Dan Abram's "GossipCop" reminds us that Perez broke the news of Fidel's death on this day in 2007. (And had GossipCop been around back then, they would've promptly "fact-checked" Perez by printing a routine denial from Fidel Castro's publicist.) And ever since that death, the Cuban media has periodically released new photos of a gaunt and sickly looking Castro hanging out in various flashy Adidas tracksuits.

Yesterday, the Cuban state-run tv aired video of Fidel that they claimed was shot on Saturday, and then the state-run youth newspaper ran a photo of a fit-looking Fidel meeting with the President of Ecuador. But the real news is that Fidel is wearing a short-sleeved white workshirt instead of one of his Run-DMC costumes!

Let's take a look back at some of Fidel's best posthumous looks.

According to Closer magazine, via D-Listed, The Three C's and a D Of A Healthy Diet: Coffee, Cigarettes, Champagne, and Vodka. Kosher, yes, but how healthy is a diet of these four things? Are there benefits? Disadvantages, possibly? Let's take a gander. We could use to be a little cuter, a little more rockstar, and maybe, even, a little healthier.

1. Coffee! It's made from beans that are often picked by underpaid farm workers in South American countries, but that's okay, because it's a widely accepted practice, now. The beans are ground up, water is put through them, and a drink is made.
Pros: Coffee tastes good, especially when you drink it black. It has lots of antioxidants, which are things that apparently do something good for your cells, like prevent them from aging as fast. It's been proven to reduce the risk of Parkinson's disease, kidney stones, and combat asthma issues. It might be combative against Type-2 diabetes, liver cirrhosis, gall stones, Alzheimer's disease, and other things. It helps contribute to things like mental performance and memory, which are proven! And it's an appetite suppressant. Also, it makes you shit, which is good if you need to be skinny on the fly.
Cons: Well, it makes you go doodie, which isn't good if you're stuck on the beach with Kate Moss and you don't want to go in the water. Also, it's been controversially associated with increasing the likelihood of heart disease, though that hasn't been proven. It definitely ups cholesterol levels, which is funny, because people like coffee with eggs which have lots of cholesterol in them and that's some bad 1-2 shit right there. It can cause irregular heartbeats, but so can these two ladies (SWOON), so it must be especially bad for them because they have to look in the mirror all the time. It has unfavorable consequences on blood pressure, can trigger heartburn, can fuck up your sleeping cycles, and is pretty goddamn addictive. You can develop a pretty harsh dependence on it. Some people put cream and sugar in it, which makes it less great for you. Also, Sweet N' Low used to give rats cancer and it still might. Splenda looks like cocaine, which is neat. Also, it'll stain your teeth, but if you can't afford fake teeth, WTF are you doing drinking coffee?
Feed It To LilyMoss In Mass Quantities? Sure! There are worse things than being talkative and poopie.

2. Champagne A favorite of rappers and the fiscally liberal everywhere, probably for the mere effect of opening it, upon which a piece of cork shoots out with a wonderful noise and foam bubbles over the top of the bottle in a somewhat phallic, metaphorical release of opulence. There are lots of sparkling wines but only The Real McCoy can be called Champagne, because it comes from the Champagne region in France, where - other than the fact that they keep their local economy thriving - locals probably detest most of the people who drink it.
Pros: Bubbly drinks are filling. Drinking booze supposedly has lots of benefits, but the process by which Champers are made - making it bubbly - makes it healthier, I read somewhere. Also, in rats, consumption of Champers led to less damage when they introduced strokes in the rats! Poor rats, but good for strokes? It's a status drink! People drunk on Dom smell way less than people drunk on, say, Bakers bourbon, which will give you the distinct odor of an assy barn of horseshit left out to dry in the hot, blazing, summer sun after a monsoon.
Cons: Plenty of champers tastes like piss, but if you enjoy the taste of piss, then this isn't really a problem. Also, people who drink too much end up in bad places, like the gutter. Too much booze can leave you looking aged, which, compounded with all that coffee, won't help. Also, drinking a lot makes you do ridiculously stupid things, like talking a lot on stage.
Feed It To LilyMoss In Mass Quantities? Maybe! All the bubbles make it hard to drink too much and make you gassy. Also, Champ-hangovers are worse than regular hangovers so it kind of regulates itself. And if they have a stroke, well, shit! They're in luck. Finally, surely there's some kind of nutrient in something that comes from a grape.

3. Cigarettes. Oh, wonderful cigarettes. They're made of tobacco which was once farmed but is now mostly made in a factory. They're paper and synthetic cotton and might actually have some real tobacco in them sometimes, who knows? The idea is to light them on fire and smoke them and get a buzz from them. They come in all different kinds of packages with all different kinds of "flavors" and whatnot but for the most part are all the same.
Pros: Sometimes, they give you a buzz! They don't really taste good but sometimes smokers convince themselves that they do. Cigarettes with recessed filters make for great impromptu hipster coke spoons, like Parliament Lights! Also, appetite suppressant, diuretic, and social accessibility point of entry into possibly otherwise impermeable conversation!
Cons: They give you cancer, they make breathing more difficult, they make you smell, they're addicting, you're giving money to really bad people (as opposed to only kinda bad people with coffee and booze), they make you poo, they turn your teeth yellow and make your breath stank like ass, the give you a nasty cough, have killed at least two people you know or are related to, cost a shitload of cash if you live in New York ($11/pack?!?!), and have a strong social stigma attached to them. Children will give you far meaner looks if you're smoking than if you're drunk or strung out on caffine. And you don't want awful looks from children, do you?
Feed It To LilyMoss In Mass Quantities? Let's try not to. They are smelly enough with the coffee. Also, Kate has kids! Smoking in front of kids is kind of bad if only because they don't have a choice. Not that being drunk isn't bad, but they're going to get drunk one day. They don't have to give their money to Big T like us, who are terribly hooked.

4. Vodka. It's fermented grain booze often made with potatoes, and it's the reason the Russians can't ever get anything right besides getting totally krunk with the komrades. Vodka can be mixed with pretty much anything but by the end of the night as long as you have something to chase it with, you could mix it with Pedialite and be fine (note to self: try this sometime). Vodka tastes like rubbing alcohol with a nice bottom note of "ouch."
Pros: Gets you really drunk, really quickly. Some Moscovite doctor once noted that Vodka in small quantities will help prevent atherosclerosis, which sounds like something you'd want to prevent. Also, Vodka's pretty filling as a booze. If you drink too much of it, you don't have to work hard to "pull the trigger" because puking up vodka's a relatively simply, effortless process.
Cons: It's vodka. What isn't bad about it? Anything but vodka, please. Seriously. Malibu and Milk. Peach Schnapps. Bottom shelf tequila. Whatever. People don't realize how truly awful vodka is. Vodka is the worst. Vodka's like those older kids you first meet in high school who you think are so cool, and they take you out and you drink and smoke with them and then a year later, they're working at the Gap and doing lots of Acid, and you're like, woah, what the fuck? I thought you were cool. And they were like, so did we. And then you do everything you can to get out of town and never see these people again.
Feed It To LilyMoss In Mass Quantities? Sure. Whatever, they're going to do it anyway. Besides which, who are we to judge? Just look at them. Hotness in motion. Someone, somewhere has said that fame and beauty take sacrifice. In which case, color me hot. I know how I'm getting into shape this season.

Of course, you're just looking at pictures. So there'll be none of that under-the-dinner-table footsie, followed by wine-twinged strolls in the sand, followed by darkened bedroom murmurs. Nope! None of that. You're at work, surrounded by jerks, pretending. Happy boozy Tuesdee.

Via jp1958's Photostream, a marcher in Toronto's Dyke March holds up a sign that reads: Her sign says, "Sex Work is Real Work. Dancers, Escorts, Phone Sex Operators, Massage Attendants, Street Workers, Porn Models, Pro Subs, Porn Actors and Pro Dommes." No doubt, it probably pays more than this as well.
Via anw.fr's Photostream. From the French Pride Parade in Paris. Are French people happy again? Maybe! But seriously, they are probably telling the greatest inside joke ever. Don't you wish you had friends like that?
Via malu teodoro's Photostream. From last week's Pride Parade in Sao Paolo, Brazil. I had a dream one time that I ended up getting on a plane to go to Antartica and ended up in New Zealand, dressed like an eskimo. This is like that, except they were going to Vegas and detoured in Sao Paolo.
Via bettyx1138's Photostream. It's like Michael Alig held a Scooby Doo themed party except he's the one who ended up in prison, and they all took a coffee break. Superb. Tell me they all took the train together.
Via Steve Rhodes' Photostream, revelers from yesterday's Dyke March in San Francisco cheer the parade on from a rooftop in the Mission District. The winged creature is actually native to the Bay Area, and according to several people's parents, has lived there peacefully since 1964, when it fed them a block of cheese and showed them how to get to their hostel before fluttering away into the brilliantly dark night. Not that they remembered that.
More from San Fransisco, via liveintent's Photostream: You are not Glenn Danzig, Sir Purple Of The DayNight. But I wish you were. Oh, how I wish you were.
Again, Via <a href="Via bettyx1138's Photostream. In New York: now this is how you rock a pride parade/scare tourists home. I hope you took this to Times Square, honey.
Via Ron,Ron,Ron's Photostream, from the St. Louis Pride Parade: These are the nicest roller derby players to ever live. Don't you just want to hug them? They probably get the shit beaten out of them in the rink by all the mean, non-wing-wearing roller-derby-ers.
Via sassyradish's Photostream, from today's NYC Pride Parade: Plumber's Magical Ginger's Crack? Gold Lame Undies: SOHOTRIGHTNOW. But seriously, I think I wore those in Middle School P.E. Do they say "Hyde Park Middle School" on them? If so, please return to tips@gawker.com.
Via kptyson's Photostream. New York, earlier tod-wait, Aunt Roz?! Hm. If you've ever had Jewish relatives, or know anyone with you Jewish relatives, then you might know that this is what it's like to be "kvelled" or "kvetched" at. This basically sums it up. You're like an acid-flavored shmear from Zabars. Stop it, stop it right now. Seriously.

Held on a rainy Friday under an enclosed rooftop a stone's throw from Lincoln Center, The Webutante Ball was the sordid brainchild of URLesque blogger Jessica Amason and Gawker Media video maven Richard Blakeley, the two of whom are the co-authors of forthcoming blog-to-book-deal staple This Is Why You're Fat and an egregiously, irritatingly cute capitalist couple. It was, for all intents and purposes, a prom for internet, tech, and media dorks. There was a ballot, and there were nominees. There were winners! And there was a rope, with a line.

I braved the entire thing with my hot date/cover fire, Gawker Party Crash photog Mo Pitz, who was incidentally - and, at least to her, incredulously - a balloted nominee. "I have absolutely no idea how I ended up on that ballot. I'm decidedly not internet-famous." Oh, honey. You are now. Also on the ballot, former Gawker Mascot Andrew Krucoff, who declined to show for the festivities: "I'm celebrating shabbat," Krucoff noted. "Also, fuck that noise," he added. Onward: to the gallery we go!

Former and still-sometimes HuffPo writer, Dan Abrams Kool-Aid Drinker, and author of her upcoming and hotly anticipated book-deal book Jew-ish, Rachel Sklar, gets "man"-handled by her date, the VP of some telecommunicating tech thing called LifeLinks, Ash Kalb. This was staged.

Former Flavorpill editor and Double-X contributor, Anna Balkrishna with New York Post writer Justin Rocket Silverman. I asked Rocket - yes, Rocket - about his recent story for the Post in which he covered the meditative art of fingerbanging. Silverman instructed Balkrishna and I on proper performance, which is apparently akin to the "REDRUM" finger painting from The Shining.

Webutante Ball co-founder Jessica Amason is the "Yearbook Girl" of this entire enterprise. "Also, make sure you don't credit me as 'Blakeley's girlfriend,' goddamnit." She then grabbed me and hung me over the roof of the Empire in a Suge-Knight esque manner to ensure I understood what she was saying. Point taken.

Roger Wu, the founder and president of Klickable.TV, gives us his best entrepreneurial smile. He just gave a bunch of Vimeo kids a curbside beating and left them for dead on the third floor of the Empire.

Nerve and ASSME writer Drew Grant conspires with Yalie and Dan Abrams henchman (yes, that is what a Dan Abrams henchman looks like) Andrew Cedotal to feed me information regarding the sexual workings of fired media elites, which they will then use for profit when taken to corporations who could give a shit about the bold line between journalism, market research, and publicity. They are the future.

Julia Allison showed up in an Escalade, wearing a crown, and walked around the party as such. I have nothing to add here. She didn't win anything, luckily, and went home the same person she arrived as. Also, she came with an unnamed foot solider.

Regular Party Crash contributor Melissa Gira Grant, with former Valleywag editor, the dangerously ginger Nick Douglas. "I'm off the fucking job, get away," Gira delicately noted. Douglas smiled politely and retreated to his iPhone where he used his Pot 'O Gold app to make sure nobody had taken his treasure in the last two minutes.

Guess what party these people aren't with. No, really, guess.

On the left, Former Gawker Intern Mary Pilon, with Web Personae and Webutante nominee Anthony DeRosa on the right. Mary went from being a Gawker Intern to working for the Wall Street Journal! Anthony does something with tech something or other and blogs about the Mets. Neither would take a picture without me in it, so I happily obliged. Suckers.

Jake Hurwitz of College Humor, kissing sweet nothings into the face of College Humor's Ben Joseph. They take a bunch of these kisses and make laughs out of them! Whee! Barry Diller actually encourages this kind of thing.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.The winner! College Humor's Amir Blumenfeld is the King of the Webutante Ball, because he fixed the vote! As if having his own MTV show and web series weren't enough, he and the College Humor people had to come and win this shit, too. His queen, ridiculous Jewess Cutie and fellow College Humor startlet, Sarah Schneider, poses with him here. Barry Diller doesn't just encourage, but mandates this kind of thing. Well done, kids. Pictured with him here: an unnamed friend.

Richard Blakeley takes Boyfriend Duty incredibly seriously.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.MediaBistro reporter Hunter Walker tries to scoop something out of Random Night Out photographer Nick McGlynn. McGlynn's doing some startup with socialite creature thing Adrien Field, and Hunter, intrepid reporter that he is, probably wanted to know what planet Field is from.

They don't care about the Young Folks; they're here to sap them of their youth and enter one of their heads through a portal, like the end of Being John Malkovich, except the low-rent version.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Brah! My thoughts exactly.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Cnet reporter Caroline McCarthy is shocked - shocked! - that there are people here taking pictures. This is also the face she makes before she turns into Golum, takes the camera and my notes, leaps off the roof and into her batmobile, where she goes home and tirelessly reports the comings and goings of the rest of these people for a living. Princeton grad. Princeton. Grad.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Foursquare Mayor of Kensington, Brooklyn, New York Press and ASSME writer Matt "Slim Thug" Harvey is being properly identified in this picture.

Gawker Media business something-or-other Scott Kidder wants to know what's in his teeth, and if you could get it out, please, so he could then latch his fangs on to you and suck your will to invoice him for services rendered out through your neck. This is why Denton pays him the big bucks, insert Bloodcopy joke here.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Blogger and Media Maven Brian Van wants to know why everyone wants his picture. It's because he's the one guy wearing sunglasses inside. That being said, this was probably the place to do it, as it was maybe the least egregious display of jocular self-seriousness in the house.

Esquire's matrimonial expert Matt Shepatin was just given some BHG. It's like GHB, but instead of knocking you the fuck out, it makes you all too aware of your surroundings, which can leads to blackouts and unconscious episodes that eventually render you both useless and clinging to the floor of a J-Train, talking to a cat-strewn BagLady about the future of digital media.

Richard Blakeley's Delta Force of terrifying interns. They sit around all day and pick out video clips like monkeys pick coffee beans from trees in far away countries, and then bring them back down to Blakeley. Some coffee-picking monkeys eat the beans and then shit them out for their coffee-harvesting masters; luckily, Blakeley doesn't ask them to do that for him. Yet.

The Founding Couple of The Webutante Ball, together. I asked them, in all seriousness, why they were doing this. Blakeley kept his mouth shut, while Jessica kinda explained. Was it for money, to generate book sales buzz? "Eh, kinda." Why, then? "These people probably didn't go to prom, or never had a chance at being elected king or queen. Now they do. Also, this scene's more or less exactly like high school, no matter what level you're on. It makes perfect sense." But WHY? "Because we're sick of the same parties. We wanted to make people dress up for a change. We needed to class it up." Despite her attempts, these people - myself included - are all circlejerky, pompous, and declasse. But they got drunk on a rooftop bar uptown, which was actually a nice change from Tom and Jerry's. Sigh. All's fair in love and social media.

Party Crash photog and Webutante nominee Mo Pitz is drinking away the sorrow of losing. Ha! Just kidding! She's drinking away the sorrow of being my date.

[Why not check out these stunning images using our handy-dandy new gallery?]

As many as three or four of these mist-braving guests will be sharing a house with a half-dozen others just like them, or maybe their parents, any weekend now. Haute smut photographer Nikola Tamindzic escorted me, my margarita, and my West Coast indifference to "summering" through Hruska's scene.

Rachelle Hruska curses the dark skies with her bright, bright future.

Media lady Rachel Sklar basking in the death of print and all the tight t-shirts it brings.

Lonnie, left, is a stylist. Ryan B, right, is a make-up artist. For this they are permitted matchy glasses and one pocket square.

Dennis Crowley, co-founder of mobile social app Foursquare, loved at least a few of Rachelle's jalapeno-laced margaritas.

Caroline McCarthy of CNET News left chilly and early and so blogged before all of us, thanking Rachelle for getting puffy fingers the size of mittens after slicing peppers all night.

Rachelle with ex-boy and Olympic rower Cameron Winklevoss. Now he's lending a hand around Guest of a Guest, doing "a little bit of everything," like help with the computers and investing and stuff!

A turn-away from Friday night's 90's vs 90's panel at the nearby New Museum conveniently had an excuse to repurpose his outfit.

He's not made of cardboard, but was kept on hand for posing.

Peter Feld weighed his options and also liquor.

One thing Winklevoss is not helping with: meat. Rachelle's current manfriend was on skewers for the day.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.To keep in theme, all guests were issued metallic dock shoes.

Reformed fameballer Rex Sorgatz kept the hellhounds of gossip at bay.

The end of a vampire weekend.

On this roof, there is no irony in anchors.

The internet, they drink just like us.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Andrew Cedotal, from Abrams Research, in twee.

The drinks were sugar-free and served in plastic: no artificial sweeteners and no hard edges to hurt our soft little mouths on.

As near as we can tell, an extension of the Winklevoss crew. At least as of the night before. Visors know no social class.

Hey it's a Journey mashup let's rock.

Rex Sorgatz cares about your internet.

A whiter shade of lime.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.The look in a nutshell: aspirational summer whites cloaked in winter's broke-ass misery.

Draper notes that the briefings were "a daily digest of critical military intelligence so classified that it circulated among only a handful of Pentagon leaders and the president; Rumsfeld himself often delivered it, by hand, to the White House." You have to wonder: was Rumsfeld sitting over a well-to-do Department of Defense intern, going through loads of pictures and trying to decide what colors he wanted which quotes to be? Or did he do it himself? Either way, these things have more in common with the Zodiac Killer than anything any kind of defense briefing should even remotely look like. Graphic designers, turn away. These aren't pretty, in so many ways.

And He Shall Be Judged [GQ]

National Book Critics Circle Awards attendees congregate at the crossroads of two dying industries (books, news, what have you) on Thursday night at the New School. Friendly yet unsolicited advice to NBCC: the ceremony should have been about 15 minutes shorter. Unexpected development: Ron Charles, the nerdy senior editor at the Washington Post's Book World is actually the funniest bastard in the whole world. Charles took home an award for criticism and encouraged his fellow scribes to think and write in reader-friendly modes rather than acting like jerks.


Ariel Sabar, left, took home the prize for best autobiography. His book, My Father's Paradise: A Son's Search for His Jewish Past in Kurdish Iraq, is about a son's search for his Jewish past in Iraq, and also contains some nice recipes. To his right is Helene Cooper, who covers the White House for the Times. Her book, The House at Sugar Beach: In Search of a Lost African Childhood, was nominated in the autobiography category, which is cool, but, she lost. (Shortly after this photo was taken she shanked Ariel.) Asked if she had any juicy dirt on Obama, she replied, "Yes, but not for Gawker." Tease!


New York Times man-in-the-trenches Dexter Filkins (second from right) took home the prize for general nonfiction for The Forever War, which I happened to have read. This was a fine book and is suitable for those interested in Iraq, the war on terror, Afghanistan, Calvinism, the marine corps, journalism, astrojunk, and current affairs. Shortly after this photo was taken the blonde woman on the left, a book publicist, lapsed into a fugue state and then vanished into thin air.


Dexter responded to several questions submitted via electronic mail. Please feel free to read them, or just fax them to your friends and move on to other activities.

Q: You wrote that it's actually challenging just talking to people who have not been to Iraq. Is that still true?

A: War is so intense and so strange that it is difficult to talk with anyone who hasn't gone through one. The war in Iraq, in particular, was heartbreaking, and so, at least in my case, I found myself resenting the 99 percent of humanity that had not been through it. I'm coming around, though. It's nice on the outside.

Q: Have the film rights to your book been purchased?

No, they have not. I tried to write a visual book—it's a series of vignettes. The book doesn't have a plot, and it doesn't make an argument, so I think it would be tricky to screen the thing in its entirety. But I think many of the vignettes would move pretty easily to the screen.

Q: Do you buy CDs or download music? What are some songs/bands you've purchased lately?

A large part of me died in Iraq, I think, or at least went into hibernation. I used to listen to music all the time, classical mostly, and in Iraq I stopped. I stopped paying attention to anything that wasn't the war. Nothing else resonated. It's coming back now, I'm happy to say. I'm listening to the soundtrack from Lust, Caution.

Meet Robert Stepanek, a well-dressed man and the creator of a rap opera. Robert related a jarring incident from his past involving Jeff Dowd, the inspiration for Jeff Bridges' character in The Big Lebowski. Seems the Dude, upon hearing a Stepanek pitch, off-loaded him to an underling, who in turn spurned him. Shortly after this picture was taken, Robert protested: "I look kind of bald in that photo." I was like, "Dude, you are in fact bald yet ravishing in your own way, so relax." Behind Robert is Ashley Roberts from Seven Stories Press.


Monica Ferrell is the author of The Answer Is Always Yes, and reported dutifully to Cafe Loup in the Village for post-reception eating and drinking. Seeking to minimize any fall-out from drunkenly informing her that she is an attractive novelist, I advised her in advance that I tend to do that after I've had 14 or 15 drinks. Unfortunately, advising her of this in advance induced the vaguely awkward effect it was meant to avert. An FSG man loiters scarf-tastically in the background.

You can find more of Stephen's work here.

"Tell my mother Demeter that I miss her."

The arch nemesis of Princess Yellow Boots.

If the girl in the middle just keeps her shit together, these three are totally gonna get into that R-rated movie.

"Are you enjoying what my face is doing to you?"

"Yes, hi. I'm here for the job interview?"

On her way to kill Bastian. (In the sequel).

Do not accept a chimney sweep from this street urchin. Trust me. (This, by the way, was designed by Wolfgang Joop, the guy who called Heidi Klum heavy. So, good work Joop).

When it's windy, they play Für Elise.

So, yes. Muzzy is dead. But at least we now have this great coat.

Oddjob's American niece, Brandy.

"I've been in the bat cave for...oh, three years now? The rent's cheap, but there are some drawbacks."

Countess Browntrousers is the arch nemesis of all.

"I'd better put on my goggles, 'cause I'm already flying! Ha Ha! Get It? Ha. Sigh... I'm addicted to drugs."

All images via AP

The Roughneck.

Megan Joy Corkrey. Potential 13th place finisher?

The laboriously hyped Lil Rounds.

More Megan Joy (which will totally be her stage name should anything actually come out of this.)

The undeserving Jasmine Murray.

The effusive Jorge Nunez.

Ugh. The nefarious dead-wife-pimping Danny Gokey.

Ugh. The nefarious dead-wig-pimping Adam Lambert.

Allison Whosiewhoo. A dark horse to win it all.

Matt Giraud had better get himself behind a piano.

A happy family. That will be split apart in a week.

"Will I look back at what in ten years and weep?"

Alexis. A bright horse to win it all.

O swoon, here comes your boyfriend. Your boyfriend Kris Allen. Who's reeeeally Jesusy.

There he is again!

Scott. Must avoid tactless jokes.

Anooooooop! Wouldn't it be funny to become a brief, flash-in-the-pan celebrity because your name was fun to yell?

Fig. 10: The family before we died.

More of her.

There they all were, glinting in the sun. Their smiles buffed and waxen. Their hearts turning to cold metals—to silver, to nickel, to noisy, rattling tin.

Here are some actual New York-in-the-80's scenes (well, not so much the first one):

The cover of Jay McInerney's Bright Lights, Big City, the definitive 1980's pop novel.

Sammiches.

Chinatown.



Times Square, feat. Burt Reynolds

Rock club of yesteryear, CBGB's.

Before Giuliani personally took a toothbrush to the subways. via Runs with Scissors' Flickr.

Times Square again.

via Runs with Scissors' Flickr.



Compare to these Watchmen one-sheet and stills:

All images below are AP unless otherwise noted.

Hey, that's my stop.

Prospect Park





Via Pexton's Flickr

Next three via Global Voyager's Flickr

As owner of the storied supper-club haunt of characters on Mad Men, and of people from the real-life 1950's!, Billingsley employed his elaborate system to make it seem as if things at the Stork just happened like magic, be they good—champagne! perfume!—or bad—get out and never come back! In the photos, Billingsley demonstrates each move, along with his regular drink, a Coke.

A tug on the pocket square meant that he liked a table and wanted his assistant to "Get them a bottle of perfume." Could be a cheap bottle for $7.50, or Chanel for $150. LIFE © Time Inc.

A hand out on the table also meant that he liked the customers, and wanted his assistant to "Bring a bottle of champagne." LIFE © Time Inc.

If he pointed his finger down, he liked a table and wanted his assistant to "Bring a round of drinks," but I guess he didn't like them enough for the champagne. LIFE © Time Inc.

When Billingsley fiddled with his tie, it meant "No check for this table." Congrats. You win. Free dinner. LIFE © Time Inc.

A hand on the nose meant "Not important people" or "Their check is no good." You didn't want a hand on the nose. LIFE © Time Inc.

You definitely didn't want this thumbs up signal, which told his assistants to "Get them out & don't let them in again." LIFE © Time Inc.

Photos from the Vanity Fair party red carpet are via AP. Governors' Ball photos are via Getty.

Diablo Cody's life is better than yours.

Ginnfer Goodwin: We're just not that into that dress you're in. (That's a joke about that movie she's in, How to Lose a Guy While Raising Helen in the Sex City, All This Being Done While Wearing Prada).

Melissa Leo, Kevin Kline, and Phoebe Cates are probably telling each other fart jokes.

Sarah Jessica Parker is still wearing that dress.

Anne Hathaway checks every fifteen minutes to make sure her butt is still there.

Debra Messing recently fired her stylist Rachel Zoe. Her new stylist is a 74-year-old Persian rug maker she met on Atlantic Avenue.

Jennifer Aniston and John Mayer: The happiest couple in Hollywood.

Abbie Cornish and Ryan Phillipe: Cheaters!!!

Adrien Brody moves in on Slumdog Dev Patel's girl, Freida Pinto.

Marisa Tomei, 44, entertains a trio of young men.

What's become of Naomi Watts?

Robert Downey Jr. is either snapping or telling the camera people how he really feels.

Shirley MacLaine hopes that if she stays perfectly still, it will go away.

Meryl Streep checks every fifteen minutes and yes, goddammit to hell, Anne Hathaway is still there.

Oh never mind, Freida. Dev Patel has a new beloved.

Penelope Cruz: "Ith made offff yold!"

"Cigarette, Sean Penn?" "Why yes, thank you Robin Wright Penn."

This is Kate Winslet's life for the next forty years.

Oh poor Dev. Cuckolded again. This time by Danny Boyle

Hah. Sad old Jessica Biel changed out of her ugly dress into... an uglier one.

All images via Getty and AP

Miley Cyrus has 'Gone Green', and is thus wearing a dress made entirely of kale.

Emile Hirsh: Tiny nom nom nom snack.

TV Guide host Lisa Rinna has just returned from a vacation on the surface of the sun.

Virginia Madsen: Divine

Milk scribe Dustin Lance Black (with Cleve Jones) is just too good looking to be a writer. But he is!

Oh, Zac Efron

Zac's professional girlfriend, Vanessa Hudgens, wears John Galliano for the Glad Family of Products.

Slumdog Millionaire stars Dev Patel and Freida Pinto should be made into a stew, because they are delicious. Mulligatawny!

Benjamin Button nominee Taraji P. Henson looks like a black version of my dear friend from college, Jackie. Hi black Jackie!

Melissa Leo: Princess of Power!

"Halo! I am Heidi Klum! German noodle, kitten kaboodle! In Germany we have flamingos that we call Standy Birds. Halo Standy Bird, you are me! I'm German!"

Sarah Jessica Parker just wants someone to marry her. Someone, you know, real.

Some detailing on that dress. And on that relationship.

Viola Davis looks terrific. And like an Oscar. I hope she wins.

Sigh, Diane Lane. Unfaithful was a long time ago.

Amy Adams: The Devil's wife.

Marisa Tomei couldn't decide which white-ish dress to wear, so she wore all of them.

Amanda Seyfried: B'oh!

Ohhhh the vampire! Eat me Robert Pattinson! Eat meeee!!

Leslie Mann, funny wife of Judd Apatow, skinned a disco ball.

Beyoncé. My friend Kelly tells me she'd "put a ring on it." I'd put a bag over it.

Mickey Rourke will show you to your table.

Penelope Cruz ith Au'rey Hepburn. (That is how you type in a Spanish accent, btw.)

Angelina Jolie is wearing a black dress. Fascinating.

Jessica Biel goofed the floof.

Dark Knight fan Kate Winslet in her Harvey "Two Face" Dent costume.

Marion Cotillard will explode tonight.

Evan Rachel Wood is sad about being Evan Rachel Wood.

A teenage boy and his fifty-something-year-old father just fainted. Thanks, Meryl Streep.

Alicia Keys: Stunning.

Lovely old ladies being lovely and old together. I think I had Sophia Loren's dress for dessert last night.

Tilda Swinton's top half is full of raked leaves.

Anne Hathaway is too skinny. Her dates are too gold.

Diane von Furstenberg

Rebecca Taylor

Anna Wintour!

A Ramone

Olivia Palermo

Exactly.

All pics via Getty

OK, here are some not-so-little people:
Caroline Kennedy at an Armani store opening.
And, of course, Peaches Geldof with some skinny boy thing.
All photos from Getty, except last two, from AP.