Guys! Can we discuss how horrible The City was? I made it through about seven minutes before I had to turn it off in utter disgust. I mean, I wasn’t expecting The Wire, but I’m someone who thoroughly enjoyed two and a half seasons of The Hills. I love all of the Real Housewives. I even liked Laguna Beach! Which is all my way of saying: My tolerance for bad reality television is quite high. But as Sam, who gamely watched those seven minutes with me, pointed out, The City is like a bad scripted show with terrible, awful, entirely unconvincing actors. Let’s hope that this is the series that finally puts the nail in the coffin of the whole Lauren-Heidi-Spencer-Whitney-Brody (I’m assuming Bromance is really awful too) axis. We need some new rich white young adult reality stars, stat.
The Jew vs. the WASP:
Mr. Noel first met Mr. Madoff in the 1980s, and Fairfield’s fortunes grew along with the returns Mr. Madoff reported. The two men were very different: Mr. Madoff hailed from eastern Queens and was tied closely to the Jewish community, while Mr. Noel, a native of Tennessee, moved in the Greenwich social scene with his wife, Monica.
“He was a person of superb ethics, and this has to cut him to the quick,” said George L. Ball, a former executive at E. F. Hutton and Prudential-Bache Securities who knows Mr. Noel.
Okay, sure, it has to hurt that this guy of “superb ethics” got hoodwinked by Bernie Madoff. But as I looked at these photos of the Noels’ lovely home in Mustique (complete, apparently, with a “thatched palapa,” whatever the hell that is) I couldn’t help but think: one superbly ethical hand washes the other. Or however the saying goes.
From a yanked post on Gawker about another fucking redesign rollout:
Change is always jarring, but for those who like the old ways, you can always go back to our classic view by selecting “Expanded” in the View menu in the black bar at the top of the page.
I just got my Classic Gawker Home Game, by Hasbro. The Emily Action Figure is really flexible. The Choire Doll has a string you pull and you get eight unique snorts of laughter. The Josh Doll steals everyone else’s clothes. And The Incredible Balk turns everyone else green and won’t let go of his club.
Consumer Warning: The first three times I played, I had to bake peanut butter cookies.
Love you too, Karen. Sniff.
Just three short years ago, a very young Foster Kamer (came ere — get it?) to the city with a single-minded goal: to earn media clips from successively more impressive outfits with measurably less remuneration. I humbly present the whirlwind summer of the one we know and love as FEK: Radar > Blackbook > The New York Observer. Fin.
Behold: The power of the Tumblr want ad.
Choire imagines a few scenes that do not seem too far from the truth.