A Tisch student named Danlly Domingo has sent us a photo, of a behatted Mia Thermopolis—along with other members of the cast—offering slices around to the weary-but-committed ticket hopefuls.

Sure this might have been some carefully orchestrated PR thing—even though it was the last day of Twelfth Night, Hathaway will return to the New York stage in Promises, Promises and possibly a Judy Garland musical—but who cares. It's still pretty cool that at 3am the morning before her big final performance, the actress came out to say a gracious thank you to devoted theatergoers.

Good things do happen in New York! And sometimes, just sometimes, they involve celebrities. Give us your hat so we can tip it to you, Anne.

So how did you first hear that your picture was making the rounds on the internet?
I was walking to school and some friends came up to me and said "Harvey, you're in the newspaper." And then it was on one of the morning chat shows and I thought to myself, "Wow, this could be really big." I can't believe there's a picture of me and Megan Fox.

Why do you like Megan Fox? Are you a fan of her work, or is it a crush kind of thing?
I just really love celebrities. And I'm basically a big fan of Megan Fox. I like her work.

Tell us about what happened that night.
We'd heard she was in London for the premiere, so we decided to head down there. I picked up the rose on the way.

And when she came by and didn't take your flower, did you feel rejected?
I felt rejected. But I couldn't really tell if she'd done it on purpose. There were so many cameras around. She was moving really fast. Afterwards we ran through the hotel, but she didn't stop. I dropped the rose on the ground and went home.

Have you accepted her apology?
I actually haven't heard anything that she's said.

I see that you've met Kevin Jonas and Lady Gaga?
I've met a lot of celebrities. Only a few take pictures. Some celebrities are complete [bad word that we won't reprint because he's 11-years-old and was nervous, folks].

Who do you want to meet next?
I went after Katy Perry once, really wanted to meet her. We ran after her car. I wanted to give her a flower. Lady Gaga is going to be in London when I get back, so I'm going to try again with her.

So do you want to go into the entertainment industry when you're done with school?
I really love to sing and dance and act. I'm trying to get into a stage school in London, but it's really hard to get an audition.

I bet you'll get an audition now, now that everyone knows who you are.
I hope so.

Anything else you want to tell us?
I think I've told you pretty much everything!

Harvey is in town until Monday with his mother and godmother. They're going to see the musical Shrek tomorrow night.

For their part, Kodak, who orchestrated this whole whirlwind adventure, is giving $5,000 to both Kim the French Canadian and Collider.com who got Megan to make her apology.

So, a happy ending mostly! If nothing else, a nice trip to New York for a kid with stars in his eyes.

They file a long report from some of the tonier campuses: Collegiate, Nightingale-Bamford, Spence, Horace Mann. Those are the typical snooty affairs, with preening about success mingling strangely with a pretense that these are just regular kids being sent off to regular places. Actress Kerry Washington, an alumna, spoke at Spence, while the Ethical Culture Fieldston School (up in Riverdale) grads got a special treat: Will Ferrell. Meredith Vieira's kid was graduating so she called in a favor. Some of the students, however, were not so amused with the funnyman's antics:

He suggested that perhaps a member of the graduating class could go on to be the first black president, except that that had already been done.

"He totally missed the punch line!" said Victoria Goldman, author of the perennially popular Manhattan Family Guide to Private Schools, there to support her graduating nephew. "He should have said that someone here will be the first Jewish president! He just fell flat."

Oh, you've been served Ferrell.

Our favorite anecdote from the They're Rich and You're Not Roundup, though, was that of the student speakers at lefty Brooklyn Heights haven St. Ann's:

"It can be an orgy, because, after all, the St. Ann's ethos has always been uninhibited, experimental, gratifying and incestuous," she told the audience, before offering that perhaps the best adjective to describe her education was "delicious!"

Another speaker, Sam Sullivan, a student of poetry, said some very romantic things about "enchanted gardens" and "childish frolic" and the importance of "fantasy!"

"Before anyone in the so-called real world has a chance to fool us, the gardeners, the graduates, into believing that our lives are about power or money or anything else equally mind-numbing," he warned, "let us go out and just be, because only good can come from that. In the real real world, there is nothing, but love."

Mr. Sullivan then pulled out a guitar and led those gathered in a swaying, earnest rendition of ABBA's Dancing Queen.

Later that evening, the students would be headed to a rented after-party in a loft-the secret address was texted to graduates around 11 p.m.-where they would celebrate their commencement with ironic beer like Miller High Life and Busch; sweaty grinding; and privately hired security guards. The after-after-party was at Dumbo Park, where the graduates traditionally watch the sunrise.

Makes you want to cry, doesn't it?

One final thing that we like to think about: Wouldn't it be creepy if the article's author Irina Aleksander—already kind of a creep (but it's her job!) for lurking around a bunch of high school graduations, a single grownass adult—started seeing the same people at different ceremonies? If there was a club or cult of attending prep school graduations? That would have been a real story.

Ah well. Congrats, you little fuckers.

They watched as the 19-year-old mother—she has an out-of-wedlock son named Tripp with a beautiful, bewildered shaved bear who plays ice hockey—crossed the stage, finishing school with a 3.497 GPA, only "point zero-zero-something" marks away from graduating with honors.

As for the big, bright, snowy future, Bristol plans on getting a two-year business degree at the Wasilla University Annex, then going into real estate. She'll sell igloos to Eskimos and, I dunno, piles of logs to beavers or something.

A tip of the mortarboard to you, young Ms. Palin! May the rest of your life unfold as perfectly as your past did. Wait. No. Scratch that.

Oh, and, incidentally, my favorite comment from the People article:
The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.

Um, yeah. So... Blago was going to be on the upcoming season of I'm a Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here!, which I don't need to explain because the show is so beautifully described in L'Inferno, but a federal judge said, "Um, actually you're being indicted on 17 pretty serious charges right now, so no, you can't go to Costa Rica to film a fucking reality show." So, he's not doing it, but he is promoting it! He showed up at a junket to support his would-be costars, a roster of ghouls that ranges from the aforementioned Hills idiots to born-again Baldwin Stephen to Tail Spin character made flesh, American Idol's Sanjaya.

What did he have to say about the would-be experience?

I had sold myself on this being a way for me to be a modern-day Teddy Roosevelt. I basically deluded myself into being that, and then the judge made his decision.

So, that's a thing that someone said once, whatever in the good Christ it means. Is Rod Blagojevich about to invade Cuba?

At least he acknowledged that he's deluding himself about... something. Anyway, this is all to say, here's a horrible thing, now please look at it. I mean, just look at it. Those are people.

Those are people, America.

[LAT]

A colleague congratulates Alexandra Berzon (left) of the Las Vegas Sun, who won for her "courageous reporting" about the high death rate of construction workers on the Sin City strip.

Playwright Lynn Nottage is congratulated backstage by a cast member after her play Ruined, about a Congolese brothel, was awarded the Drama prize.

Mark Mahoney, awarded the prize for his "relentless, down-to-Earth" Editorial writing in the Glens Falls Post-Star, makes a phone call after hearing the news.

Patrick Farrell of the Miami Herald raises a glass after his photos of the after-effects of Hurricane Ike in Haiti won for Breaking News Photography.

A reasonably calm Douglas A. Blackmon is photographed in the Atlanta offices of the Wall Street Journal after learning that his book Slavery By Another Name: The Re-Enslavement of Black Americans from the Civil War to World War II won in the General Non-Fiction category.

The New York Times won basically everything else. This is their newsroom during the announcements. Image via saucy, via YM

Oh wait! Not quite everything. Staff members of the Detroit Free Press, including reporter Jim Schaefer who is lifting Senior Managing Editor Jeff Taylor on the right, celebrate after their uncovering of a sex scandal involving that city's mayor co-won for Local Reporting.

Isn't that Beastie Boy Mike over there on the left, with his film director wife on the right? (And, you know, some random dude there in the middle.) The other photo shows the happy couple in 2006. As of last summer, Mr. Diamond was sporting a jewfro.

Why were they there? Maybe they got sick of eating at the nearby Brass Monkey.

(Fun-ish side note! Looking at the Times's Audio Slideshow, it appears that Iron Chef sous master Anne Burrell was there too!)

The bus was late and it was cold, so people were crammed inside the bus line’s storefront. After about five minutes, I heard behind me the familiar, whispery cadences of a just-outside-Boston accent. There was this Scott character, seeming painfully normal in that earnest, doofy way boys from that neck of the woods can be. But then he started chatting up some young lady (a fashion business student) and the Real, ridiculous story unfolded.

He was an actor! And a model! And, uh, yeah… He’d, y’know, just finished shooting his season of the Real World. Never mind that the show is a useless husk at this point, only slightly interesting now because this season happens to take place in the borough of increasingly ill repute. No, that doesn’t matter. This was this lad’s moment! And damned if he wasn’t going to let this young chippy know about it. Repeatedly. At length.

He kept offering info in this faux-tentative way. “You know... this season's just been so hyped,” he informed her—after she had expressed how lame the show had gotten. “It’s crazy” [with mock amazement barely covering thrilled-with-himself awe] “Like, on the 'net. 30 web agencies just interviewed us.” And, you know, he was “trying to get some work done,” which meant tinkering around on some site where he could “talk to fans.” You know, all those fans. Of the show that hasn't aired yet.

He went on to explain that, because he was one day going to be in movies, the on-camera training was really valuable. But the show isn’t for everyone, he warned. No, you have to be in the proper mental and physical shape to endure it. Luckily he was well built for the endeavor. “The promos seem good," he added when nobody asked him. "They make me seem just like I work out. It’s a lot of me shirtless. But that’s OK,” he said chuckling, oh so dismissively. Yeah, that’s OK! I’m sure they’ll round out your character! (For the record, MTV's website currently describes his character as such: "Often perceived to be a 'musclehead,' it is hard to believe that this muscular personal trainer used to be a 90-pound weakling.")

He doesn’t drink—maybe five or six drinks the whole time, he told the girl. And living in Red Hook was a drag. It could take 2 hours just to get to Manhattan! (I don’t know if I believe that. Maybe I do.) Most importantly though, young Scott vaguely knows CT, the lunking, equally-accented broheim from the Paris iteration. The world is small.

These days, now that the show is over, he lives in an apartment, with two of the other girls from the show. He’s doin’ the acting thing and just did press week for the show and his phone is just brrrringin’ off the hook. At one point there was a slight, awkward pause in their conversation. So he decided to reiterate just HOW MUCH his phone rings. “Yeah, I just got all these calls and, uh, one of them was the Boston Globe. They want to interview me tomorrow.” This was the second time he’d mentioned this impressive Globe get. The girl seemed nonplussed.

But, I dunno, can we really blame him for his “guess what? Guess what??” braggy attitude? All of this must be so new for a boy who's “worked in a mill” his whole life. And now here he is answering his always-blowin'-up BlackBerry for interviews. And advising some fashion student on where to live cheaply in New York City (“live in the outskirts,” he said several times. I pictured the girl finally setting her bags down in some tattered corner of Yonkers, her heart swelling. “I did it!”) It’s an entirely different life he has now, so suddenly. How quickly we can become whole different people! Just like that.

Sadly we sat too far away on the bus for me to overhear anymore. But a tipster, who was on the same bus!, tells us:

Real world red hook cast member scott was here conducting phone interviews and talking very loudly to a "fan" saying things like "I don't think im better than anyone but...." I was sitting right behind him and was trying to do work. He was talking so loud and wouldn't stop. He didn't even have the decency to turn the sound off his phone while gchatting or whatever. On top of that he kept crawling under my seat looking for the back to his phone!

When we finally got to South Station, I wanted to catch one more snippet from this Scott of The Real World: Brooklyn, formerly of New Hampshire. You know, before he bumbles onto the TV. I’m sure we’ll see a lot of him then, when that happens. (Aside from the upcoming Real World premiere, he wants to do one of those Challenge series, he oh-so-casually told the girl). But by the time I’d grabbed my suitcase from the bus’s metal gut, he was way ahead of me. He became, like the rest of us, just another face in the crowd. Unrecognizable! Wholly unremarkable. Maybe for one last time before the show premieres. Here in the bus station just before Christmas. Here in cold, old Boston.

Out here in the real world.