[A new wax replica of Michelle Obama was unveiled at Madame Tussaud's in D.C. today. So creepy. Pic via Getty]
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[A new wax replica of Michelle Obama was unveiled at Madame Tussaud's in D.C. today. So creepy. Pic via Getty]
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Iraqi courts have cut the prison sentence for the hero shoe-hurling-at-Bush journalist from three years down to one. Huzzah! And on the same day Obama visited Iraq. Coincidence??? Open your eyes, sheeple! [WSJ]
After Google bought Dodgeball from him and shut it down, New York entrepreneur Dennis Crowley knocked off his own idea to create Foursquare, a new friend-finding app. The coverage likewise feels familiar.
Now that people are breaking up with each other through text messaging, it's only natural that the hottest social-networking program to emerge in recent months is Dodgeball, a free texting service that lets users tell their friends and crushes what bar they're in at any moment so they can meet up. Two recent NYU Interactive Telecommunications Program grads, Dennis Crowley and Alex Rainert, both 28, launched Dodgeball last spring as an alternative to loud cell-phone calls from bars. When Dodgeball users "check in" at a given locale by sending out a text message, it goes to all their preselected friends, as well as any friends of friends within a ten-block radius. A photo is sent along with the alert-which helps with identifying near strangers. Introductions are made, beer is poured, and then hookups can occur-casually, and in a low-pressure environment, all under the guise of knowing someone in common. It's Friendster, except in real time and in the real world.
(The Friendster comparison proved eerily prescient.)
Foursquare is a better Dodgeball, for those who remember the now-defunct social-networking, texting, friend-locating mobile-phone app. The new iteration, rapidly being installed on iPhones across the city, is a fast route to a good night out. Download the app free at playfoursquare.com to track your friends' locations (meaning no more rounds of "Where are you?" texts). It's also a game, with goofy badges awarded to users who check in frequently. And most helpful, members share their ample nightlife experience; according to one enthusiast, the saffron Sazerac at Apotheke is the drink to get.
(Photo by dpstyles)
Farewell, last season's Suri Cruise fashions. Goodbye, Amy Winehouse's bathing suit. Adieu, humanoid version of Lauren Conrad. And so long, LiLo and SamRon's fairytale romance.
A more cocksure man might have played along, but Graydon Carter's tenure atop Vanity Fair has apparently taught him the danger of hype and high expectations, so he's denied a flattering sex story.
Rupert Everett, a VF contributing editor, told the Daily Beast Monday how he'd once stayed in a hotel room directly under Carter's, and heard him elicit "the purest sounds of pleasure I'd ever heard" from some woman, with what Everett presumed was his "monster cock."
Page Six went right to the purported horse's mouth for a reaction, and heard back from a VF flack:
Graydon's still trying to figure out who was using his room.
Unfortunately, there's no retracting the image Everett had lodged in our skulls.
["Spider Gal" poses outside the 'raunch' party for "Secret Identity", a book about Superman fetishist art, in New York last night; image via istolethetv's Flickr.]