According to Guest of a Guest Tinsley hosted the tea party for Serena and 15 of her littlest pals at the Samantha Thavasa store on Madison Avenue. There wasn't any pin the tail on the donkey at this party. Instead there was some makeovers by a Christian Dior makeup artist, and styling consultations with the Tinz herself. These littlest girls know how to shop!

Just how did Serena Bancroft land such a stellar host for her little bash? Well, she is the daughter of socialite Debbie Bancroft and her banker husband Billy, so that probably helped. As GoaG points out, La Tinz probably wants to get in good with these little rich things now, so that in 10 years she'll still be getting invites to the hot parties. Ms. Mortimer is the face of Japanese handbag maker Samantha Thavasa (and designs several bags for the fashion house each year) so she definitely has a financial interest in bringing attention to the brand, especially among the junior Junior League set.

Since 13-year-old girls (and gays) are CWs target demographic, maybe this is her way of cozying up to an audience she is going to need to be a ratings blockbuster come January. Throw in an appearance guest bartending with Anderson Cooper's boyfriend at gay bar Eastern Bloc and she'll have her base shored up just in time for the premiere.

This might be a make good to Debbie Bancroft, who used to be the muse of polite society's favorite designer Douglas Hannant, until they had beef in 2005, when Hannant chose Tinsley to be his new public face. Burn. Before her reality show airs, Tinsley has to make all the allies she can or else she won't be able to show her face in Southampton ever again. Serving up cupcakes to a bunch of fashion-conscious teens isn't such a bad price to pay.

[Image via Guest of a Guest]

The most fascinating thing about Ali Wise's craziness is its very pedestrian nature—pedestrian on crystal meth, maybe, but still. She didn't snap and murder her ex's lover in a jealous rage; that's been done. Instead, she hacked into their voicemails, deleting messages as she went. It's a nightmare, because who would believe you when you told them you didn't return their call or make that appointment because your messages were surreptitiously deleted by a jealous, tech-savvy fashion publicist? The crime's unlikely nature is what makes it deadly (socially).

Anyhow, cops say that Ali didn't just go all Hackers on one lady interested in her ex, Downtown Records boss Josh Deutsch; she was all up in everybody's voicemail. The NYP reports:

As if to prove the axiom that publicists are forever on the phone, the 337 "hacked" calls Wise allegedly made into Freudenberger's cell and landline voice-mail systems were just the beginning.

She made at least 137 additional calls into the voice mails of Victim No. 2, at least 119 calls into the voice mails of Victim No. 3, and at least 102 calls into the voice mails of Victim No. 4, the criminal complaint says.

She's facing charges of trespassing, tampering, eavesdropping, and stalking. Girl, you know he's not worth it!
[Pic: Getty]

• Hey, you know Tinsley Mortimer? She's a socialite's everywhere, especially after divorcing her husband? Well, she may soon be even more ubiquitous, because rumors has it Ms. Tinsley's filming a reality show. [Page Six]
  
  
• Welcome to the fame game, Melanie Oudin. The tennis player became a mini star during the U.S. Open, which now means her family's dirty laundry — like her mom's alleged affair with Oudin's coach — will be aired for all the world. [NYDN]
  Hip NYC Mayor Mike Bloomberg wants Shakira and Lady Gaga to win big at this Sunday's VMAs. He's so cute. [MTV]
  
  
• Jennifer Aniston and Gerard Butler were seen kissing and hugging and laughing and loving over dinner this week, after they finished shooting their film The Bounty. Will Butler be Aniston's next heartbreak? [Page Six]
  
  
• American Idol judge Kara DioGuardi is absolutely thrilled producers made the "brilliant choice" and hired Ellen, because now she's not the new judge. Feel the love? [ET]
  
  
• A judge tossed out a plagiarism lawsuit against Jessica Seinfeld, who was accused of lifting culinary text from Missy Chase Lapine's cookbook. Lapine's defamation suit against Jerry Seinfeld, however, remains open. Seinfeld, in case you missed it, made funny of Lapine's name on The Late Show and reminded the world that some assassins, like Lee Harvey Oswald, have three names. Um... [CNN]
  
  
• Here's something interesting: football player Shawne Merriman allegedly choked Tila Tequila because she wouldn't jump into a threesome. [10News]
  
  
• We've always loved Ed Norton. But now we love him even more because he's training for the NYC marathon. [CNN]
  
  
• Adam Levine, the attractive but annoying Maroon 5 singer, is now hopping around the world — and in bed — with model Angela Bellotte. [Just Jared]
  
  
• Sugababe singer Amelle Berrabah went "missing" for a few days and her parents thought she had been kidnapped, so they called the police. It turns Berrabah was simply being a drama queen after a fight with a band mate. Oops! [The Sun]
  
  
• Jennifer Hudon's sister, whose son was murdered last year, is with child. [Star]
  
  
• La Toya Jackson's interview with Barbara Walters airs this weekend. So, what can we expect? A whole lotta crazy, like this rumination on Michael Jackson: "He wasn't God, but he was certainly God-like. He was the closest thing to a God that I knew." [AP]

People call each other names every day and it's not particularly noteworthy, but since Cohen actually won the legal right to unmask her internet Skankaccuser, the New York Post has decided to portray her in a heroic light, with comical consequences.

The secret angry Liskula Cohen-hating skankblogger is Rosemary Port, a 29 year-old who "used to work as a telemarketer and a nightclub hostess and promoter," according to the NYP, and started her skankblog after she heard Cohen was talking trash about her. Here's her Facebook photo, which she hasn't gotten around to taking down yet.

Port says she's scared now that her name is public, as well she should be. Because the Post, for reasons unclear (scandalous sexy ones? Nobody knows!), has decided she is not just some lady who got mad about some other lady talking shit about her on the internet and then wackily went to court over that internet thing—she is a brave crusader! Andrea Peyser was ordered to write a worshipful column about Liskula and as hard as she tries, she can't get that sexy enthusiasm going too much, as she plumbs the depths of Liskula's soul:

And she cooks. "I'm not a very good cook, but I try a couple of times a week to make a new recipe. 'The Joy of Cooking' is very good."

She also plays with her cocker spaniel, Chaya.

Right-o. People arguing, on internet. Not a god damn thing happening in August.
[Pic: FMD]

Spencer Morgan digs into the fairy tale romance of Tinsley and Topper, a romance that began as prep school teenagers with an aggressive make-out session in the fluffy white New Jersey snow, managed to survive years of Topper's drunken floosy-nailing and Tinsley's relentless social climbing, but effectively ended when a pair of men's dress shoes went undelivered in Palm Beach this past April.

As Morgan tells it, Topper was in Florida for the wedding of one of his longtime moneyed bros. Tinsley, the little trollop, was supposed to join him later at the rehearsal dinner and bring shoes for him to wear. That's where the trouble started.

But before the rehearsal dinner, Tinsley texted Topper to say she couldn't come. Mr. Mortimer was devastated.

"The guy was emotionally bottomed-out," said a lifelong friend who was at the wedding. He had to borrow shoes. He kept luring people away from the party, off to side rooms and corridors at the Jupiter Island Club, to ask their opinion on the situation. People he hardly knew. "I guess at one point he called Tinsley and he got the weird European delayed-ring sound-so he knew she was with this other guy. Then up on the altar he was gazing off into who the hell knows where. It was ridiculous."

Tinsley had run off to get boned by a German aristocrat/prince named Casimir Wittgenstein-Sayn, news Topper shared with some of the couple's friends.

Topper e-mailed his friends to explain: "I know I have involved you guys in our problems and that was wrong. Tinsley is at fault of course but Casi [sic] never gave her a chance to breathe even when I asked him to give us space. He was manipulative and overbearing. I love my wife and we are going to do what we can to salvage this marriage."

Apparently, the Europeans play dirty in the game of love and don't give a shit about proper American aristocratic etiquette, which seems to hold that the other party to an affair is supposed to stand down when the cuckold issues an "I say good man, could you please refrain from sexing with my wife for a while" request, something Tinsley's mother seems downright horrified over.

"Casimir is a handsome, charming, urbane, and glib man. Topper asked him to step aside and give him (Topper) a chance to reclaim his marriage. Though he told Topper he would do this, he has NOT. I believe that Tinsley is confused, and she needs time by herself to sort things out."

But despite it all, Morgan says that an exceedingly distressed Topper isn't ready to give up on putting the pieces back together again.

He's become a full-time smoker. He's lost weight. He wakes up at precisely 3:25 every morning and plays over and over the reality show his life became. Still, he hasn't entirely abandoned the idea that she'll come back. "I love my wife" is all he'll tell me.

Perhaps a duel is in order here?

Finally, I should note that reading Morgan's piece is much more fun when you read the quotes in a voice similar to that of the aristocratic characters at the table during the dining room scene in Titanic. You should go over and give it a try.

Peaches: "If you had to sum up jeans in one word, what would that word be?"
Reply: "The hottest thing to wear."

And,

Peaches: "What's your message to the world?"
Reply: "Ehhh....."

One lady wisely pulls her child away from Peaches.

There are oh so many of these Hamptons society magazines, with party pictures galore. Which one keeps it the realest, society-wise? The New York Observer finds a shocking number of people who will discuss that question as if it were not a self-evident farce. Decry the poseurs, fawning socialite chronicler David Patrick Columbia!

"With the great bubble of prosperity, you had all these aspirants to that world," Mr.[David Patrick] Columbia continued. "But since they are not part of it, they've actually created their own world-a satellite world which they call society, which it absolutely is not. They're trying to create a hierarchy based on publicity, which is something that follows hierarchy-it doesn't precede it."

Put your feud with rival vapid magazine Hamptonite into perspective, Social Life editor Devorah Rose, pictured!

"It was like Olivia Palermo versus Tinsley," Ms. Rose chimed in. "They were trying to Olivia Palermo us!"

Call out the fakers, celebrity photog Joan Jedell!

"Social Life doesn't interest me," Ms. Jedell said, "because it's like, ‘Who are these people?'"

Break it all down, Andrew Cuomo's sister-in-law!

"When Pamela [Gross, Avenue's editor] asked me to be on the cover, I asked her, ‘Don't you see this as competition?'" Ms. Cuomo recalled. "And she said, ‘No, we only cover society. You cover affluence.'"

Now everyone go throw up on purpose!
[NYO]

You see, Munson shares a few Manhattan-based friends with us, friends who for the past few months have been insisting, "OMG you have to meet Munson!" We'd heard stories about him sleeping with this or that socialite, getting married on a whim in Vegas, getting a DUI in the drive-thru of a Taco Bell in Florida, the relationship he destroyed with a tasteless Natalee Holloway joke, but for one reason or another, mainly out of social malaise, our meeting John Munson has yet to take place, but we, as well as the rest of America, were introduced to him in a big way this past Friday night.

It was the finale of Jeopardy's 25th season and Munson, who really was introduced by the show's announcer as a "self-proclaimed gadabout," was one of the contestants. As soon as we heard this and saw the ascot, the suit, the pinky ring, the loop in his signature to form something resembling a cock on his podium display screen, and finally the winking at the camera, we knew that this had to be the John Munson we'd heard so much about. A quick text message confirmed that our suspicions were correct.

Though the entire Jeopardy episode is available for viewing on YouTube, we had our video team put together a montage of memorable Munson moments from the show, including the rather sweet and sad story of his motivation for appearing on the show as well as his wrong answer to the Final Jeopardy question asking which 69 year-old singer toured in 2009 and had a number one hit in 1984, the year Jeopardy first went on the air.





After the show we were forwarded the text of an invitation Munson sent out to friends prior to his appearance on the show seeking audience support. It reads in part:

It's official. I'm going to be a contestant on the television game show Jeopardy! As a lot of you know, this has been a dream of mine since I was a kid. While some people fantasized about going to space, or hitting a home run in the world series, or having a threesome, for me it was Jeopardy. And threesomes. Since I got the call a few weeks ago, I've been doing everything I can to prepare - studying my presidents, attempting (and failing) to grow a mustache, buying a bunch of fake bling on eBay, figuring out how to write my name so it looks like a penis, - and now, as a final touch, I'm trying to assemble a posse.

While it doesn't appear as though Munson succeeded in his efforts to "assemble a posse," he definitely succeeded in bringing attention to himself, as the word "gadabout" topped the Google trends list for a few hours after his appearance on the show aired nationally.





And, of course, the Twittering classes went nuts over John Munson.





Could it be that we have a new Gawker fameball in the making here? We're sure that between his blog and his Twitter page and whatever stories get sent into us, John Munson has the potential to become a familiar character in the Gawker lexicon. Don't let us down John.





And again, Munson's entire Jeopardy appearance is on YouTube here, here, here and here.

Cityfile has hacked into her been following her Twitter account and there have been two recent cryptically transparent dispatches. The first reads, "Someone very wise told me to 'Ask. Believe. Let go and say Thank You." We have a feeling that the "someone wise" had a barcode and a $1.99 sticker on the back of it, because there is no way D&G had cheesy corporate inspiration posters hanging around the office next to the photos of half-naked men.

And if you ask us, we believe she should let go and say, "Thank you" for giving her an orange jumpsuit. It will look great with her coloring!

The next is right out of "Bartlett's Quotations," actually, her best fashion gay probably told it to her, because she seems more likely to read your emails secretly than an actual book. She types, "'Always forgive your enemies - nothing annoys them so much.' Oscar Wilde."

Actually, we know something that might annoy them more. How about using a Spoofcard to gain access to someone's voicemail (in this case interior designer Nina Freudenberger) and then coming up with lame excuses why it's not illegal.

Sorry to say it, Ali, but we have a feeling that—no matter how many 140 character pleas you unleash on the internet—we know which card you're going to read next: "Go directly to jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200."

Wise allegedly used a Spoofcard, which lets you send fake caller ID info with your calls, to gain access to the voicemails of interior designer Nina Freudenberger. According to the criminal complaint against her, she told the police, "I used the Spoofcard to get into Nina's voicemails."

Now Wise's lawyer, Mark Jay Heller, is telling Women's Wear Daily [sub. req'd] that there's nothing illegal about that:

He said authorities had misapplied new laws governing technology. The eavesdropping charge should be dismissed because, among other reasons, Wise had not overheard or recorded a conversation, Heller said. Of the computer trespass charge, he said authorities had not alleged or proven, "that Ali engaged in any ‘unauthorized' conduct in conjunction with a computer or computer service."

That sounds strange! Wise is charged with violations of Sections 156.10(1) and 250.05 of the New York penal code. Section 256.05 governs eavesdropping and wiretapping, and makes it a crime to "unlawfully engage in wiretapping, mechanical overhearing of a conversation, or intercepting or accessing of an electronic communication." An "electronic communication" is defined by the law to exclude telephonic messages, which would presumably rule out voicemails. "Mechanical overhearing" is defined by the law in such a way as to require a "conversation or discussion" to be overheard, which isn't the case if voicemails were the only thing being listened to. So that leaves "wiretapping," which the law defines as "the intentional overhearing or recording of a telephonic or telegraphic communication."

Voicemails are undoubtedly telephonic communications. Did Wise record them? It's unclear from the complaint, but if she did, then the law applies to her behavior. But even if she didn't, does listening to voicemails count as "overhearing" them? It certainly counts as hearing them. And the significance of the prefix "over-" seems like a very thin reed to hang a defense on. Heller is apparently arguing that "overhearing" something requires a live, ongoing two-way conversation. But Webster's—to which any judge would turn if confronted by such an argument—defines "overhear" as "to hear without the speaker's knowledge or intention." Which would be the case here. Case law exploring the definition of "overhear" as relates to the wiretapping stature might exist, but it seems unlikely at first blush that the word is a get out jail free card for Wise.

As for the other charge, computer trespass: It requires another crime, so if Wise isn't guilty of wiretapping, she's off the hook for trespass, too. But if she is, then she's also guilty of computer trespass if she "knowingly use[d] or cause[d] to be used a computer or computer service without authorization" in the commission of the crime. A "computer" is defined by the statute as:

A device or group of devices which, by manipulation of electronic, magnetic, optical or electrochemical impulses, pursuant to a computer program, can automatically perform arithmetic, logical, storage or retrieval operations with or on computer data.

A "computer service" is "any and all services provided by or through the facilities of any computer communication system allowing the input, output, examination, or transfer, of computer data or computer programs from one computer to another." It's hard to see how the servers that housed Freudenberger's voicemails in digital format wouldn't count as computers under the above definition. And it's hard to see how the system by which her cell phone—or Wise's—gained access to them wouldn't qualify as a "computer system." And if she used either of them without authorization in commission of a felony like wiretapping, well, then, that's illegal.

Wise is accused of illegally gaining access to the voicemail of interior designed Nina Freudenberger.

But a source familiar with the investigation says the district attorney's office is looking at five or more other possible victims of Wise's alleged hacking.

"Ali has been harassing my boyfriend and I since November," one of the alleged victims, who's gone to the police but requested anonymity, tells Page Six. "I was getting phantom phone calls and losing voice mails. She was also sending e-mails to my boyfriend's publicist and posting comments about us online. I went so far as to hire a private investigator to figure out what was going on."

Freudenberger told the Post that she's never even met Wise, and suggests she was targeted because the two share an ex-boyfriend in Downtown Records founder Josh Deutsch. Another source told the paper: "Ali has basically been targeting people who have been with [former boyfriend] Jason [Pomeranc] and her ex-boyfriends."

And yesterday Cityfile reported that Wise's alleged ex-boyfriend obsession extends beyond the digital realm and into defamation and, apparently, physical threats:

"Wise's antics go beyond what's stated," an anonymous tipster tells us by email. "For that reason there's a restraining order in place against her now, effectual for 5 years. And there were multiple victims of her hacking hobby. A defamation suit is under way in addition to the felony charge of computer fraud she already faces. There are piles of irrefutable evidence against her."

Wise, 32, allegedly used a Spoofcard to bypass the security features on Freudenberger's voicemail, snooping on her from January to March of 2008. She was arrested on Tuesday night on felony charges of computer trespass and eavesdropping, and, according to the complaint, confessed to the arresting officers: "I used the Spoofcard to get into Nina's voicemails."

She was arraigned in Manhattan Criminal Court yesterday and has a court appearance scheduled in October. According to the New York Daily News, "Wise's breakup from hotelier Jason Pomeranc six months ago was fodder for media gossip," but they must mean the old-fashioned, word-of-mouth kind, because we can't find anything out there on their parting of ways (let us know if you can).

Freudenberger is a Munich-born decorator-to-the-socialites who once lived in an apartment painted entirely in a color called "dead salmon" and had a mechanic spray-paint a Louis XIV dresser with lacquer, according to Page Six magazine. We have no clue why Wise would want to listen to Freudenberger's voicemails, or why Wise would get caught for it more than a year after the fact. Do you?

Here's the complaint:

The NYT profiles Lisa today for her, uh, "philanthropic" activities, and while the disclosure about the huge stake in the paper that her husband's firm Harbinger holds is small, you can't say they don't allow her to hang herself with quotes:

Ms. Falcone was also reluctant to reveal her age, 40, saying she wanted to be a role model for young people.

Zingaroo! Lisa, a former model, made her name as a giving person by standing up at a banquet for the High Line and spontaneously pledging $10 million, of her husband's money! Since then, the city's cultural institutions have suddenly recognized Lisa's unique insight into, you know, culture:

When City Ballet asked her to be on the board last June, Ms. Falcone said she asked: "‘Why me? Do you really want me on the board? Is it about my husband or is it me?'"

We're scandalized you would even ask! The profile notes that Lisa's wasted who knows how much scratch by hiring publicist Matthew Hiltzik to hold her hand through the interview, and while he tries to cut her off repeatedly, he fails to prevent the creation of paragraphs like this:

While the couple live in the mansion that once belonged to Robert C. Guccione, founder of Penthouse magazine - which they purchased for $49 million last year - Ms. Falcone said she felt most at home in the basement apartment. "I'm still comfortable with the basic things," she said.

Lisa Falcone, you are a jewel of the city of New York! A precious jewel stuck right into a hissing, steaming subway grate, that's how valuable you are, to the city! "I speak from my heart," she says. "I know that sometimes can get me in trouble. But that's the only way I know how to be." Please—continue.

[NYT. Pic: Getty]

The problems began—as so many problems do—with Bernie Madoff. Walter Noel, the patriarch, is co-founder of Fairfield Greenwich Group (FGG), which funneled billions of its clients' dollars into Madoff's own funds. That was the point at which the Noels started their now-crushing downward social slide.

Monica, the matriarch, was a Brazilian-born socialite who started her own children's clothing line. She was known for pushing her daughters to be even bigger and, uh, better (?) socialites in New York. The five daughters—Marisa, Alix, Ariane, Lisina, and Corina—all graduated from top schools, and all ended up marrying businessmen. Four of their husbands went to work for Walter Noel.

You can see, then, that when the domino fell, everybody was in line to get knocked down. Since the Madoff scandal broke, FGG has been flooded with investor lawsuits. The family lost a huge portion of its own wealth as well. This was a convenient excuse for the other Greenwich richies to despise them.

But actually, they were despised long before that, because the flaunted their wealth and were all apparently huge obnoxious spoiled brats, to one degree or another. At least by the standards of the other huge obnoxious brats there. Among the outrages:

"The Noel women showed up in 'thongs and sarongs' [to a beach club]."

"The first summer they were here, I won't forget seeing two of the daughters blocking traffic on Jobs Lane, leaning out of their convertibles, talking to each other and making what sounded like idle plans and blowing kisses, as if they owned the street-literally for five full minutes while a line of too-polite-to-honk Southampton matrons sat in silence."

"They lit up their house like a Vegas casino, which shocked some of their neighbors on the pond [Lake Agawam]."

Okay, so maybe the neighbors were actually bigger pricks than they were. At any rate, their ostracism is now complete. Guest of a Guest says that the fawncy Round Hill Club has now "revoked their membership" for being too undesirable. Oh, the shame. When all the lawsuits are done they will probably be left with only the Palm Beach House. It's an object lesson to all rich families: Don't be a rich family.

[P6 Mag, Vanity Fair, Guest of a Guest. Pics: NY Mag, VF]

Socialite Hearst has, until now, been careful not to go this far; when she did the cover of French Playboy, she was careful to note there was "no nudity for me" and that the publication was "very high fashion." Similarly, the model-heiress emphasized the "high fashion/couture" aspect of her lingerie shoot for an "upscale" panty brand.

Hearst's new topless spread is wrapped, of course, in the same sort of market positioning: She's in an upscale fashion glossy, GQ, and the Italian edition to boot. The model's poses are as stiff as ever, but they're also "low key [and] artistic," according to the blog Drunken Stepfather.

Well, we guess. She's still taking off her shirt, which is way more than her otherwise shameless protocelebrity competitor Julia Allison had to do to get a big Condé Nast cover. How is it the willowy Gotham heiress has been outclassed by a brassy social-climber from the Midwest? By making the same mistake as so many luxury retailers: responding to hard times by cheapening the product in the mind of the consumer. Not necessarily by taking off her shirt — you're only young once, and you might as well take your racy pictures then — but by doing so in such a marginal venue.

UPDATE: And, of course (we should have known), Hearst has gone topless before in an even more obscure venue, which you can see here or here (NSFW links, duh). So she's actually shimmying her way up the stripper pole of minor fame into ever-slightly-classier outlets. Dutch Esquire next? Hearst will make money on both sides of the deal.

(Pics from Italian GQ via Drunken Stepfather)

A recap of this Most Vapid Feud of Our Time:
1. A ridiculous ad is posted on Craigslist seeking interns for Adrien Field and Alexandra Alexis, two vapid fauxcialites.
2. Adrien Field says the ad was fake; a tipster speculates that Kristian Laliberte put it up to make them look stupid, which he denies.
3. Kristian has now written an article for a social networking site for vapid richies, calling out his least favorite fauxcialites. No trace of irony here.
4. We're forwarded this screen grab from an alleged Laliberte Manhunt account, which has allegedly been going around. Kristian tells us, "I have no idea what this is."

Maybe it's a plant by one of his myriad rivals for the crown, another blow in an ongoing fauxcialite feud! Who knows. Hey, let's all play the quiet game!

Apparently the couple is separated, but not yet divorced. Tinsley got upset that Topper was flagrantly cheating on her with all manner of floozy and/or dizzy dame. A sad story. Luckily I was able to reach Tinsley and get an exclusive statement.

Oh, it's sad. I'm sad. I'm sad like the gargoyles on the big silver building, the way they frown down on everyone. Sometimes I'm walking under it and I remember that they're up there, looking at me. It makes me walk a little bit quicker. Now that Topper's gone it's just me in the house and sometimes I wander all of its rooms, my heels making their "click, click! click, click!" noises and my humming getting louder and louder. Sometimes I walk around for hours, until Guadalupe comes with some tea or a sleepy-time pill and and she says "sshhh, sshhh Meez Tinz. With all of jur walking. Ees too much." Then I fall asleep and when I wake up I'm in our big bed, that's shaped like a sleigh. That's what the decorator told me. He flicked his wrist and fiddled his glasses and he looked me right in the eye and said "Tinsley, child. This here is a damn sleigh bed." And I thought about Santa and all of the people up in the North Pole who ride sleighs and the bed always makes me feel cozy, like I'm going somewhere. But that morning it was just sort of empty feeling. And nothing else in the room looked quite right. Everything was sideways and upside down and I went out onto the veranda and I sang the song that Guadalupe taught me, because sometimes that makes me feel better. The song goes "Ohhhhh place where Guadalupe is from! / What a land you are! / Sometimes you're mountains / Other times, you're sand / Ohhhh country faraway! / What have you become? / Sometimes you're high schools / Other times you're storms." I love to sing her faraway song but it did not make me feel better that day and so I whispered, out on the big gray wind that swept up over the veranda and scattered the pigeons who were sleeping on the Peabodys' window ledge, I whispered "Topper." And then I said "I miss you." And it was cold so I went back inside and I found Guadalupe and she made me some hot chocolate and I sat in my favorite high stool, it's so high that I can kick my legs when I sit there and it reminds me of when Papa took me to a diner in Connecticut many years ago, when he was on business and he let me come with him. "Tinsley!" he said. "You can order anything you want from this diner counter." So I had a piece of blueberry pie with some gravy and ginger ale on the side and he watched with his strange Papa eyes and I kicked my legs and it was the happiest I've ever been. And that's how I felt that day. When Guadalupe made me hot chocolate and put a new braid in my hair, humming her faraway song. I missed people—because I always miss people, I think everyone misses people—but I also felt OK. When Guadalupe was asleep that night I walked out onto the veranda. There were so many lights still on in all the apartments. So many people still doing things like watching TV or knitting sweaters or just staring at the walls. And I said to the nighttime: "Goodbye, Topper. Goodbye!" And I blew kisses into the sky and the moon overhead made a little wink and I went back inside, where Guadalupe was snoring and the clocks were ticking and the kitty kat made little meow-meowings and when I tumbled down the stairs I was already fast asleep by the time I hit the bottom.

[Ed. note: Clearly this is not the actual Tinsley Mortimer. It's just a stupid thing that I do. It's a Sunday, so cut me some damn slack. The end.]

WTF is Rory, anyway? Sure, he looks unwashed. But, as a tipster told us in this post,

"the long-haired front man for iLash is a bonafide heir to the Irish beer empire, but rumor has it that he refuses the monthly trust fund deposit entrusted to him (and sister/Vanity Fair scribe Rebecca Guinness) choosing instead to take the bohemian, starving-artist approach when it comes to reputation."

How noble!

It may even be somewhat true, according to the Independent:

Recently, he's been scraping a living as a runner on films and writing press releases for The Strokes.

"I've realised the nine-to-five isn't my thing. As an artist, it's much easier to work as a waiter or bartender. You can earn $1,000 a night. My girlfriend didn't let me bartend because she wanted me home at night," he says.

However, when he and his sister got nervous when asked about their stepdad, famous writer JP Donleavy, "saying only that they spent their early childhood in a big, gloomy, old house in Mullingar."

His Beatrice Inn video, which is probably the first footage from inside the coke den (remember, no smoking or dancing, please!), hit Youtube today. Kind of amazing that this is the place everyone's talking about.

We're surprised owner Paul Sevigny gave Rory permission to film, due to their hipper-than-you media aversion. First, the Beatrice banned regular George Gurley (and his brother!) from the bar for daring to write an affectionate article about its celeb clientele in Fashion Week Daily. Then, Kirsten Dunst spent half of her Bazaar interview gushing about the place like a teen who's just discovered the roller-skating rink (although they didn't ban her.) Perhaps this is a sign of the Bea's waning exclusivity.

[Photo: Christos Katsiaouni for Guest of a Guest]