In a post on his obscure political blog last month, an alleged former friend of Carter's, Jymn Parrett, writes "Apropos of nothing, I thought I'd share some late night memories of my BFF pre-teen memories of Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter." He proceeds to paint a delightful Portrait of the Graydon as a Young Carter.

Did you know that the young Graydon Carter...

...goofed off in class?

Sometime in grade 8 at Queen Elizabeth school in Ottawa*, Carter and I laughed through the first few minutes of History class quoting Eddie Haskell lines. We spent the last part of class shoveling the rink as punishment, where we continued to break each other up with quotes from Mr. Haskell. I almost failed that grade because I could give a shit. Carter sailed through even he didn't give a shit, either

*Queen Elizabeth school is a public school in the suburbs of Ottawa, where Carter grew up. Motto: "At Queen Elizabeth, we are dedicated to the personal academic growth of every child."

...picked on people smaller than him?

Carter lifted me by my head off my feet in class to show classmates how 'light' it was. (I was a small dude with an even smaller head and not much in it, to boot, so I don't blame him).

...was sort of full of himself?

Graydon always had a smile - no, a sneer - no, a smirk - no, a self-satisfied look on his face.

...OK, really full of himself?

I sent a friend, Signe Hoffos*, to interview for a job at a Canadian rag** where Carter was the editor. He relayed an anecdote of me to her - laughing all the while - where I watched him with awe years earlier skate on my local rink when I was eight. It must be true. I remember watching this guy skating beautifully but I could not skate myself at the time because of debilitating asthma. I grew out of that and was a decent hockey player in my teens. I still do not know what Graydon Carter was doing on my near-poverty rink on Eastbourne Avenue when he lived in a huge house on the hill. Not sure either that Carter ever played hockey, knowing his well-known distaste for that sport, but I was amazed this was the anecdote he chose to relate to my friend.

*Signe Hoffos, Rosemont High class of 1972?
**Most Likely the Canadian Review, which New York Magazine writes was "an award-winning monthly that by 1977 had become the third-largest general interest magazine in Canada."

...had a very tan father?

Carter's father was a pilot who was very tanned.* Graydon said that people mistook him in the States for being a 'Negro'.

*From the "Writer's Almanac": "His father was a Royal Canadian Air Force pilot who took photographs from the air and helped to make the first maps of northern parts of Canada."

...was full of wonder?

We listened to the mono 45 of Gene Pitney's 'Mecca' over and over at Carter's house and marveled.

..was always destined for "the larger life"?

I was the in-house artist and ticket-taker at the Pineland rock and roll club* in Ottawa in the late 60's. Carter came in and I was too embarrassed to acknowledge him because he did not recognize me, although it was just a few years, and a couple of moves, after our friendship. I already knew then he was destined for the larger life.

*AKA The Pineland Dance Pavilion

This peek into the not-so-humble origins of Graydon Carter is heart-warming in a weird way. And it certainly adds some depth to Carter's public persona as the good-humored, if slightly bumbling, host to Manhattan's glitterati. Here, for example, is how Guardian writer Polly Vernon characterized Carter in a long profile last month: "Humility-despite-it-all is Carter's shtick. He bombards any listener with self-deprecating statements, with anecdotes designed to expose what he sells as his myriad flaws. He is the punch line to all his own jokes." Now imagine young Graydon picking up little Jymn Parrett by his head in geography class.

(We couldn't reach Parrett—apparently a Vancouver-based technical writer who founded Denim Delinquent, an "influential rock and roll fanzine" published from 1971-1976—but the details contained within his post match so well with those of Carter's life that only some kind of Graydon Carter-obsessed stalker could have faked this. More to the point: who's that down in the comments section? Appears to be Graydon himself!)

• Apparently on a boozy limo ride home from a few Halloween parties where they were dressed as matching tooth fairies, Paris Hilton's boyfriend Doug Reinhardt threw her phone out the window. It appears that excessive texting annoys him too. Paris got out of the car to find it on the side of the road to no avail. When she got back into the car, Reinhardt started to choke her. Of course, the paps were swarming and friends tried to stop them from taking pictures. Like a good girl, Paris fought back, kicking and screaming at her man. The good news? A photographer found her phone and returned it. [NY Post]
• Real Housewife of New York Kelly Bensimon showed up on time for the Halloween party she hosted on Saturday night, instead of showing up two hours late like she did last year. Hurray for lessons learned. Bensimon was dressed as a sexy Heidi or some such. Also in attendance was Jill Zaron dressed as Poison Ivy from the Batman comics. The real news is that Bensimon and fellow Housewife Zarin are apparently new besties now that Zarin had a falling out with former partner in crime Bethenny Frankel. Because she's still on the show this season, Bethenney has been relegated to hanging out with crazy-eyed Ramona Singer and Brooklynite Alex McCord. As goes Jill Zarin, so goes the audience, so maybe people will start to like this Kelly creature now. [Gatecrasher]
• Speaking of Halloween parties, Tinsley Mortimer showed up with reality crew in tow for an event to benefit cancer charity City of Hope on Friday night at Marquee. "She showed up with 20 people. The crew shot her walking into the venue, but not inside the party as promised," says City Of Hope's Jocelyn Levy. "They just hung out and drank, for free, even the producers. We didn't ask them to come, they called us." Hmm. That's funny, because we were there and we saw with our own two eyes that Tinsley did, in fact, film inside the party. Sure it was in the back by the dessert bar and the production kept a tight perimeter around Ms. Mortimer, but she did actually film inside the party. Don't go trying to tarnish our Tinz unfairly! [Gatecrasher]
• Nicolas Cage is going to miss a New York screening of his movie Bad Lieutenant, because his father, literature professor August Coppola (brother of filmmaker Francis Ford), died of a heart attack. We love it when celebrities actually do the right thing. [P6]
• Elton John has been hospitalized for a bad case of the flu and a minor case of e. coli and has canceled several concerts. All his pairs of sparkly glasses tell him to get well soon. [AP]
• Because her life hasn't been charmed enough, Dakota Fanning is now a cheerleader and the homecoming queen at North Hollywood's Campbell Hall Episcopal High School, which she is attending. Transformation into mean girl is complete. [E Online]
• Mel Gibson's girlfriend, Oksana Grigorieva, might have maybe had her baby (Mel's eighth) two months early. We hope this isn't like Heidi Klum baby thing where all the tabs were trying so hard to scoop each other that they just started making up the birth. [People]
• John DeLucie the fancy chef at Graydon Carter's Waverly Inn isn't leaving. That's great news for all of us who couldn't get a reservation even if we wanted one. [P6]
• Gossip dowager Cindy Adams is obsessed with the making of Wall Street 2. Has she not seen a film in the movie theater since the original came out 22 years ago, or does she just have a huge crush on Shia LaBeouf? You decide. [Cindy Adams]

[Image via Getty]

Mediaite reports the latest gossip: That Graydon is offering laid-off VF staffers jobs at Monkey Bar. The restaurant he owns!

You got laid off from Graydon Carter's magazine but now you can go and be a barback at Graydon Carter's restaurant! Allegedly.

You know just how Graydon likes things, eh? It'll be perfect!

And when Monkey Bar goes under Graydon Carter has some housework he needs done. Allegedly.

[Pic: Getty]

Keith Kelly reports that VF got slammed with layoffs yesterday—layoffs that were made worse by what may have been the company's protection of the magazine during its last round of cutbacks.

Vanity Fair's layoffs were said to be in the double-digit range, and hit as high as senior editors and as low as fact checkers, and were deep, in part, because Carter largely ignored the edict to chop 5 percent late last year.

Nobody's escaping this recession totally unscathed. The New Yorker did suffer business-side cutbacks, we hear, but its editorial staff was largely protected. Vogue had a handful of layoffs last week. And, of course, the rest of the company's magazines have almost all taken hits as well (the most recent being a half dozen layoffs at GQ yesterday, according to WWD).

But Vanity Fair got hit hard. It seemingly wasn't spared a bit. Which makes one think that Graydon Carter's level of influence (unlike David Remnick's) is no match for economic reality. And the nastiest part: the Post says that Graydon didn't even show up in the office yesterday when all the layoffs were happening.

UPDATE: And now, a source tells us: The word inside the building is that Graydon was absent from work yesterday because he was on a private jet to Bermuda. Repeat: Sources say Graydon Carter missed layoff day at his magazine because he was on a private jet to Bermuda. We've asked Conde Nast about this and we'll update with their reply. [Know more? Email us].

Bad form, Graydon. You keep this up and you may find yourself a full-time restaurateur.
[Pic: Getty]

The Observer caught Lebowitz at a Graydon Carter-hosted book party last night and asked her what she thought of the McKinsey consultants descending on Condé Nast:

"Well, I don't think it's anyone working there who hired them!" Ms. Lebowitz said. "The thing is, everyone seeks a lot of advice now. People who make $40,000 a year have financial consultants. 'How should I deal with my money?' Don't spend all of it! It's just common sense."

Annie, you should listen to Frannie.

In today's NY Times Gail Collins writes she feels sympathy for Palin because of Levi's story, where he calls Palin a bad mother who was never around and claims that she tried to adopt his and Bristol's child to pass it off as her own.

But even if he were an Eagle Scout with a scholarship to Harvard, can you imagine anything worse than discovering your daughter's teenage ex-boyfriend has been given a national platform to discuss his impressions of her mom's parenting skills?

Yes, we can. How about being an 18-year-old boy who is trotted out by a conservative succubus and an unqualified, ambitious woman in some lame attempt to appease voters who believe that abstinence exists and that abortion and adoption are bad? Yes, Levi is shamelessly cashing in on his brief moment in the sun, but if it weren't for the GOP and their collective delusion about the realities of teenage life, he never would have had a platform to begin with.

And really, how harmful is Levi? He's only riding Sarah Palin's coattails — VF gave her top billing — thus keeping her in the spotlight. Besides, what is this distracting America from? Palin's in-depth explorations of American foreign policy with Russia. Yeah, he's a not-very-bright, opportunistic burgeoning gay icon who is making the most of his very limited shelf life. He's Kato Kaelin with a hunting license, and he seems to know it. Seriously, when is a dim bulb from Wasilla ever going to get a chance to burn so bright again?

And a fun flame-out it has been. Aside from being courted by Graydon Carter with trips to the Monkey Bar and an appearance as Kathy Griffin's date to the Teen Choice Awards, there was also a bidding war by gay porn companies to get the kid to show off his magical impregnating device. His next step is an underwear shoot for Playgirl! Does it get any more wonderfully ridiculous?

If anything, Sarah Palin and the Republican ideologues are being outsmarted by their pawn. They dragged this kid away from hockey practice to try to save their asses and now he's using the same public-profile-as-theater-of-the-absurd tactics to stay in the spotlight. Besides, Sarah Palin needs a way to stay in the headlines somehow. And for that, Levi Johnston, we salute you.

Check it out, some food blogger went and ate at the New York Times cafeteria and gave it a respectable two star rating. "It was an ok fried chicken, but honestly I prefer Popeyes because they have better skin," he says. "The pie was everything that you could ask for in a company cafeteria dessert." Something for the Hobo NYT to be proud of.


Slate media curmudgeon Jack Shafer reveals he's way crazy! "Blessed as I am with insomnia, I get up and read the front pages of the major dailies at about 2 a.m. every day." Does he go back to sleep afterwards? Does he stay up for six more hours and then go to work? Does he smoke lots of meth? Uppers, downers, an Elvis-like cycle? Tell us more about this bizarre wee hours news addiction. We like Jack Shafer, good fella!


Grub Street suggests the restaurateurs that should have been on Graydon Carter's annual New Establishment list, if not for the fact that Graydon Carter is himself a jealous restaurateur.


Media success story! Examiner.com has bought NowPublic, a "citizen journalism" site, for around $25 million. That is a lot of scratch, for citizen journalism! The citizen journalists will themselves receive $0.


Need to rent out a $20,000 penthouse in this ridiculously poor real estate market? Rent it out to a magazine! Hearst is renting a badass apartment in Soho for its Esquire "Ultimate Bachelor Pad," because money is no object when it comes to publishing brand extensions, or ultimate bachelors.

Media recession signal: This list—once a big generator of freelance work, and given splashy placement in VF—is now a web exclusive. UPDATE: VF tells us that a truncated version of the list is running in the October issue. Print lives!


By Profession
Corporate CEOs/ Company leaders: 18
Media mogul/ CEO: 18
Hollywood moguls/ power players:16
Media talent:11
Wall Street bankers/ Private equity: 7
Superstar Investors: 6
Hollywood stars: 5
Politicians/ Political officials/ advisers: 5
Ex-politicians: 2
Young Internet CEOs: 2
TV producers: 2
Authors: 2
International money managers: 1
Financial analysts: 1
Other celebrities: 1
Architects: 1
Scientists: 1
Athletes: 1

Biggest gainer: John Malone, from 86 to 21


Biggest loser: Stephen Colbert, from 45 to 79


Who got "down" arrows?: Rush Limbaugh, Bill Keller, Jeff Zucker, Evan Williams and Biz Stone (pictured), Steve Ballmer


New to the list: Lauren Zalaznick, Lebron James, Craig Venter, Anil Ambani, Jason Kilar, Simon Fuller, Bobby Kotick, Paul Krugman, Todd Phillips, Harvey and Bob Weinstein, David Einhorn, Meredith Whitney, Harvey Levin, the Politico guys, Stephenie Meyer, Glenn Beck, Wang Chuanfu, Matt Blank, Alber Elbaz, Richard Plepler, Maria Bartiromo and Erin Burnett, Lorne Michaels, Dan Doctoroff, Michael Bay, Ryan Kavanaugh, Tyler Perry, Meryl Streep, Gao Xiqing, Mike Duke, Desiree Rogers, JJ Abrams, Evan Williams and Biz Stone, Nicolas Sarkozy, David Axelrod, Rahm Emanuel, Valerie Jarrett, and Pete Rouse, Larry Fink (pictured, the highest ranking new entry, at #6)

The Beatrice Inn - the Village's cause célèbre amongst pissed-off residents and pissed-off quasi-celebrities/uber-hipsters - was shut down after the neighborhoods residents old fogies complained about the noise, smoking, and general ridiculousness that took place within its confines. This raises the question: is New York getting crunchier? Or more tightassed?

Though the answer fails to surface in today's New York Times article on it - the gist of which is: first, they came for the nightclubs... - they do come up with a plausible solution for clubs like the Bea:

Marilyn Dorato, the director of the Greenwich Village Block Associations, who helped residents near the Beatrice Inn with their campaign, had a suggestion for compromise that helped on her own block: "We used to have a lot of noise problems with the Waverly Inn, and that is why my neighbor bought it."

The neighbor, the Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter, enclosed the restaurant's garden, and it now closes at 12:45 a.m. at the latest, said Ms. Dorato, a 37-year resident of the area.

"If there's a Graydon Carter living near the Beatrice Inn who wants to buy it, that would be a great solution," she said. "I recommend it."

Ahoy! Graydon Carter, The Great Negotiator of pissed-off residents and nightlife alike. Get yourself one of those, kids, and you can put all the blow up your snouts you want, as loudly as you can do it. Until then, there's this possibly out-of-proper-context gem, from nightlife impresario, columnist Steve Lewis:

"Nightclubs are now seen as nuisances," said Steve Lewis, a nightclub designer and a founder of the Nightlife Preservation Community, a group started this year. "The attitude is that if clubs just went away, everybody could have a quiet life."

Well, yes. I think that's the idea.

Across the country, the exact same thing's going down. Recent advocate of cultural eugenics and exclusive urban country club SoHo House will be planting their feet on the Sunset Strip after being given the go-ahead by local planning commissions. People are pissed!

The proposal has also drawn opposition from Beverly Hills Mayor Nancy Krasne, who underlined that it does not only affect the city of West Hollywood. "The traffic is already backed up on Sunset to Hillcrest in Beverly Hills and it bottlenecks in West Hollywood. This can only make travel on Sunset much worse," she said in e-mailed comments. "Now we add valets running across Sunset Boulevard to retrieve cars, cars trying to merge into Sunset with heavy traffic, amplified music on the roof of SoHo House on unknown days or evenings ... and the list goes on," Krasne said.

Don't forget the various non-filming permits reality shows like The Hills will use when they turn your backyard into the backdrop for The Drama of Our Time, or Guadalajaran Coke Mules taking refuge at your doorstep after navigating the terrifying masses occupying what's soon to be West Hollywood's most storied cultural institution. Luckily, though, anybody with an aerial view will be in luck:

"A 6 1/2-foot glass wall will enclose the top of the building.."

...and helicopters are the new Vespas. How does the "flyover country" you've been known to make fun of sound now, urban dwellers? Next to the thumping sounds of the latest Lady Gaga remix - below, as a primer - not too bad, right? Turn your speakers up as loud as you possibly can, and hear the future.

In a great piece titled "The Gilded Age of Conde Nast is Over," The Observer's John Koblin reveals a slew of shocking goings-on at Conde that almost makes the purging of the company's receptionists pale in comparison. Below are a few of the choice cuts, starting with the horrifying revelation that Graydon is now being forced to lunch with the peasantry in the Frank Gehry-designed space pictured above.

"I saw Graydon in the cafeteria this week!" said one business-side insider, last Friday. "In all my years here, I've never seen him in my life there. He was behind me in the line at checkout with his little swipe card! He was milling around uncomfortably with the commoners."

Now obviously, if the Conde overlords are being forced to sacrifice some of their luxuries, you just know that the underlings are getting screwed, and they are. On that subject, two words people: tap water.

"When I started, there was this little refrigerator, and it was stocked with amazing drinks!" said one ad-sales source. "Pellegrino, Orangina, Red Bull. And like the water wasn't Poland Spring, it was like Fiji. I remember when I started working here, I emailed everyone I know and I was like, ‘I have to tell you about the drinks!'"

But then in December, a few months after Condé Nast ordered publishers and editors to cut 5 percent from their budgets, the drink supply emptied out. That Fiji water turned into Poland Spring. Worse, instead of the fridge, the water bottles were stowed in a warm closet.

And then: "I just found out today that we are on our last batch of Poland Spring," said the source. "We won't have any more after this. We have to start drinking tap water."

Tap water! At Conde Nast! Are you kidding me?! Among the article's other cutback revelations: no more expensed lunches at Nobu, no more take-out from Balthazar, no more free spa treatments, no more fresh flower deliveries to the offices of top editors — the list goes on and on.

But perhaps the most surprising (Or maybe not) detail in Koblin's piece is the revelation that Conde Nast's claim about there are no untouchables within the company is complete bullshit. The New Yorker is the one sacred cow not to be meddled with.

Two well-placed sources said that Condé Nast's chairman, Si Newhouse, reached out to (Editor David) Remnick shortly after the McKinsey announcement was made and told him not to worry about anything-the magazine would be just fine, and neither McKinsey nor company executives would be mucking with his editorial costs.

Go read this piece, if only because, as Choire Sicha pointed out on his Twitter, the story's punchline is among the best you'll ever read.

Last week we looked into nearly bankrupt photographer Annie Leibovitz's sweetheart loans from Condé Nast, which — assuming the McKinsey consultants stalking 4 Times Square haven't put an end to the practice — has a habit of financing the homes of its executives and celebrity staffers.

It looked like the company might have called in the debt as a way to shore up it's ever-weakening balance sheet, so we kept browsing through New York's property records to see if any other magazine all-stars were in a similar position. We haven't come across evidence of other loans being taken off Condé Nast's books, but we did find the $5.3 million mortgage agreement Carter made in 2006 when he bought his home on Bank Street.

Carter's deal has been reported before by the New York Observer, which did a round-up of Condé Nast's sweetheart deals in 2006. What hasn't been reported are the insane terms: There's no interest on the loan, and Carter is required to repay the principal at a rate of $25,000 per year, payable in one lump sum each January 1:

At that rate—which works out to $2,083.33 per month—Carter would repay the loan in 212 years. (He would also need to set a longevity record: the full balance is due if he dies or within a year of when he stops working for Condé Nast.)

Carter, who made $1.5 million a year in 2004 according to the Observer, recently wrote of the subprime mortgage crisis: "I've read everything on the subprime-mortgage and banking crises I can get my hands on, and I still don't understand much of it." Which is understandable, if you're not accustomed to such onerous industry practices as interest rates and 30-year terms.

The loan to Carter came courtesy Advance Magazine Publishers, which is Condé Nast's parent company and has made similar deals for dozens of other Condé Nast employees, from the New Yorker's David Remnick to Portfolio's Joanne Lipman. But according to a public records search, a different lender financed a $150,000 line of credit on Carter's second home in Connecticut: Magazine Special Projects LLC, which also happens to serve as the secured party for a co-op owned by Peter Weinberger, the president of Advance Internet, and is located at Condé Nast's 4 Times Square headquarters. The loans to Leibovitz were likewise granted with a bit of corporate legerdemain—they came from Rhinebeck Properties, LLC, which is also headquartered at 4 Times Square. It seems that S.I. Newhouse doesn't like people sniffing around his lending portfolio, and has a host of LLCs to hide the deals. If you know the names of any other Condé Nast corporate shells that the company uses to dole out its sweetheart loans, let us know.

The piece, written by Festivus chronicler Allen Salkin-the Seymour Hersh of the Times' Style section-doesn't bring any new information to the table, but it does a great job of highlighting some of the people who helped enable Leibovitz to get to the point in her life where she might have to divest herself of all fiscal interests, including the rights to her original photographs. For example, Graydon Carter - one of her standby employers - notes that she's, uh, not exactly great with money:

"The mind that can take these extraordinary pictures is not necessarily the same mind that is a perfect money manager..."

Revealing. How about former Vanity Fair editor Tina Brown, defending Leibovitz's personal spending habits?

"Annie is not an expensive liver herself," said Tina Brown, who edited Vanity Fair from 1984 to 1992, where Ms. Leibovitz began working after her early years at Rolling Stone magazine. "She hangs out with her kids. She doesn't hang out in the lights at the parties."

There's more about Art Capital-who gave her a $24M loan-shopping around the rights to her work around, her relationship with Susan Sontag and speculation on Leibovitz's inheritance from Sontag (only personal artifacts, says Sontag's son), and in the end, a potential scenario of tragedy for Annie's life's work:

On July 31, Justice Emily Jane Goodman denied Art Capital's request for a preliminary injunction against the contract between Ms. Leibovitz and Getty. The judge dismissed parts of the lawsuit, but ruled that other issues would be decided later. Until now, Ms. Leibovitz has closely guarded the right to reproduce her photographs. But should she lose control of her archive, her famous portraits of Whoopi Goldberg, Jack Nicholson and the like may one day be found on postcards in Times Square.

Without being entirely sure which Times Square tourists would be buying Leibovitz postcards of Whoopi Goldberg in Times Square, one thing is certain: Salkin's softball piece misses the elephant in the room: Leibovitz was (A) surrounded by enablers and (B) represents so much of the reason publications like Vanity Fair from media conglomerates like Conde Nast are facing financial issues now. Especially telling is this:

Over the years at Vanity Fair, her shoots became more complex and expensive, often elaborate as movie shoots. "Month after month, it got a little bit more complicated with every shoot," Jane Sarkin, a Vanity Fair features editor, said in the documentary. "Her demands became bigger. Fire, rain, cars airplanes, circus animals - whatever she wanted she got."

Emphasis mine. Leibovitz's photographs - while nothing to scoff at in terms of the talent they represent - are the type of overpriced commodities (like town-cars, lunches at Michael's, or any other Glossy Expense that could've been pared back a long time ago) that are now driving the magazine business under, or at least driving companies like Conde to have to bring in Firing Specialists.

All of these companies convinced Leibovitz that her projected worth was way more than it needed to be, by paying her as such. The irony that Tina Brown is being quoted about somebody wasting money is unbelievable, as even Brown herself lamented the ridiculous expenses of her own fallen publication - Talk - two weeks ago, when mourning the death of her party planner Robert Isabell.

People like Leibovitz and their work on his covers were and still remain points of pride for Graydon Carter, almost in the same way collecting celebrities at The Waverly Inn and Monkey Bar are. Maybe that's the cautionary tale here. Not to be better with money, but to show people like Annie what their true value in New York is: as a social commodity.

Salkin chalks up Leibovitz's eventual fate to the personal finance habits that will or won't get her out of the dire straits she's in. At this point, it's probably going to have just as much to do with her respective job markets, especially one big media bosses created and are now being forced to marginalize. The real question then becomes how many Vanity Fair readers can tell the difference between an Annie Leibovitz cover and one snapped by somebody less pricey. They might have to start to learn how. Now that Conde's firing entire divisions, don't think the size of this difference escapes them.

Even if she can cut down her costs, does Annie Leibovitz have the energy to be prolific? The most telling note in Salkin's article quotes a former Vanity Fair photo archive director, Charlie Scheips, who recently spoke with her. She sounded frantic: "I'm really under the gun. I've got three daughters, I lost my spouse. I've got too many jobs to do and it's chaos."

For Annie Leibovitz, a Fuzzy Financial Picture [NYT]

So says a Page Six item:

The hockey hunk, who knocked up Bristol Palin, was at Monkey Bar on Thursday night with "two of the biggest, burliest bodyguards I've ever seen seated to either side of him and another guy at a back booth," said our witness. "One even accompanied him to the bathroom!"

This is funny (funny: ha-ha) for, like, nine reasons. My favorite three:

1. Levi Johnston needs two bodyguards. Schwah? Also, how can he pay for hired goons to hold his dick while he pisses? I mean, it's very Monkey Bar, but really: are these guys on sale? And didn't he used to play hockey? Why would he need protection?

2. Because this is Monkey Bar we're talking about, and by short extention, Graydon Carter. G-funk, who oversees the media bastion of everything Liberal, Famous, and Awesome: Vanity Fair - also personally oversees the reservations list for Monkey Bar every night....

3. ...Which means that he was the one who let Johnston in, and gave him one of those infamous back booths, for a party of three. Chances are, Levi (or his bodyguard/flack) noted that he'd be coming with "protection" or something. So either Carter's looking for a scoop from Levi, or he couldn't get anyone better in there. Cindy Crawford was sitting nearby. Take that for what you will.

Most of all, however, this represents a stunning discovery in the mysterious algorithm on how one descends into one of Graydon's Caves of Awesome. It's beauty lies in how - yes - downright primal the entire thing is: even mediocre fame - especially the infamous brand - when dressed up to look like the Real McCoy makes the Graydon Grade.

Otherwise presented without comment, here's a video of how to peel a banana like a monkey. Okay, fine, comment: Monkey Bar is aptly named for the people who try to get in. Better get moving:

Laws of the Jungle Apply [NYT Dining]
OVERPROTECTED [Page Six]
Photo illustration "The Missing Link" by Foster Kamer, Mixed Media, 2009.

Vanity Fair deputy editor and classically trained pianist Doug Stumpf played "My Favorite Things" on an electric keyboard, while staffers sang lyrics written by contributing editor David Kamp, "My Graydonish Things." Lyrics included: "Mid-cent'ry modern and books by O'Hara/ Pear liquer poured by Reinaldo Herrera/Mac and cheese garnished with truffle shay-vings/These are a few of my Graydonish Things…"

They continued:

"Pink pencil-wielding for Waverly seating/
Speaking quite quickly, returning to eating/
Ideas that took just a smidgen of brainssssss/
These are a few of my Graydonish Things...

Not making fun of Brooke Astor's dementia/
Once-fancy rest'raunts, now hobos can enter/
Amazing fucks, for his monster cock hangssssss/
These are a few of my Graydonish Things."

Happy birthday, dude!
[WWD]

In yet another probing piece from Allen Salkin, the Seymour Hersh of the New York Times Style section, Salkin uncovers the mysteries behind Carter's seating madness. You see, each afternoon, right around 4:00 or so, one of Carter's man-servants will sheepishly enter his office, making sure never to make eye contact or speak without being spoken to first to avoid being flogged mercilessly about the torso with bamboo reeds dipped in Tabasco sauce, and hand Carter a list of names of those who have been deemed worthy of a table at Waverly Inn and Monkey Bar by Carter's other assorted underlings. Then the magic happens.

A sunken area in the center of the dining room that you see when entering is known as "the pit." It is important to have "young, attractive people" at the first of two round tables in the pit, Mr. Carter said. "It gives a certain energy."

Pointing to the two tables on an elevated area to the right side of the room, he said these were for people looking for a quiet meal.

On the opposite side of the room are four nice booths. "This is fashion and literary and young," he said. That night, Cynthia McFadden of ABC news; Liz Smith, the gossip columnist; and Marjorie Gubelmann, a socialite, were in those booths.

Elevated over the pit opposite the entrance are a line of banquettes, which that night included a group of 20 or so guests of the socialite Jennifer Creel who were celebrating her debut as a designer of sunglasses sold at Bergdorf Goodman.

And behind them was the most-prime real estate, a line of booths on the back wall overlooking the whole scene. "This is young and media moguls," Mr. Carter said, pointing to the booths, "and sort of single-name people." On that night, Calvin Klein, Rupert Everett, Prince Andrew, Ron Perelman and Louise Grunwald were in those booths. When Madonna comes in, she gets a back booth.

But it doesn't end there—During the course of each evening, Carter and his spies will observe each guest and make notes about their behavior. If they should, say, pick their nose or pass gas or dare to complain about anything, they are issued demerits in Carter's little grade book. However, if they drop to their knees and offer to fellate King Graydon upon his entrance, they are given a coupon for a complimentary serving of flan on their next visit. Or something.

Whatever—We will never eat at any of Graydon Carter-owned establishment on principle alone, so we don't really care.

Many Called, But Few Are Seated [New York Times]

There are no McCarren pool parties this summer! All the hipsters will continue thinking Vanity Fair isn't cool, now. Also "summer hours" are actually called "furloughs."

[via Cityfile]

Just find the best story ever and then write it, Problem Solved:

My suggestion to newspapers everywhere is to give the public a reason to read them again. So here's an idea: get on a big story with widespread public appeal, devote your best resources to it, say a quiet prayer, and swing for the fences.

Graydon gives the example of the current expense scandal that threatens to literally topple the government of England. That story was dug up by a newspaper! Instead of whining about "the internet" and "bankruptcy," why don't you newspapers here in the USA also dig up stories-of-a-lifetime and then put them on the front page, really big?

Graydon Carter is fairly sure the Washington Post sold some papers off that, whatsit, Watergate thing. More of that.
[VF]

Graydon Carter, who was the founding editor at the Observer, noted that Kaplan lasted far longer than he thought he would: "I think it's one of his great accomplishments that he managed more than a dozen years with Arthur (Carter)...My version was the black-and-white sketch of what he did, but he gave it color and vibrancy that I never got a chance to."

New York Times rich people reporter Alex Kuczynski couldn't get an in at the place for a while: "'I was like 23 or 24, and I kept sending these blind pitches to the masthead, signing them Alex Kuczynski. And, finally, after a year, Peter apparently stands up in a meeting and says, "Somebody call this guy Kuczynski.'" He also put a little bit of juju on Kucznski's tenure at the Times: "When I left for the Times, he kept smacking his forehead. "Alex! Alex! Alex! You're making a huge mistake!" He has this habit of smacking his forehead. "You'll never write in the first person. You'll never write about yourself. You'll never write with color. You'll never use any interesting language. Or at least I highly doubt it."

Finally, former Observer senior editor and (as of recently, former) Rolling Stone deputy editor Jason Gay remembers one of Kaplan's more distinct skills: "His gift for headlines is unmatched. Do you remember the piece George Gurley wrote about Ann Coulter, where she joked about Timothy McVeigh neglecting to bomb the Times? Peter stared at the screen for hours trying to come up with the exact right line. We'd settled on a pretty lame headline, but at the last minute, Peter's face looked like it was about to explode. "COULTERGEIST!" he said."

Kaplan's on his way to Conde Nast Traveler, where his first day as creative director is Monday. He served as a mentor to many a New York reporter, "many of whom now populate the city's more remunerative newsrooms," writes Oxfeld, and it's true - even current Gawker managing editor Gabriel Snyder is among them. Snyder's tribute to Kaplan's legacy on this site is here, Oxfeld's piece is here. Both are must-reads for New York Media junkies. The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.

Kaplan - who oversaw the Observer's flimsy entry into the Internet Age - is inevitably going to have to work with Traveler's digital strategy; he claimed in the aforementioned Snyder post that he's excited about this, but really, you gotta wonder what's in it for him other than a steady paycheck, and more time with his family (the original reason he gave for leaving the Observer before speculation arose that owner and heir-about-town Jared Kusher pushed him out). That could well be enough for Kaplan, who nobody's ever accused of being lazy or phoning it in. He's worked for a long, long time, and he's probably tired. But for a guy who spends that kind of time in the newsroom, reporting on a world he loved as much as he influenced and covered, isn't he going to get restless? Kaplan's story in New York's media timeline, and his reach on it, can't quite be over yet. Not like this, anyway.

Peter Kaplan at the Observer: An Oral History [Daily Intel]