Bucky Turco got hold of this memo that hip hop mag XXL sent out to media planning agency Mindshare, which essentially says: Giant magazine is on the verge of folding, so don't waste your money there. Advertise with us instead. This is a serious breach of, you know, etiquette, which these days means a lot less than it did when there was enough money to go around. Highlight:

Unfortunately, Giant will fold in the near future like King and Blender. So I implore you to take a hard look at your print partners and invest with those that are credible, viable, proven, and trusted. Please select brands like XXL that are investing in their product and platform.

Thanks for that! Look out for the memo from Giant about how they felt that they had to tell you, as a friend, that XXL has crabs, so watch out.

Update: And it gets even HARDCORE-er! XXL publisher Dennis Page says he didn't send out this letter. But he thinks one of his competitors might have.

I saw your post about the Giant memo and want to let you know that this did
not come from anyone on my staff. You are right that magazines are facing a
challenging environment however it is not our style to spread malicious
rumors about competitors. I have spoken to every member of my staff and no one
sent this letter. My guess is that it came from one of our competitors, believe
it or not. I have been publishing magazines for over 25 years, and I have never
seen this stunt pulled. Pretty tasteless. We are reaching out to Mindshare and Bucky
Turco to see if they can tell us the source.

[Animal NY. Honestly, XXL is probably accurate.]

The FT is "offering" staff "the chance" to "work fewer hours." And they better accept, or you know some motherfuckers are going to have to get laid off. But they're all so nice about it!

"Do you fancy spending more time with your family over the summer months? Have you been meaning to book that trip of a lifetime? Would you like to improve you work-life balance in 2009?

"If the answer is yes to any of the above questions, the FT may be able to assist," said the document.

Oh FT, we'll do whatever you like if you keep saying "fancy." [Guardian UK]

Seems that a fella—a law firm partner!—riding a crowded train from DC was talking on his cell phone so loud that a nearby law student overheard him, took down the details, and leaked it all to legal blog Above the Law. And he was talking about layoffs. That were secret. Shucks:

His conversation, though he stressed how necessary it was to be kept secret (ah, the irony), detailed the current plans of Pillsbury to lay off somewhere in the range of 15-20 attorneys from four offices by the end of March, including a few senior associates with low billable hours and two or three first-year associates...What's more, he was NAMING NAMES over the phone!

Ha, and then ATL blogger David Lat deviously confirmed it by emailing the lawyer, Robert Robbins, and saying his name was "Jennifer Everett," and hey, were you on the train yesterday? He was! Now the law firm has apologized. A few simple reminders:

• Shut up on the train, on your phone, and especially on your phone on the train.
• Everybody is sending everything to bloggers at all times.
• That mystery girl who emailed you out of the blue saying she saw you somewhere is definitely scamming you somehow.
• Lawyers, Law students, law bloggers: not a trustworthy one in the bunch.
• Again, just shut up.

C! C! C! Because you have been made unstable, by the internet. Also because then you can seek out advice from equally unstable Salon advice columnist Cary Tennis! So, friend these people or not? Or to put it another way:

I have what appears to be a simple problem: A childhood friend found me on Facebook and wants to be my Friend, and I am faced with a monumental decision.

By George, that does sound like a simple problem.

This "friend" was never a good friend of mine anyway, but was friends with my friends. All these "friends" I no longer consider to be friends. They are all lovely, good people, but they are also small-minded and rather boring ... like most people in my hometown. I left for a reason, and I'm not going back. When I visit, they'll try to hunt me down and hang out. All very fine, but I can't stand being around them or even thinking of them. All they seem to represent is a fear, a fear of a life I could have chosen had I not wanted to flee it. A life of boredom, a life of satisfaction with whatever you've been handed. These people live within a mile or two of where they grew up, are active volunteers (good people, right? salt of the earth) at the schools we went to. They've never gone far and they don't seem to want to. It scares and infuriates me. Deep down I think it gets to some problem of mine that I'm sort of curious about.

We've deduced this problem of yours: you're crazy. What's the mental illness where somebody is convinced the entire world is a movie about them? That one.

But the problem is, if I don't Friend this guy, that's just mean. I've never turned down a request. But the other option is worse. If I do Friend him, it will open up the floodgates of mediocrity. It will signal to the rest of them to come after me, to inspect my life, to comment on and judge it, to reduce me to a "Seinfeld" character (everything in life can be reduced thusly by them). I don't live a crazy life at all! I just happened to have moved on and eventually landed in San Francisco, where I'm very happy to be. I just don't want their snarky comments. I don't want to know that people can lead such sad lives.

Elitist. Elitist and crazy.

Cary Tennis says go ahead and friend them or whatever, wtf. Marking the first time that Cary Tennis has been less crazy than his advisee. [Salon]

They problem is that in this country, CEOs are only too happy to trade the scorn of the public for a pile of money. Most Americans would do the same! (Unless the revolution comes, in which case it's up against the wall with all of you). So you can bitch all you want about golden parachutes that can top $100 million for executives who didn't do shit except lose shareholder money the entire time they were employed, but that CEO will chuckle to himself, have his flack issue a statement, and then go enjoy his millions and millions of free dollars on a private island somewhere, full of untold numbers of prostitutes.

So America has worked out its own ways to humiliate these CEOs without their consent. The media trumpets their salaries all over the place, hollering louder about them the worse their company does. Their kids are shunned and forced to go to special, expensive schools. Actually, nobody sympathizes with CEOs except for other CEOs, and politicians.

Now, however, every company is doing poorly. So our system for determining what executives to focus our class rage upon is broken. The American public is spread too thin. That's why we need to import some sort of Japanese-style public shaming ceremony here. CEOs can apologize for their sins and wallow in misery, we can all enjoy the schadenfreude, and then we can all focus our allotment of hatred where it belongs: on Treasury Secretary Hank Paulson. And the CEOs will join us.

America is unity!

"What are you working on/doing?"
Translation: I'm working on lots of awesome projects. Let me tell you about them! Oh... well, don't worry. I'm sure things will pick up for you soon!

"Call me!"
Translation: Because I won't be calling you! If I was really so interested in getting in touch with you, believe you me, I would stab somebody's assistant to get access to their Rolodex.

"We should have a drink soon;" "Let's get coffee sometime."
Translation: I am exiting this conversation, but politely, in a way that makes you feel worse, because let's be honest, there will be no drink or coffee, "soon" or otherwise. Haha, that's just what I tell people. Isn't that clever? Makes them feel "included."

"I'm going to get another drink/use the restroom."
Translation: I am exiting this conversation. Also maybe: "cocaine"! (Not sharing/inviting.)

"Here's my card."
Translation: I am exiting this conversation. Oh, by the way—that card contains the e-mail address that I never check.

"Yeah... yeah... yeahyeahyeah, I totally agree."
Translation: I'm not paying attention because I'm scanning the room over your shoulder—OMG, George! HI GEORGE! So good to seeeeee youuuu!

(Oh, you know what's the worst? When some fucking Patrick McMullan photographer or Mick Rock or whoever motions for you to "move over" because he doesn't want you in the picture.)

The hip-hopper’s publicist in New York said Combs, 38, swears Combs is the fractional owner of a NetJets plane.

That company sells flight hours on private jets and calls it “fractional ownership.”

Oh my god, how gauche! Fractional ownership? Not the same as "ownership." I have a feeling that Emily Brill would dismiss this as a horrifying faux pas by a nouveau riche or something similar that those types of people say.

But in this age of trendy green gestures, Puffy could argue that his NetJets membership is for purely environmental reasons. Any insinuation that money was an issue is itself the real gauche nouveau riche faux pas!

The real question in play is this: Are celebrities with a NetJets (or similar) membership allowed to refer to it as "my jet?" Without being subjected to scorn?

Fuck no. That's not your jet, Puffy. Or if it is, the taxi I rode in is "my car." This NetJet fronting must end!

Celebrities who do own their own private jets should be subjected to even more scorn.

1. Who the hell are you again?
Who is Dirk Funk from Germany? Good thing Facebook tells me we have no friends in common so I can reject him right away. Of course, if you're worthwhile to talk to I hope you're not trying to meet people through Facebook but are actually e-mailing or IMing them or maybe going to a goddamn party. But on the off chance that you know I should meet you and yet you choose to use Facebook to do so, use that messaging feature and tell me who you are because I'm not clicking your sorry-ass profile photo.

2. Deal with rejection.
Many of us (including Gawker founder Nick Denton) are so loath to reject some people that we leave them unresolved on our invitations page. I usually clear out my invitations when I'm drunk; it makes it easier to hit "Ignore."

So please remember whom you asked to friend you, and if they don't reply, don't invite them again. So far I've had about eight people add me again after I rejected them, and in that time I never had an actual conversation with them, not even on IM.

3. Don't slobber all over me.
Just one social network at a time, thanks; unless we really got off when we met (and we have met before Facebook right?) I don't want to be your Flickr buddy and Facebook friend and LiveJournal follower all at once. Don't fill my wall with YouTube clips. Just chill and play it slow.

4. Don't unfriend me after an argument.
"The 'people you should know' list on Facebook," said blogger Rex Sorgatz, "is actually a list of people you hate." Try it, it's true! But it's also a great way to see who just de-friended you. After an argument at a party, my friend Ryan decided I did not deserve to write on his Funwall. Of course because he and I share all the same friends, as soon as he de-friended me he popped up on my "people you may know" list. Classy! Now instead of a disagreement we could resolve, we have an awkward official end to the friendship.

Same goes for relationships; wouldn't it be decent of you to tell your close friends first about your breakup, and not 300 acquaintances?

5. Don't worry about it.
[Gawker story removed because god let's not go into it]
Don't bring Facebook into the real world. Unless your girlfriend dumps you through Facebook status, which violates rules #6-11.

1. Get in. One former gossip columnist says Beatrice girls are easy because the door policy is so tight. They assume that any man with the pull to get past the door is also powerful or interesting enough to be worth a conversation, at least.
2. Show up with a celebrity. "Like Josh Hartnett or Josh Lucas or Kate Moss, any Beatrice regular. Approach an attractive girl after they've seen you sitting with said celebrity and subtly mention how you know them." (Obviously, don't mention any friendship with that whining loser, Shia LaBeouf.)
3. Ply with alcohol. "Offer to buy them one of the Beatrice house cocktails. It's dark pink, contains champagne and pomegranate juice, and girls adore it."
4. Flout the rules. "Smoke, and don't get chastized for it. When a girl sees you smoking without that little busboy guy telling you to put it out, you look like a regular, like someone they can't mess with. On the upper level, sit on top of the booth, as in all the way on top and survey the crowd while smoking. Girls always come and sit next to guys like this to bum cigarettes, and to sit atop that perch to feel cool or something. "
5. Flout the rules some more. The Beatrice bathrooms have a stern injunction against the use of illegal substances but, late at night, people generally enter in groups. And, by people, we mean Josh Hartnett and his friends. What did LaBoeuf do wrong? "He strikes me as a pothead," says one Beatrice cutie.
6. Be a good dancer. "Don't be grabby, cheesy or over-the-top. Just dance well and ask the girl you like, I love this song! Let's go see if there's room to dance up there. If there is, dance but not too close to her, and grab her hand for a twirl or dip once or twice."

Clifford, who retired as a police sergeant after 10 years on the job, said Tuesday he had been arrested eight times after being accused of throwing coffee, spewing expletives and getting in the faces of people whom he considered loud and rude on the commuter line. This was the only case that wasn't dismissed.

"It took a lawyer and an old ex-police sergeant to stand up to it (public rudeness)," Clifford, of Long Beach, said as he left court. He said that unless lawmakers and the Metropolitan Transportation Authority do something, the lack of public civility will persist.

Asked what he regretted about his behavior, Clifford replied, "Nothing."

If only there were a John Clifford on every train car. He even has that superhero type of name. It's hard to tell from the descriptions whether Clifford is a brave hero who stands up to jerks who bully others with their loud, grating conversations, or if he himself is an angry crank with a hair trigger who is truly a public menace. Since he prowls the LIRR, we're going to go with "Hero."

Dr. Joyce writes, in part, "While it is no doubt irritating to have your train of thought broken by constant interruptions, you must realize that you have chosen to work at a very public, rather than private, place. Unlike at your house, you really can't control who comes into a coffee shop — which usually is a hotspot of local gatherings." [Seattle Pi]

Yes, suck it up. Nick Douglas already warned us about laptoptards. But how sad and kind of pathetic is it that coffeeshops and even bars have been taken over by computers and their zombie-eyed owners? Where are people supposed to go to get laid these days? We all type in cafes sometimes, but it's not very sexy.

We consulted Internet-hater and cultural critic Lee Siegel's new book, Against the Machine: Being Human in the Age of the Electronic Mob. Perhaps he has an opinion? He does: "It's not community that the laptopization of the coffeeshop has dispelled. It's the concrete, undeniable, immutable fact of our being in the world."

When you're hosting:

1. Never Assume Don't say, "Can I get you a cocktail?" Instead, just hand them a drink when they walk in the door. It's cold out! That's hospitality.

2. Tap That Know the early signs of drunkenness, such as slurred words, obscenities or unusual confessions. Now your party is really getting good. If you see insobriety, we suggest pouring 'em stronger and turning up the music. As Lizzie Post says, "Cork it, and put the wine away for the night." It's rye time.

3. Be Subtle Don't announce "Please, no booze" on a written invitation. "Invitations are supposed to be inviting," Post says. "It's not polite. You don't put 'No smoking' on an invitation or little signs around the house." No, you man up and let people drink and smoke. Because it's a "party." Not a damned stupid 12 step meeting—which, we might add, you can certainly light up during.

What about when you're the guest? First, congrats; you've made the right decision. No cleanup and you can leave when you get bored! But there are still some etiquette tips you should keep in mind.

1. Considerate Gifting Don't bring a bottle of wine or Scotch to a party unless you're asked to. It's their job to get you drunk. Grab a sixpack on the way up if you're worried they'll run out of the good stuff. Then hide it!

2. Don't ask "Never ask anyone why they're not drinking, even indirectly. It can seem like a harmless ice-breaker, but in fact it's downright rude to hand a woman a Coke and say, 'Expecting?'" We have nothing to add to this tip. It is totally inappropriate to hand people virgin Cokes or invite pregnant ladies.

3. Don't tell You're not obliged to explain why you're drinking. No one needs to know the extent of your pain. And you'll tell them when you've had enough, goddammit.

Six Ways to Avoid Holiday Booze Blunders [Newsweek]

I'm pretty sure that all of my regrettable/not-someone-I-was-dating-or-interested-in hookups are better off not getting in touch with me after the fact, I mean, that's the reason we're not dating in the first place! That being said, sounds like Emily has a thing for Neel!

GIVEN:
Splitting checks at restaurants is difficult—"palm dampening, heart-palpitating anxiety attack" difficult:

[I]t's that inevitable, uncomfortable moment when some self-appointed school-committee type" grabs the check, squints at it, performs a mysterious algorithm and loudly announces what everyone owes, which includes a portion of Birthday Person's meal, of course.

STATEMENTS:

1. Poverty is not funny:

"Order the biggest dinner you can," advised a struggling stand-up comic, whose cousin's 30th-birthday of 10..."It was one of those super-overpriced, nothing-on-the-plate places, and everyone was gorging — ordering two, three, four dishes. And lots of wine." In a vain attempt to be frugal, the comedian ordered but a starter of dumplings, washing them down with tap water. When the bill came, her abstemiousness was ignored; she wound up putting $50 dollars on a credit card.

"After age 30, it's tacky," the paralegal said — though surely some slack can be cut for Manhattanites whose apartments are too small to entertain in. But what's the excuse of that successful actress who recently gave a birthday dinner for herself in a private room at a pricey steakhouse in Beverly Hills and, at the end of boisterous evening, solicited $100 contributions from each invitee? (The drinks were on her, she announced magnanimously.) "In my mind, 'private room' should be synonymous with 'prepaid,'" said one bitter attendee.

3. Experts are baffled:

"In my experience, when you host a thing like this, you always end up 10 percent short," said — believe it — a math professor. "Is it because, out of 20 people, one or two will just forget to pay entirely? Or because everyone slightly undercalculates what they owe? Who Knows?"

And in the end, who cares? We need not abandon the idea of parties in restaurants altogether.

You Do the Math [T, not yet online]

U.S. guide to royal etiquette: Don't call the Queen Liz [Daily Mail]