, people.

Despair—You may find it strangely comforting to accept the fact that—even if you employ all of these countermeasures—you may still get fucked by McKinsey, and not just by the partner you fucked on purpose. "As a consultant for [firm] who's worked on several optimization cases, I wish the Conde Nasters luck. That being said, there's little they can do personally to avoid the axe," says one tipster. He should know! Need more proof? This comes from a former McKinsey consultant: "it's a good idea to release any sense of control you might have over your future. Being nice, being useful, and doing a great job all have nothing do with it - they will be deciding what the company should be doing, not making HR-type decisions about who's good at their job. If you work in a function that they decide doesn't need doing, it doesn't matter how nice/useful/great-at-your-job you are - that function will be eliminated."

Your job: Enjoy it while it lasts.

• Wise Money Management: Your settlement with the Justice Department left you with only $2.5 million to live on—a mighty blow for a 68 year-old woman with little earning power left. Have no fear! With a little skill, you should be able to survive your remaining days without going hungry. Even at a modest 4% rate of return, this principal invested wisely would earn you $100,000 per year. You'll find that a human being can survive on this modest stipend. You're being forced to sell your posh penthouse; that's actually good! Check out Craigslist for cheaper rentals. You can find a roommate there, too. Your hair salon doesn't want your business any more, which will help you save on grooming costs. Try Head & Shoulders. Above all, be sure to invest your money under a different name. Lest something "happen" to it.
• Resurrecting Your Reputation: You should just forget this one. There's no point stressing yourself about it. You'll be despised by a large portion of the public for years. But you can slowly develop enough distance from the fraud to, at least, allow yourself to walk the streets without immediate fear of maiming.
  You haven't started off on the right foot, though. Your post-sentencing statement about being "betrayed and confused" by Bernie's fraud: come on. Betrayed and confused by math, maybe! Didn't you work at his firm? Ha. This tactic will probably fail. Better to downplay the part about you not having any idea what was going on, and play up the meager restitution to the fraud's victims that you plan to make your life's work! You won't be able to make a speck of a dent in the total amount owed, of course. But by making it clear that you will pay back the token amount that you can, it will also make it easier for you to...
• Get a Job: A real job, lady. MTA conductor. Shoe salesperson. Wal-Mart greeter. Well, maybe not a job that necessitates direct contact with the public; could be dangerous. But a job, nonetheless, where you can be photographed—preferably dirty, and sweating—to show the world that you are paying some penance for this colossal crime. You only have to work a few days a week. Then you tithe a percentage of your earning into a fund for victims. A large percentage. 100%, for example! And really, what else do you have to do with your time? It's a winning idea all around. You could even sell paintings, like some serial killers do. Kitsch appeal and all that.
• Move: Don't just move out of your luxury apartment. Don't just move out Manhattan. Don't just move out of New York. Don't just move out of America. Move out of the Western world. Move somewhere like Botswana, or Nepal, or Suriname, where the Madoff scam is not likely to be a topic of discussion for a long period of time. For at least a decade. Get forgotten. Get a haircut. By the time you come back to America (isolated Western or Southern states only) your face won't be branded into the memories of millions of haters quite so distinctly. And then, finally, you can...
• Do Something Good: Habitat for Humanity. Look what it did for Jimmy Carter. Or feeding the homeless in a soup kitchen, while wearing a hairnet. Great photo-op. Do this for the remainder of your years. And do it well. And when you die, give the rest of your money to the victims of the fraud. And maybe, just maybe, your soul will have a chance.

Here's how "Scared Journalist" described their wretched life:

I spent the last four and a half years studying print journalism in college and watching vacantly as the newspaper/magazine industry crumbled before my eyes...I always figured I had what it takes to get a job even in an extremely competitive market: Before I ever graduated, I had completed four internships at newspapers, magazines and a Web site, published almost a hundred clips (including longer, high-quality pieces), and left a good impression with everyone I worked with. I knew I wanted to be a journalist, and I knew that I wanted to write for a living.

Now, six months after graduating, my parents still pay my cellphone bill and I am working full-time making ice cream. I make a couple hundred bucks here and there freelancing for a magazine I interned at, but otherwise my "freelance" career, as well as my journalism career, is dead in the water. I find myself despondent and unable to send out any more cover letters, and I can't find the time or motivation to research a story idea enough to send it to an editor because I assume he or she will simply reject my half-baked idea. I'm panicking, but I fear failure so much that I can't even get started. Freelancing seems to be my best option career-wise, but I can't summon the willpower and enthusiasm to do it. Plus, I lost my license to a DUI conviction (that got me fired from one of those newspaper internships), which has immobilized me and left me unable to relocate to a new job until October. The DUI also contributes to my job-hunting anxiety.

What I see is that my passion for journalism and writing is waning. Working full-time has taught me that work is work and play is play, and that I need to maximize the efficiency of my hours I spend at work in order to maximize how much I can play outside of work. I am looking into jobs in other fields that pay better. Is it healthier to stick it out working at an ice cream store and desperately try to make it as a writer, or should I pursue a career where financial security is more realistic?

This person's letter launched Tennis into an almost incomprehensible treatise on the virtues of the writing life in which he cited Sartre and Boswell and "Samuel Pepys on London Bridge getting blown by whores." What he should have said is this:

Enough with the whining, Sally! From here on out for the remainder of your existence I want you to stop each time you start to feel sorry for yourself and remember that some poor sap on the other side of the world is going to be beheaded today because he trimmed his freaking beard. Got that?

So your parents are paying your cell phone bill. And? What's the problem? Why aren't they paying more of your bills? Why aren't they paying your damn rent as well? Probably because you're too much of a coward to ask them to pay it! Listen kid, you're never going to get anything in life without asking for it, so never be afraid to ask for anything, no matter how ridiculous it may seem. Milk this whole parental support crap for as long as you can. Hell, lie if you have to—Tell them you have cancer and that you need $5000 for some alternative treatment not covered by their insurance that's only available in Bulgaria. Then go to Bulgaria for a couple of weeks, where you'll be fawned over by some of the world's most beautiful people for simply being an American, and you'll still come back with enough money to pay rent for a couple of months because everything's so ridiculously cheap over there. Then tell your parents that the treatment worked and you're cured! Say it with conviction and they'll believe you, because no parent wants to believe that their child would lie about having cancer for rent money. And consider yourself lucky for simply having parents with the means to help you. I wish mine would have. I had to work from the day I left home at 18 and that sucked!

Finally, and I don't really know how to break this to you gently, but you got screwed kid. You just wasted 4 1/2 years of your life and thousands of dollars that would have been better spent traveling the world doing drugs and having sex with beautiful strangers. Then you could have come back and just started a blog making fun of a certain gay British new media overlord and he would've hired you and—Voila!—A media job! But hey, free ice cream can't be all that bad.

And about that DUI—Move to New York where you don't need a car to get around and you can take cabs home when you're bombed out of your mind. Why else do you think this city is the media capital of the world?

I Studied Print Journalism: Now What? [Salon]

Central Park Tennis Center ($5 million): Um a tennis company HELLO?!?


Pool at McCarren Park, Hipster Central (Pictured, in all its glory. $3 million): The hipster kickball league, obviously. If they can't get the money together, then Raytheon Integrated Defense Systems.

Pool at Flushing Meadows ($3 million): HahahawaitwaitguyswaitokayhereitisCHARMIN. Ahahaha. Because of toilet paper.

Chelsea Recreation Center ($2 million): Something so gay. South Carolina.

Ball Fields at Dewitt Clinton Park in Hell's Kitchen ($2 million): Gordon Ramsay can't afford the logical Hell's Kitchen tie-in. So...America's other favorite gourmet chef, Rachael Ray.

Sports Facility at Mill Pond Park, The Bronx ($2 million): The 'The Bronx' demographic is not desirable to corporate America at this time. Thank you for asking.

[NYP, pic via.]

Gechter is leaving the leafy confines of Grove City College to explore life in the big, Eve-bitten apple, where he's going to star in a play and, presumably, do more power bottoming. The open advice letter, posted on Craigslist naturally, is one of those horrifying reminders that some of us big city 'mos really have no goddamned idea just what the hell is going on in our own community. The indispensable advice:

• Don't move to Chelsea. You'll end up plucking your eyebrows.

• The folks in Williamsburg will resent you for being employed, even if it's as a porn star.

• The kids in Hells Kitchen will want you because you're masculine.

• The men in the East Village will want you because you're boyish.

• The Latin studs in Washington Heights will want you because you're a bottom.

• The butchest ones will want you because they'll think you're a top.

• Some math: twenty-one yo online = eighteen or younger in real life, twenty-four = twenty-four, twenty-nine = thirty-five, thirty-five = forty-seven.

• Don't sleep with actors, directors, bartenders or your neighbors. You'll regret it, they're all psychos.

• Have sex with at least three hot, interesting people your first week. They'll be your closest friends for the summer. After that, they'll cut you off because their boyfriends are jealous.

• Learn to play pool and don't shave your chest.

• The Lower East Side coke dens are great places to meet broke coke addicts.

• Fashion parties are great places to meet borderline pedophiles who will offer you work that never materializes.

• Dive bars are great places to meet alcoholics who want to be writers and smell like beer in the morning.

• Become a casual smoker. It gives you an excuse to take someone outside a bar or club and see them in the streetlight well enough to decide whether you really want to sleep with them.

• If someone invites you to stay at their house in Fire Island (and surely they will), you're no longer obligated to put out. Those are the old rules. Just wear a Speedo at all times. This will entitle you to do all their drugs and leave wet towels on the floor.

• Dog ownership and alcoholism don't mix.

• Boyfriends are sluts.

• Careers and boyfriends don't mix.

• Somehow boyfriends, promiscuity, dogs, alcoholism, fashion, Latins and employment do mix well together. All that polarity crosses itself out and shit.

See you on the Battery Park lawn!

Yeah. We actually have no idea what half of that means, because we're basically monks at this point, so probably shouldn't be commenting on this at all. But that dive bar wannabe writer alcoholic thing we can confirm. That, um, definitely does exist.

Good luck, friend! See you outside Therapy. We'll be the ones weeping.

"It's great to have a nice home. It's great to have nice homes! It's great to have a nice home that just escaped the fire in Santa Barbara," she told the students. "It's great to have a private jet. Anyone that tells you that having your own private jet isn't great is lying to you."

What kind of fiend would tell you that having your own private jet isn't GREAT?!? Probably the type of dirty hippie who goes dumpster diving for leftover chicken scraps at KFC, only to find that they'd all been given away, to a surly mob of coupon-wielders! Get your own jet, hippie, maybe you won't be so bitter.

Educations!

[WSJ; Pic by AP. Incidentally Oprah was silent on the Chicken Riots.]