In the wake of a fatal crash last week that killed more than 40 people, TransAsia Airways had to ground at least ten pilots flying the same aircraft who failed an oral flight test.

According to international plane crash database CNN, the airline decided to test the pilots flying ATR turboprops—the same plane that crashed last week—on the recommendation of Taiwan's Civil Aeronautics Administration.

The results weren't encouraging. Of 68 pilots reportedly flying that aircraft, only 49 took the test. And the 39 who passed still have to pass a simulator test before they'll be allowed to fly again.

According to CNN, last week's crash occurred after both engines cut out, leaving the plane gliding for around a minute before clipping a bridge and crashing into a Taipei harbor.

[image via AP]

A San Francisco resident infected with measles traveled to and from work on the BART train for three days—possibly exposing tens of thousands of people, according to reports.

Officials say they are tracking the resident—reportedly a LinkedIn employee—who was diagnosed last week:

In the Bay Area case, the infected person was known to have traveled between the Lafayette station in the East Bay and the Montgomery station in San Francisco during the morning and evening rush-hour commutes on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday of last week, BART spokeswoman Alicia Trost said.

That ride is 35 minutes long, but health officials said the highly infectious, airborne virus could have remained in the air for up to two hours. Because BART cars circulate throughout the Bay area, tens of thousands of people could have potentially been exposed, Trost said.

The infected rider, who was not identified by name, age or gender, also spent time at the E&O Kitchen and Bar in San Francisco on Wednesday evening, potentially exposing others who were in the restaurant between 5:30 p.m. and 7 p.m., health officials said.

The latest measles outbreak began in December at Disneyland and has since spread to dozens of states with more than 110 cases in California alone.

Hani Durzy, LinkedIn's director of corporate communications, confirmed the story, telling ABC, "We are working very closely with the San Francisco Department of Public Health, and following their recommended protocol for managing this situation."

Great, but the protocol is—and please don't forget this—to vaccinate your damn kids.

[image via AP]

If you ever reach the soothing point of equilibrium at which it is possible to stop feeling that the advertising industry is constantly manipulating you, I encourage you to stop and consider this new ad campaign for skin care for 20somethings—who are, let's face it, looking a little decrepit.

I challenge you—I challenge you, and you, and you, the 20something over there, looking a little, how shall I say it... waxy—to find a more subtly undermining quote from a corporate advertising representative than this one, from an Ad Age story today about a new campaign to sell Origins Skin Renewal cream to you, the female consumer under the age of 30. Perhaps your self-esteem has been a bit too high, eh?

"There's a protein synthesis called carbonylation where the skin becomes more opaque," said Trenesa Danuser, VP-global communications and strategic alliances for Origins, Darphin and Ojon. "We're validating what the consumer is seeing in the mirror."

Millennials "lead a very public life," Mr. Marois said, pointing to the ubiquitous selfies of social media. "Looking your best is a real concern for that age," he said, "especially when you're going through all these changes that make you more vulnerable."

The Estee Lauder corporation is not telling you, the 20something consumer, that you look like an old hag; they are merely validating what you see in the mirror, when you look in the mirror and close your eyes and focus on internalizing all of the manipulative advertising messages of the beauty and skin care industries.

Looking your best is a real concern, when you're this old.

[Photo of an old lady: FB]

"I stand by my decision to abort my baby because it was a male," a woman wrote last month under the pseudonym "Lana." She claimed that after several bad experiences with men, she didn't want to risk bringing another "monster" supporter of the patriarchy into the world. The story circulated all over the tabloid media this week, drawing hundreds of outraged comments, but is there any reason to believe it's for real? No, nope, and nah.

The story hits a smattering of culture-war hot buttons: Abortion, feminism, a gratuitous mention of Occupy Wall Street, and even a trigger warning for "extreme patriarchy." An evil man—"the suit jockey"—inspires her to get the abortion by saying rude, misogynist things to her on her first-class flight to the OWS rally. Eventually she gets a dangerous and difficult late-term abortion that "went off without a hitch."

Basically, the whole thing reads like some dude's caricature of the Feminist Menace, and a number of sites have called it out as an obvious troll post meant to incite pro-lifers, feminists, and anti-feminists alike. Judging by the blanket press coverage and the angry comments it's received, I'd say it worked.

Not everyone bought the story wholesale, though.

Sweden's "viral examiner," Jack Werner of Metro, points out that the previously unknown blog that published the personal essay, Injustice Stories, was started the day before the post went up. Another major red flag.

Snopes rates the story "false," noting that the site initially made readers share it before they could read the whole thing, and surmising:

[T[he account was likely a troll for pageviews, not a real-life account representing the sordid state of feminism. While many skeptical readers believed the hoax was aimed at promoting an anti-abortion agenda, it's also possible the site's purveyor fabricated the tale primarily to generate outrage-based clicks.

Jezebel's Anna Merlan delivered the most thorough debunking of the tale, including email exchanges with "Robert," the suspicious-sounding creator of Injustice Stories. He claims Lana is a real person he's known for years and he started the site so she could share her experiences.

As Jezebel notes, though, some of her other stories on the site—including one about how she breaks the law by only hiring women at her work as an act of feminist civil disobedience—only amplify the already-screeching bullshit alarm here.

At first, the tabloids ran the story uncritically—unless you count criticism of the (most likely fictional) woman's (most likely fictional) decision. Metro U.K. had one of the most outraged takes, and even added a sidebar with the definition of misandry, which I include here because it's hilarious:

It now appears even some of the outlets that ran with the story at first have started to drop it—the Telegraph's piece "Has a woman aborted her baby because it's a boy?" is no longer online.

There's still a slim chance the story is true, but based on the evidence available right now, it looks like the only real abortion here is this fake, fake, blog post.

[h/t Metro Sweden, Photo: Injustice Stories]

Reminder: Gawker is posting less often to the front page. Happening across the blogs: Morning After The Best Things on Empire This Week: Courtney Love, Cookie's Ass | Newsfeed "Nut Rage" Exec Sentenced to One Year for In-Flight Macadamia Meltdown | Drugs Cash-Rich Weed Moguls Are Laundering Money in Insanely Expensive Bongs http://gawker.com/how-to-read-ga...

Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds, plastic sex dolls who fell in love against all odds, have been playing the long game with their new (but now kind of old) baby girl's name. The simultaneously press-shy and press-starving couple have kept America and the Baby Name Critic on the edge of their seats by refusing to reveal the name of their faceless young one.

Was the baby named Wallpaper? Maybe. Would Blake be so gauche as to give her daughter the same name (Violet) as a former alleged flame's child? Please, said her husband. Blake is a tastemaker. This baby's name will different... special... classic... just like the antebellum South that Blake loves so.

Well, the wait is over. We now have word from a trusted source (E!Online) that the Lively-Reynolds have named their baby girl James.

As you can imagine this name does not please the Baby Name Critic, who has a very clear stance on giving girl children boys' names: do not do it. For it is difficult enough to be a woman in this world without bearing the name of an oppressor.

Alas there is not a single member of the Lively-Reynolds clan with a clear female name, even though there are presumably two females in it. Just a group of guys. Blake, Ryan and little Jim. A perpetual beer o'clock.

Maybe they could have some fun with nicknames. Besides Jim, some good nicknames for James include Jay, Jimmy Jamz, J, Jamie, and Old War Horse.

This has been Baby Name Critic.

Leah Finnegan is Gawker's Baby Name Critic.

[Pic via Getty]

To illustrate how cool and nonmaterialist his son Jaden is, Will Smith told a goddamn lie to Esquire:

Will Smith: ...Jaden, my 16-year-old, he has one pair of shoes.

Scott Raab: That's it?

WS: He has three pair of pants and he has five shirts.

SR: Total?

WS: Total. He has refused to be a slave to money. I so respect that. The younger generation is less of an ownership generation, anyway. And it's such an interesting thing to watch, because I came from a middle-class background, but, you know, our lights and gas would be cut off from not paying the bill. I grew up in a house where you would need the kerosene heaters in the winter in case the bills didn't get paid. And he's from the complete other end of the spectrum. And it's so interesting to me that from growing up in that space, he could see the need for things in a way that he's rejecting. He's like, "I'm not gonna let myself need things in that way"—but I would like him to get another pair of shoes.

Putting aside how easy it is for someone who has everything (including a compound) to say that material things don't matter, this is a goddamn lie!

One shirt.

Two shirts.

Three shirts.

Four shirts.

Five shirts.

Six shirts.

Kimono.

Do sweatshirts count as shirts?

Jaden Smith has a lot of sweatshirts.

Do dress shirts count as shirts?

Jaden Smith has at least one dress shirt.

Do off-the-shoulder shirts count as shirts?

Jaden Smith has an off-the-shoulder shirt.

Do iPads count as shirts?

Jaden Smith has an iPad and two shirts that we haven't seen previously in this post.

Does Jay Z count as a shirt?

Just kidding, I know Jay Z's not a shirt. But there's yet another sweatshirt.

Also note that per these pictures (which don't even span two full years) Jaden Smith has more than one pair of shoes, including a mismatched pair of shoes made from two different pairs of shoes.

If Jaden Smith no longer has these shirts and shoes, it is because he threw them out. In that case, he is the wasteful son of a goddamn liar.

[All images via Getty]

On Aug. 30, 2014, MSNBC anchor Alex Wagner and former White House chef Sam Kass got married at a private wedding north of New York City. It was widely reported at the time that President Obama, a longtime friend of the groom, attended the ceremony with his family. There were two other notable guests, however, whose attendance has been successfully kept secret: Bill Ayers and Bernardine Dohrn, the former campus radicals whose loose association with the Obama family over the years has inspired countless Fox News fever-dreams and led to Sarah Palin’s famous accusation that Obama “pal[s] around with terrorists.”

We recently heard that Ayers and Dohrn, both former leaders of the Weather Underground, the militant left-wing group best known for bombing empty government buildings in the 1970s, were also present for the Wagner-Kass celebration at the Blue Hill at Stone Barns, a restaurant and event space in Pocantico Hills, New York.

While the fact that Obama was literally partying with former advocates of violent struggle against the U.S. government will no doubt be taken by his critics as further evidence that he hates America, the most interesting thing about the wedding is the shocking proof it offers that—at long last!—Obama truly no longer gives a fuck about keeping up political appearances. It’s unthinkable that the Obama of the 2008 or 2012 campaigns would have been permitted to go anywhere near Ayers or Dohrn, for fear of fueling the unhinged right-wing narrative that he is a radical leftist.

Ayers and Dohrn were likely invited due to their connection to Kass. Though the nature of their relationship with him is unclear, Kass resided for several years in Chicago, where Ayers and Dohrn live, and appear to have close mutual friends. In 2012, for example, the trio attended the same 22-guest wedding at a San Francisco art gallery.

It is difficult to say much beyond that, however, because the principals have refused to comment on the event, refusing repeated opportunities to deny that Ayers and Dohrn were present. Ayers, Dohrn, Kass, and Wagner did not acknowledge multiple requests for comment. The White House and MSNBC were similarly reticent. “It was a private event and we are not going to comment any further,” an MSNBC spokesperson told Gawker via email. White House spokesperson Jennifer Friedman declined to comment, citing the fact that the wedding was a private event—but the White House has commented on private events in the past, to the point of confirming the presence of certain guests.

Ayers and Dohrn, who are 70 and 73, were linked to dozens of bombings of evacuated buildings belonging to the U.S. government and financial institutions, and helped design much of the Weathermen’s philosophical framework. The pair went into hiding between 1970 and 1980 after a bomb—allegedly prepared to maim Army soldiers at New Jersey’s Fort Dix—prematurely detonated in the basement of a Greenwich Village townhouse used by Weathermen to stage guerrilla attacks. Neither were ever charged for their involvement in any specific Weathermen bombing, but Dohrn—who spent three years on the FBI’s Most Wanted list—eventually pleaded guilty to aggravated battery. Ayers went on to become a well-known scholar of education, and Dohrn became a professor at the Northwestern University School of Law and co-founded the school’s Children and Family Justice Center.

Obama has played down his association with the couple since 2008, when a variety of critics in both the Republican and Democratic camps began suggesting that he had formed his beliefs in the mold of Ayers’s revolutionary politics. This accusation arose from the fact that Obama and Ayers lived in the same neighborhood, Chicago’s Hyde Park, for a period of time in the 1990s. The two men and Dohrn attended the same parties, and had some of the same friends, but otherwise did not develop a close friendship.

Still, Obama’s first presidential campaign was forced to “condemn” the Weathermen—and, by extension, Ayers and Dohrn—after Ben Smith, then at Politico and now the editor-in-chief of BuzzFeed, reported that Obama had launched his 1995 campaign for the Illinois State Senate at the couple’s home in Hyde Park, with the grace of their mutual friend and outgoing state senator Alice Palmer, who named Obama as her successor at the gathering.

“Obama’s relationship with Ayers is an especially vivid milepost on his rise, in record time, from a local official who unabashedly reflected a very liberal district to the leader of national movement based largely on the claim that he can transcend ideological divides,” Smith wrote.

The implication that Obama was influenced by the architects of the Weather Underground remains absurd. The group was formed in 1969 in response to the American invasion of other countries, particularly Vietnam, based on the Leninist conviction that the struggle between the world’s major imperial powers and the people who labored under their domination would inevitably catalyze a global Communist revolution. Needless to say, a sober evaluation of Obama’s political career indicates little, if any, of Ayers’s or Dohrn’s alleged influence.

Indeed, in 2013, Ayers argued that every U.S. president should be prosecuted for war crimes—in Obama's case for his wanton use of drone strikes in the Middle East. Early into Obama’s first term, Dohrn said that the “the real terrorist is the American government.”

Due perhaps to the prominent profile of the bride and groom, the Wagner-Kass ceremony was unusually secretive; with the exception of the president and his family, and now Ayers and Dohrn, the identities of the other attendees remain unknown. There are no publicly available photos of the event, nor were we able to locate a single post on social media—including Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram—that was published by an attendee. Because of this we can’t say with certainty whether Obama danced, conversed, or even interacted with either Ayers or Dohrn at the wedding, which could have had a maximum of 260 guests, to judge by the Stone Barns’ capacity.

While the Obama White House obviously no longer cares about serving up softballs to the Drudge set—indeed, the decision to party with Ayers borders on active trolling—his Secret Service may have taken a different view. According to the Washington Post, the agency typically bars “people with...arrests or convictions for assault and related offenses or any history of mental illness...from having any access to the president.” Even though Dohrn can hardly be regarded as presenting a threat to anyone these days, her conviction for aggravated battery—reportedly related to an attack on a police officer at a Chicago protest in 1969—is the sort of history that the president’s protectors would normally take an interest in. The Secret Service declined to answer questions about the wedding.

Of course, the people taking the biggest risk in showing up at the wedding were Dohrn and Ayers, who have now been revealed as willing to briefly set aside their anti-war principles so they could hang out with someone they regard as a war criminal.

Top image by Jim Cooke, source photos via AP and Getty

A wise man once said: "Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another." But what if we want to love one another with a blindfold, a leather flail, and an iPod playing choral music?

As the cinematic adaptation of kinky sex thrill-ride bummer 50 Shades of Grey, its hour come at last, slouches towards its premiere tomorrow, Christian blog-thinkers have found themselves wondering if it's possible to reconcile the Gospel with the desire to watch softcore porn on a large screen.

On Tuesday, Popular Christian blogger Becky Thompson, of the encouragement and hope-themed website Scissortail Silk penned a sizzling post titled Christian Women and Christian Grey, directed at any godly woman planning to see 50 Shades. Thompson's advice: "Please, sweet friend. Don't. Just… don't."

You want to spice up your marriage? You want to save your relationship from being stagnant, or save the passion from slipping away in the day in and day out expectations of you and your husband? Don't ask Christian Grey for help. Don't watch Christian Grey do whatever he would like to Anastasia Steele and expect it to heal that deep hurt and need for intimacy in your own heart.

Only Jesus can do that. Only Jesus can speak to the places in our hearts that need to feel alive and loved again.

Thompson suggests spicing up your marriage by talking up your husband to your kids.

Wanna know what's really sexy? I'm going to begin to spice up my marriage by talking highly of my husband to my children and to others. I'm going to show him that I love him by respecting him as a man. And then? On top of all of that? I'm going to love him intimately. Yes. Intimately. Because sex was designed by God as a gift for me and my husband. It's not taboo. It's a gift that has been stolen, twisted, and turned into something that is the opposite of safe and beautiful. Which is exactly what this movie has done. It has taken the vulnerable and beautiful thing that is married sex and entertained the world with a man who uses sex to control, manipulate and introduce pain.

Thompson takes her mediation a step further by putting herself into the shoes of Christ, which is why there was only one set of footprints. She has spent a great deal of time, she explains, speculating privately about whether or not Christ Himself would have given us His opinion, His holiest of takes, on the movie:

I have thought a lot about whether or not Jesus would speak about this if He lived today. And I decided this. No. He probably wouldn't. He wouldn't waste one breath on seeing this particular movie.

Thompson is not the only writer to ask What Would Jesus Do [about a trilogy of erotic bestsellers based on Twilight fan fiction]? Writer Leilani Haywood, of Christian interest site CharismaNews, comes to a similar conclusion about Christ's interest level, but envisions a more low-key Jesus in a post titled "Why I'm Not Mad About the 'Fifty Shades of Grey' Movie." Not only would Jesus not have actively campaigned against the film—that butt-paddling and throat-choking wouldn't have fazed him. Jesus was used to depraved shit:

Jesus was born into a nation occupied by the Romans. He grew up in a devout Jewish household within the lineage of Abraham. While his family was devout, faithful and loyal to God, they were surrounded by an X-rated culture where homosexuality and orgies in bathhouses were common. Landscaping and architecture showcasing genitalia was also common, according to historians.

Sexual corruption penetrated the highest levels of the Jews with King Herod's illicit affair with a another man's wife. Yet in this X-rated empire, Jesus didn't preach one sermon to the Romans. He didn't launch a picket against the Roman bathhouses or preach against participating in orgies or practicing homosexuality.

X-rated Roman orgies! If he grew up around that, he's no prude. And let's not forget that Jesus' first miracle was keeping the party going at a wedding by creating extra wine.

So going to see 50 Shades of Grey might not have been Christ's first choice of how to pass an afternoon. But do we really believe that, after walking around all day ministering to strangers, Jesus would not have enjoyed sitting in a cushioned chair, in a darkened theater, and witnessing God's creations in stunning IMAX?

I spoke with a variety of contemporary Christian voices to get to the bottom of this theological quandary.

When asked whether Christ would buy a ticket, here's how Chris Heuretz, founding partner of Gravity—a "Center for Contemplative Activism"—and author of three books, answered:

My sense is that Christ never really sheltered himself nor distanced himself from folks who weren't moving towards interior wholeness and embodied reconciliation—regardless of whether or not they were viewed as "righteous" by the religious establishment. Simultaneously I don't ever see Christ condoning, or even accommodating for that matter, attitudes or behaviors that contributed to violence towards another human being.

But if Jesus says sex is good, but violence is bad, what about violent sex? Suddenly I get why the Pope gets to live in a house made of gold, because this is tough work. Heuretz clarified a little:

If Christ really made an option for non-violence, then it'd be difficult to assume he'd condone violent acts even towards oneself. However, the obvious exception to this is seen in his crucifixion, and in the voluntary suffering of Christ there is found redemptive meaning.

This makes sense—a man who preached non-violence might have a problem with watching another man whip his girlfriend, even if that man is ripped and bronzed like a Roman centurion. ( Unless the spanking is redemptive; could Christian Grey's sex dungeon be your Calvary?)

Jesuit priest and author James Martin points another reason why a cinematic depiction of rough S&M sex probably would not have been Christ's cup of tea or wine that he made himself: he was a victim of a great deal of violence in his lifetime:

First of all, I've not seen the movie or read the book. But, as I understand it, the plot centers on a relationship that includes some S&M. Jesus was certainly not anti-sex: after all, many of his disciples were married. On the other hand, Jesus himself was a victim of violence (including beatings and torture) and so he probably experienced enough violence in his own life that he wouldn't be so eager to see it onscreen."

Great point, Father—Jesus, almost certainly suffering from PTSD, would probably prefer alternate forms of kink, if he were alive and permitted to have sex by his parents (God) and interested in kinky sex at all. Watching someone get pinned down and slapped in the sack would bring with it a lot of baggage, and who needs that? Why not go see Paddington, instead?

But I think all of this theologizing is off-base. When I asked Pastor R. C. Sproul, Christian radio host and chairman of Ligonier Ministries, whether Jesus would attend the film, he replied only:

"Can't imagine why He would."

Any particular reason why he'd see something else instead?

"Not sure He'd be going to any movies. Sorry I'm not more help."

[Illustration by Jim Cooke]

To contact the author of this post, write to biddle@gawker.com

This afternoon, the Washington Free Beacon published EXCLUSIVE photos, obtained by Sen. Jim Inhofe (R-Okla.), that purportedly showed new Russian aggression in Ukraine and vindicated Inhofe's case for U.S. intervention. Apparently, neither Inhofe's staff nor the Beacon bothered with a Google reverse image search.

Coming from the Beacon, a conservative cool-kids' blog that tends to pass off as reporting the document dumps it's fed by friends on GOP congressmen's staffs, it was a typical Beltway "whoa if true" scoop:

It was immediately embraced as a BIG DEAL by the Beltway's most hawkish conservative publicists-cum-reporters:

And it certainly seemed big. The photographs, the Beacon said, "could help bolster the case on Capitol Hill for a new piece of legislation that would enable the United States to provide lethal military aid to the Ukrainians." That legislation, of course, is sponsored by Inhofe, whose staff provided the photos for publication:

The pictures were taken between Aug. 24 and Sept. 5 in the midst of a Russian-backed incursion into Eastern Ukraine. The fighting has only grown more bloody in the ensuing months, as hundreds more Russians enter the country, according to congressional sources briefed on the conflict.

Members of the Senate Armed Services Committee first viewed the graphic pictures in December. Sen. Jim Inhofe (R., Okla.) then obtained the photos and worked to independently verify and confirm the authenticity of the photos, before providing them exclusively to the Free Beacon.

It's not clear what Inhofe's independent verification process involved, but it didn't work. Several national security experts on Twitter immediately set about determining the provenance of the images and found that some of them were from as far back as 2008, and a few were traceable to the conflict in Georgia and Ossetia, rather than the current war in Ukraine.

For example, Inhofe and the Beacon reportedly used several images as evidence that "Russian troops can be seen entering Ukraine on T-72 tanks and Russian-made BMPs." Like this one:

But tweeter Graham Jenkins pointed out that the same image dated from at least 2012:

And Dan Trombly suggested a striking similarity between that tank column and this 2008 tank column in Ossetia:

A similar story surrounded this photo from Inhofe...

... Which actually appeared to have been taken in Russia in early August 2008 by the AP:

And tweeter Robert Belleme pointed out that one of the other "exclusive" images of Russian incursions into Ukraine...

... Actually turned out to be an AFP file photo of alleged Russian separatists in the Luhansk region of Ukraine from last October, a movement that was both previously known and monitored by NATO, according to this Business Insider post:

The skepticism among readers was palpable:

What a f'ing joke. WFB runs photos from Inhofe as proof Russia arming Ukraine. At least 1 from Russo-Georgian War: http://t.co/mOFetIOs7z

— Dan Trombly (@stcolumbia) February 12, 2015

.@stcolumbia Pretty sure Inhofe just opened up his Documents\My Photos\Russia\Atrocities folder and pulled pics at random

— Graham Jenkins (@GrahamWJenkins) February 12, 2015

And eventually, the Beacon was forced to append its story with a fascinating account of how the site—and one of the most powerful senators on the Hill—screwed up so royally:

UPDATE 3:11 P.M.: Following publication of this story, serious questions have been raised about the authenticity of some of the photographs provided by Sen. Jim Inhofe (R., Okla.). Several images of the Russian convoys appear to have been taken in 2008, during Russia's conflict with Georgia. Given the similarity's of these images to those provided by the senator's office, theWashington Free Beacon is investigating further and will update as necessary.

When asked about the discrepancies, Donelle Harder, Inhofe's communications director, said that the office is checking back with its sources.

"These were presented to the Armed Services Committee from a delegation from Ukraine in December," Harder said. "In December, we talked to them about publishing the photos and giving them the credit, and they were fine with that. We thoroughly checked our sources again prior to releasing the photos, and felt confident proceeding because the photos also match reporting. We are currently making calls to our sources."

None of this, of course, proves that Putin's army isn't committing grave violations in Ukraine and lying about it. A few photos may have been authentic, though that can't be verified yet. And even the discredited photos do show that Russia's military has regularly been aggressive and imperious in a variety of lands in its "near abroad."

But more than that, the images show how easily and routinely a credulous member of Congress and a well-funded PR machine posing as a news blog can be snowed by propagandists bearing "scoops."

Newspaper prints dubious photos of alleged Russian atrocities in #Ukraine provided by Sen. Inhofe: http://t.co/h2451KXTmR

— Dion Nissenbaum (@DionNissenbaum) February 12, 2015

Jim Inhofe spreads propaganda and people just roll with it. This is an amazing correction. http://t.co/vm8jO46BCY pic.twitter.com/wEc6h6wc24

— Tony (@TonyinOKC) February 12, 2015

Ah, diligence! Fact-checking! YOLO! http://t.co/3CCzJqYrum pic.twitter.com/kj0n8aUJJW

— Dave (@empiricalerror) February 12, 2015

[Photo credit: AP Images]

Much of the eastern U.S. is about to plunge into the coldest wave of Arctic air we've seen this winter, and for many, it could feature more sustained cold temperatures than we saw during the Great Polar Vortex Panic of 2014. If that isn't bad enough, the east could see a couple of disruptive winter storms next week.

I've seen some meteorologists bicker on Twitter over whether or not the upcoming blast of cold is the result of the polar vortex or just a regular ol' hellish cold snap. Before we get into the details of the impending frozen doom, we should take a look at what happened last year in order provide perspective for this weekend's weather.

What Is the Polar Vortex?

The polar vortex is a persistent upper-level circulation (essentially a low pressure system) that typically circles the Arctic like a belt. The polar vortex acts like a moat that keeps bitterly cold air locked into place in the far northern latitudes where it belongs. Every once and a while, the polar vortex circulation will become unstable, growing wavy with ridges and troughs, or even breaking apart into standalone (or "cut-off") upper-level lows. When one of these troughs or lows dips down over the lower latitudes, it can bring with it very cold air from the Arctic, producing some of the ugliest cold snaps winter can throw at us.

The polar vortex is nothing new; it was discovered (and named) back in the 1800s, long before CNN and ominous transition graphics were a twinkle in Ted Turner's eye. Its scary-sounding name and the existence of social media created a perfect storm of legitimate science becoming hype. The media overused the term so badly last year that meteorologists and weather geeks have to be careful using it today so people don't tune them out or start ruthlessly mocking them.

The Great Polar Vortex Panic of 2014

Last year, a piece of the polar vortex broke away and swung down over the upper Midwest and Great Lakes, allowing record-breaking levels of cold air to pour into the central and eastern United States from Canada. The resulting spell of cold weather produced low temperatures far below zero—up to -20°F in many spots in the upper Midwest—before the bitter chill moved east towards the Ohio Valley and Northeast.

January 7, 2014 was by far the worst day of the outbreak, with low temperatures the following night dipping into the single digits as far south as Georgia and Alabama. Atlanta's low temperature on the morning of January 8 was just 6°F. Even down in typically-muggy Mobile, Alabama, the low dropped to 14°F.

Here are some more lows we saw that morning:

Boston: 9°F
Washington D.C.: 6°F
Greensboro, N.C.: 5°F
New York City: 4°F
Philadelphia: 4°F
Syracuse, N.Y.: 0°F
Buffalo, N.Y.: -5°F
Pittsburgh, PA: -9°F
Cleveland, OH: -11°F

Outside of the upper Midwest, the incredibly cold air was a two-day shot before it rotated out and more mild air returned. The situation is different this year, but it will result in a much more sustained blast of cold air than we saw last year.

This Weekend's Cold Snap

An upper-level low will cycle down from the northern latitudes and swing across the Great Lakes and Northeast this weekend, bringing with it some very low temperatures. The most common description I've seen from meteorologists is that this is a "lobe" of the polar vortex dipping down into southern Canada and the northern United States.

Here's a look at the height of the 500 millibar level of the atmosphere across the Northern Hemisphere, shown in decameters. Lower heights roughly correspond to lower pressure; much as 1013.25 millibars is standard pressure at sea level, 540 decameters (5400 meters, or 17,716 feet) is the standard height for the 500 millibar level. North America is towards the bottom-center of the map, Europe and Africa are on the right, and Asia is at the top of the map.

I've drawn a rough outline of the polar vortex and its belt of influence, such as it exists, showing trough/lobe/tentacle does have at least a little to do with the feature.

How cold will it get? Cold. Here are the forecast highs/lows from the National Weather Service as of Thursday afternoon.

The cold air won't be quite as pervasive in the southern United States as it was last year, but the temperatures are definitely colder this time around in the Northeast than they were last year. Across places that see the worst temperatures this time around, the cold air will stick around much longer: look at the brutal temperatures forecast for Cleveland, where the highs/lows were 4/-11 (Jan. 7) and 21/5 (Jan. 8) during last year's polarvortexmageddon.

Remember that these are just air temperatures—wind chill values will be much, much lower. Wind chills of -30°F or colder are possible in the coldest spots, which would allow frostbite to develop in just a few minutes on any exposed skin.

Next Week's Cold Snap

After a small rebound on Tuesday, temperatures will bottom out once again as another upper-level trough digs down into the United States. This system will bring cold weather farther south than the one on Sunday, but it won't last more than two days. Again, we could see temperatures dip into the single digits or below zero on Tuesday/Wednesday night in the central U.S., and Wednesday/Thursday night in the Northeast. Wednesday morning lows could drop into the single digits as far south as Arkansas, Mississippi, and Alabama.

Snowstorms

There will be a few chances for heavy snow over the next week. The first opportunity for heavy snow will occur with a major storm system developing during the height of the cold snap on Sunday, where else?, in New England.

Sunday

The models are showing a very strong nor'easter developing off the southeastern coast of New England, which would place the heaviest snow (and potential blizzard conditions) in hard-hit cities like Boston, Manchester, Portsmouth, Portland, and Bangor. Pretty much everyone who doesn't need snow will see snow this weekend. Snowfall totals will likely exceed one foot in coastal areas that see the heaviest snow bands—Boston could see up to a foot (or even more) from the storm.

Update 4:44 PM: Shortly before the publication of this post, NWS Boston issued a blizzard watch for coastal Massachusetts, including Boston. 8 to 14 inches of snow are possible from the storm along with a period of blizzard conditions on Saturday evening through Sunday evening. The watch extends from Plymouth, Massachusetts, all the way north through Maine to the Canadian border. Other cities included in the watch are Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and Portland, Augusta, and Bangor in Maine.

Here's the watch for New Hampshire and southern Maine, including the potential for 12 to 16 inches of snow. The blizzard watch for the area around Bangor also advises of the potential for 12 to 16 inches of snow.

In addition to our Americentric weather forecasts, if you live or know someone who lives in the Canadian Maritimes, this could be a devastating storm for parts of New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Prince Edward Island. Sustained blizzard conditions with snowfall accumulations of one to two feet will make travel impossible and lead to widespread power outages, especially in rural areas. Intense waves and coastal flooding are also likely on south/southeast-facing shores.

Tuesday/Wednesday

We're going to see a more classic and traditional nor'easter situation develop on Tuesday and Wednesday. The models currently show an area of low pressure developing near the Gulf Coast on Monday night and Tuesday, racing northeast into the cold air, which could produce a very dicey situation from Arkansas through the Tennessee Valley and up through the Mid-Atlantic and into New England. This morning's run of the GFS shows heavy snow falling across areas that don't often see heavy snow and ice, such as Mississippi and Alabama.

The storm will rapidly strengthen as it races towards New England, bringing along with it the potential for blizzard conditions if strong enough winds accompany the heavy snow. Blizzard conditions occur when winds of 35+ MPH create blowing snow that reduces visibility to one-quarter of a mile or lower for three or more consecutive hours. In other words, a blizzard is a sustained whiteout.

Given the delicate tango of warm and cold air through the atmosphere, it's going to be a few days before we know exactly who will see snow, ice, and rain from this system, but if you live in the southeast (and especially along the I-95 corridor), you need to watch this system like a hawk and prepare to alter or cancel plans towards the middle of next week.

That's the whole story of this winter—just when you think it can't get any worse, it does. It's Murphy's Meteorology. The scary thing is that this winter hasn't even been all that bad.

There are 36 days until spring.

[Images: all model images via the excellent Tropical Tidbits, 2014 polar vortex map via the WPC, high/low temp chart by the author using NWS forecasts]

You can follow the author on Twitter or send him an email.

Sometimes, athletes have to take photos in their uniforms for promotional reasons, but because they're not actually playing anything they just wear normal underwear and then walk into a room and stand in front of a camera and go about their days. Sometimes, because of this, you can see their dicks.

Above you see the crotch of Maryland Terrapins basketball player Dez Wells, who is second in the team in scoring and rebounds, taken from a poster promoting Maryland's upcoming game against Wisconsin. You also see what appears to be the head of his dick.

The Gawker staff is fiercely divided on whether or not this is, indeed, Wells' dick. Though the outline does appear very dick-like, it also aligns with a noticeable horizontal crease in his shorts.

So: dick, or not? The full image is below:

[image via University of Maryland]

Defamer Diplo Is a Dick | TKTK Mic Fires Jared Keller for Plagiarism | Newsfeed Montana Man Sentenced to 70 Years for Killing German Exchange Studenthttp://gawker.com/how-to-read-ga...

Just when you think you've heard 'em all, two more women with horrifyingly detailed stories about how Bill Cosby offered them career advice and followed up by drugging and raping them.

The two former models, Linda Brown and Lise-Lotte Lublin, join dozens of women who have accused the disgraced comedian of luring them to hotel rooms before drugging and sexually assaulting them.

Cosby has a "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personality," Brown said at a press conference Thursday brokered by Gloria Allred. She says Cosby took her out for dinner, gave her a drugged soda, and raped her after she passed out in 1969.

The second accuser, Lublin, says she met Cosby in 1989 through her modeling agency and eventually ended up at his hotel room in Las Vegas, where he asked her to perform a monologue, then offered her two drinks.

Within minutes I became dizzy and disoriented. He sat on the armrest of the couch and called me over to have a seat. I walked over to the end of the table and began to sit down. I asked myself, "What does this have to do with acting?" Then I sat on the end table with my back to his groin and he slid forward so that his legs were on each side of my arms. I felt uncomfortable and I thought to myself, "Should I leave my arms to my side or should I lift them up and put them on top of his thighs." As I sat with my thoughts, he began to stroke my hair back from my forehead in a petting motion. he was talking but I don't recall what he was saying. This was the last moment of consciousness I remembered until I had flashes of unfamiliar areas of the hotel in the suite.

My next memory was waking up at home. And for me, it felt like several days had passed by. I did not remember driving myself home, yet my car was in the driveway and I was safe at home. I spoke to my mother about the situation and we believed I must have had some reaction to the alcohol.

According to USA Today, Allred boasted she has "many women" waiting to come forward against Cosby.

"Mr. Cosby thinks that this will soon be over and that no more women will come forward," Allred said. "He is very wrong."

[image via AP]

Joe Biden goes crazy for a swing state. Always has, always will.

[image via AP, h/t NYDN]

Emile Hirsch—who is facing real jail time after allegedly putting a female film executive in a headlock at a party last month—just checked himself into rehab, TMZ reports.

According to reports, Hirsch was questioned by police last month after allegedly attacking Paramount exec Dani Bernfeld at a Sundance Film Festival party in Park City, Utah.

According to TMZ, police say "Hirsch appeared intoxicated and asked [movie exec Daniele Bernfeld] why she looked 'so tough' and said she was a 'rich kid' who should not be at Sundance."

Bernfeld told police ... she moved away from Hirsch to go sit with a friend at a table — and moments later, Hirsch came up from behind her and "put her in a chokehold."

Then, Bernfeld claims Hirsch "pulled her across the table and onto the floor" and landed on top of her.

While on top, he allegedly wrapped his hands around her neck and began to choke her. She said she felt as though "the front and back of her throat were touching and she remembers things going dark."

Bernfeld says 2 bystanders eventually pulled Hirsch off of her.

On Thursday—the same day Hirsch was charged with felony assault—his spokesperson announced he'd checked into rehab for alcohol addiction.

"The facts that I can relay are that he consumed an enormous amount of alcohol on the evening in question and he has no memory of what happened," he tells TMZ.

[image via AP]

Veteran New York Times columnist, reporter, and author David Carr died in the paper's newsroom Thursday night. He was 58.

He was pronounced dead at Mt. Sinai-Roosevelt hospital on Thursday night. He leaves behind a wife and three daughters.

Carr's death was first reported by Times employees on Twitter, who were informed he had passed before the news was made public. Times executive editor Dean Baquet sent out the following email to Times employees:

Carr was a celebrated writer and commentator who covered media and business for the Times for more than 10 years. He also wrote for the Atlantic, New York Magazine and inside.com; before moving to New York City, he edited the Washington City Paper, and before that, the Twin Cities Reader—where he got his first big break, which you can read here.

But throughout Carr's 25-year career as a journalist, he also wrote extensively about his personal life, detailing his recovery from cocaine addiction in a 2008 memoir, The Night of the Gun.

The outpouring of grief in media (and other) circles on Twitter is the best testament to the esteem with which Carr was held by journalists and editors—not just for his writing and reporting, but for his hiring and mentorship, and for his well-known skill as a conversationalist and party guest.

Here's Carr in my backyard doing what he loved most: smoking, drinking coffee, and working on his column. pic.twitter.com/nkz9NGVBXT

— Nick Bilton (@nickbilton) February 13, 2015

Just beyond devastated at the passing of @carr2n. Admired him as much as any single person in media. Fearless, curious, humane, wise, kind.

— Christopher Hayes (@chrislhayes) February 13, 2015

Tonight I will play for David Carr. Some of the most exciting/inspiring talks & dinners I have ever had were with him. I am heartbroken.

— Carrie Brownstein (@Carrie_Rachel) February 13, 2015

A light went out.

— Nick Denton (@nicknotned) February 13, 2015

Years ago David Carr interviewed a bunch of us for a story on EW. At the end, he said, "Some of you are smart. Some aren't," smiled, & left.

— Mark Harris (@MarkHarrisNYC) February 13, 2015

Just a few hours before his death, Carr moderated a panel interview with Edward Snowden, Glenn Greenwald, and Citzenfour director Laura Poitras, which was broadcast on livestream.

[image via Getty]

Inspired by Iggy Azalea's Twitter-led Papa John's screed, we asked you to share your own tales of celebrity terror. SO many of you had so much to say. We heard tales of stars long forgotten; of Rihanna ordering (and sending back) buttered noodles; of Harrison Ford flipping the bird. These are Gawker readers' best stories of their worst celebrity encounters. (Be sure to check the original post for the full treasure trove.)http://defamer.gawker.com/whats-your-wor...

The A-Listers

Rihanna

A few years back I worked as a cook in a hotel with an attached 'upscale' pub. It was a popular spot for celebs to stay because of its proximity to both an indoor hockey arena (which could be repurposed for concerts/large stand up shows a large local landmark that was often used for outdoor concerts.

Rihanna was doing a tour with Akon at the time. and She chose to stay at our hotel instead of the one Akon was staying at. Rumor has it the reason was because she wanted to be the most important person at the hotel.

A slow night close to closing time she comes down to the pub for a meal. Her and two of her friends(?) take up a booth and have the surrounding area blocked off so no one could bother them while they ate... in the empty restaurant. Her body guard sits at the bar.

Her first order comes in. Calamari. Pretty straight forward. We had pretty good calamari. I make up the plate, add the regular garnishes. A swoosh of sweet chili mayo here, a few micro greens there. Nothing too overpowering. Just the calamari resting on a small handful of greens, two sauces and that is it. Not even a minute after it leaves the kitchen it gets sent back saying that they wanted just calamari. None of the other stuff. I fry another portion and send it out. No complaints afterwards.

Next they order mains. The two with her ordered stuff from the menu but Rihanna wanted something custom. Usually we don't do special orders but because her order was super easy I was okay with it. She wanted noodles with parmesan cheese and garlic. I put all 3 plates together and send them out. For Rihanna I made capellini (angel hair pasta) with garlic and parm. Salt and pepper were the only other things I added. Almost instantly her pasta comes back... "it's not good enough." Was the only criticism and I was asked to make it again. I make almost the exact same thing, taste for quality and send it out again. It comes back just as fast. Same problem. I'm kinda confused. I don't know how I could possibly make those three ingredients taste any different. Risking having to make the same meal for the 4th time I send out a new plate the exact same way. "About time they got it right" she told the server. That same server told me she had never wanted to strangle someone so much in her life. I guess she was equally hard on her.

I finish my shift, shut the kitchen down, change into my street clothes and sit at the bar. The 3 of them and the bodyguard are still there. I got to watch her treat her server like she was a child for another 20 minutes before they left and went to their room.

— BurnerAccountMagic

Harrison Ford

Harrison Ford gave me the finger the instant I recognized him driving the sports car next me at a traffic light in Reading, PA in the mid-90's

— waltersleestak

Kevin Spacey

File under: Weirdo/Freak/Sad

I was at Burke Williams Day Spa in Santa Monica in the late '90s. I'd gone a bit early, so I could relax in the sauna before my massage appointment. I got my locker key, undressed, showered, and entered the sauna, which was empty. It's not a huge sauna: basically a long bench on one side and then a smaller bench perpendicular to that, forming an L-shape. A few minutes later the door opened and a guy came in, wearing a hand towel draped over his head. He sat down on the smaller bench and I immediately saw it was Kevin Spacey.

I was a fan of his, and hadn't heard anything about his sexual proclivities at the time. I thought it was kind of cool that he was there the same time that I was (such an LA/NY thing - "oh look, Geena Davis is buying sunscreen at my Rite-Aid?!"), but I wasn't going to intrude on his personal space by saying anything to him. Would that he'd felt the same obligation.

After a few minutes, he starts rubbing his crotch through his towel. He wasn't blatant about it, but it was easy to tell what he was doing. After he got his pup tent up, he started stretching his legs. This meant he "accidentally" rubbed against my legs a couple of times, then apologized. I waved it off the first time, then grimace-smiled the next time as I'd pretty much had enough. The third and final time he decided to brush his leg against mine and then just leave it there. I looked over at him. He had his eyes closed but was rubbing his crotch again. I got up and left at that point.

I really wanted to lean over and tell him I thought it was pretty stupid for an Oscar-winning actor to hang out in the sauna at a legit health spa and assume a wet hand towel draped over his head would give him the anonymity to make unwanted sexual advances. Get it together, Spacey.

— Defender90CA

Martha Stewart

This story isn't mine, but too good to pass up: it's that of my now-ex-partner, who is a flight attendant. It takes place in maybe 1994, when a certain celebrity wasn't quite so famous....

My partner was working first class, and had yet to reach the stage where he was tired of dealing with passengers and their issues. At one point a woman boarded wearing a full length fur coat. Attempting to be helpful, he offers to hang the coat up in the little closet up front. She refuses, clearly annoyed at the suggestion, insisting on placing it on the seat next to her. My partner explains that it will be a full flight, and the seat likely will be full, and she'd be better off hanging it up. She glares at him and refuses again.

Soon after, the passenger next to the woman arrives, forcing her to move the fur coat. Again my partner offers to hang it up. The woman, now *very* annoyed, says that's not acceptable. He points out that the only other option for her is if she keeps it on her lap for the flight. Also not acceptable to her. He tells her he has a few things to do, but he'll be right back if she has any other ideas. My partner starts to walk away, when the fur coat lands around his head and shoulders. Surprised, the turns to the woman who yells at him "Just do something with the goddamn coat!".

This was a very bad move on her part.

My partner, coat in hand, went over to the intercom even though the flight attendants in coach saw had happened, and asked them if they had "Any goddamn room in the goddamn back for a goddamned coat." They took to the intercom to tell him — and everyone else on the plane — that sorry, they had "no goddamned room for a goddamned coat in the back." And so they went back and forth this way for several minutes, trying to figure out what to do with the "goddamned coat" until finally my partner just hung it up in the first class coat closet while the woman did her best to ignore everything and everyone. She barely acknowledged his existence for the remainder of the flight. I do believe that he handed her the coat ever so gracefully and with a smile after they landed.

The best part? My partner had no idea who the woman was, but the other flight attendants did. Which meant the moment my partner got home, he asked me "Who the hell is Martha Stewart?" When I found out why, I couldn't stop laughing for a long, long time.

— SouthpawCam

Kidz Korner

Donald Trump

Donald Trump once personally threw me out of a casino. He saw me sitting on a low wall outside the buffet, and he angrily gestured toward me to one of the goons walking through the casino with him. The goon came over and told me I'd have to leave.

I was 7.

— Clare

Catherine Zeta Jones

I was eight and naive enough to think that acting in movies was a merit-based career path, accompanying my show-biz parent to a cast and crew screening of "The Mask of Zorro."

Being young and precocious I interrupted Catherine Zeta Jones at the after party and told her "I want to be an actress!" She turned to me, looked me up and down, and said "You're pretty enough, I suppose," then went back to her conversation.

In retrospect, being considered "pretty enough" by one of the world's great beauties is a compliment, but at the time, I was a child, and it was completely demoralizing. Hard work and talent aren't the means to a successful life? What does "pretty enough" mean anyway? In many ways, I think of that moment as the turning point when I went from feeling at ease in the world to constantly thinking about how everyone was judging me on my appearance.

— tinseltowned

John Mayer

John Mayer, his four tour. I was young (13, maybe?) Stuck around after the concert to meet him. He went down the line and hugged all these pretty girls around my age then came to me, gave me a look of disgust, shook his head no and moved on. I was devastated. Don't worry guys, I turned out pretty good looking.

— TwoPermitsDoNotEqualALicense

Quvenzhané Wallis

I wouldn't call this the 'worst', but I was walking near the Time Warner Center last summer when I saw a large group of big guys, mixed with random people walking as a group, seemingly surrounding someone that was walking with them. When I managed to take a peek, I noticed it was that Annie girl, Quvenzhané Wallis. She had about 20-25 people 'protecting her'. I kept staring, out of sheer stupidity, when we managed to make eye contact. What followed was the the stankest glare, from the top of my head to the tip of my shoes, and an eyeroll. I am so beneath her.

— Chewwy

The Freaks Come Out at Night

Chris Noth

A female friend of mine was doing background work on Law and Order. On the lunch break, Chris Noth pulled her aside and asked if she would help him run lines...in his trailer. She said no. He persisted, she kept saying no and he finally let it go. A couple hours later, she's walking to set to play one of the police officers at the crime scene. Mr. Noth sees her, pulls the director aside, and a few minutes later my friend is asked to leave the set, as "Mr. Noth is uncomfortable playing the scene with a female cop."

But my personal story is when he saw a show I was working on and invited the whole cast to have drinks at his bar. Very exciting, since he's a big TV star and we're a bunch of starving 20-30yr old actors. He proceeded to sit at the head of the table and talk about himself the whole night, hit on all the girls, and then left the cast with the bill. His included.

— dundyn

Pete Wentz

Pete Wentz dated a couple friends of mine, girls he grew up with in the suburbs of Chicago, around about the time when Fallout Boy's first album came out. The deal was that he got to fuck each of them whenever he wanted and bring them on tour with Fallout Boy one at a time and they were falling all over themselves to be the one he wanted in the moment, while still trying to remain friends. It was awkward all around because one of them would show up with a new pair of expensive shoes he'd bought for her, and the other one would grit her teeth and smile because all she'd gotten was a quick fuck in the ass and then been asked to spend the night curled around his drum set on the tour bus in the driveway while he filled his parents' hot tub with local high school girls. (I heard he had a favorite thing to do with his bros and bandmates where they'd invite all of these young girls over and pour beers onto their heads and say things like "You fucking love it!", and my two desperate concubine friends would laugh and laugh at how hard these younger girls were trying to hang out with Pete Wentz, Rock God.) It went back and forth like that for a while before I realized that all these people were such fucking assholes, I couldn't even look at any of them anymore. I was only actually around him once, when I went over to my friend's apartment to pick up some movies I'd loaned her. She asked me to come up and chat with her for a minute and I swear I was there for a good 10 minutes on her couch with her before I realized that Pete Wentz, Shadow Douche, was reclined in a chair back in a corner, hat pulled over his face, playing with his Sidekick, rolling his stupid lip piercing around with his tongue. He hadn't said hello or acknowledged that another person had come in the room, so naturally I jumped a fucking mile when he muttered something out loud to his phone. "Uh, hi," I said, and he nodded at me without looking at me, and I got out of there so goddamn fast, because I knew my friend was just doing her best nonchalant LOOK AT WHO'S IN MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW. HE'S TOTALLY MY BOYFRIEND.

Anyway. A couple years later I was sitting in the back of a bar in Chicago where a couple of (stable, adult) friends had brought me for a low-key birthday drink when some kind of secret door opened in the wall and a bunch of men in black t-shirts pushed through. Pete fucking Wentz walked in, dragging this really shiny, coked-out version of Ashley Simpson behind him, and behind her trailed both of Pete's cast-off fuck puppets, the two of them just kind of smiling dumbly and staring all bleary-eyed, like trained monkeys who were just happy that they still got a food pellet at the end of the day. Ashley Simpson stepped on my foot on her way past, and then their security asked us to "clear the area" so these four high-priority human beings could have some privacy. Happy Birthday! Love, Pete.

— CeeCee

Davy Jones

Davy Jones grabbed my wife's ass while getting a photo at a charity event we were attending in Santa Monica.

— VertigoneII

The Demons of Hollywood

Orlando Bloom

Orlando Bloom came into the menswear store in NYC where I worked. He parked his motorcycle in the middle of the sidewalk directly outside the store. He was wearing baggy crotch sweatpants. When came in he yelled from the front of the store to where I was standing in the back, "Yo, IS MY BRO BACK THERE??" (We also did men's grooming in the back.) I shrugged and said I had no idea who his bro was. Anyway, he walked around with the menswear manager for a few hours picking out clothes shirtless and generally being a fucking asshole. When it came time to pay, he asked if he was going to get the "I'm wearing your shirt discount." He has a net worth of 35 million dollars. He's a fucking dick.

— DWBB

Dax Shepherd and Kristen Bell

In 2008 my friend and I got out of class in lower Manhattan and wanted to smoke a joint. We walked over to the Brooklyn Bridge Skateboard which was fairly empty at the time because high school was still in session for the day. My friend and I sat up against the wall while he rolled a joint and we noticed there was just 1 dude skating: Dax Shepard. He's got some skills. He was there with a girl who also posted up against the same wall we were but about 20 ft away. After we finished rolling our joint we realized that our lighter was empty. The girl posted up against the wall had pulled out a glass bowl and started packing it. My friend and I figured we could use her lighter for a sec so we waited until her and Dax were done killing the bowl. I made my friend walk up to her to politely ask to use her lighter. She said 'NO' and reamed us out for not having our own lighter. It was Kristen Bell.

— Robert Daniels

Rita Wilson

In the early aughts, I was a supervisor at the FAO Schwarz in Boston while I was in college. One day, Rita Wilson walked in and bought a whole bunch of Brio stuff. Brio was a European, wooden train/ train track manufacturer, sort of a predecessor to the Thomas the Tank Engine stuff. In fact, they were compatible. Anyway, there were a bazillion different accessories, and in many cases we only had one of each item. The next day, she comes in to return a few of them, except she doesn't have a receipt, peeled off the stickers with the SKU, couldn't remember how much she paid for one item that was the last of its kind, which I found out because as a supervisor, I had to deal with it. And boy, was she a bitch.

She kept insisting that she was in a hurry, and when I told her it would be far easier with a receipt (because I couldn't find the SKU for that one pesky item and had to look it up in a database and I wasn't quick enough for her) and was she sure she didn't have it, she whips out her wallet, grabs a bunch of receipts and starts reciting "Saks, Diesel, Cynthia Rowley..." and a bunch of other high end stores nearby. She ends with giving me this impertinent, bitchy, exasperated look, as if the situation were my doing, and never have I ever wanted to tell anybody how much I hate Forest Gump as I did at that moment. I made up a price and did the return and sent her on her way. She was seriously one of the rudest people I have ever met.

— MTA

Life's Little Indignities

Jay Z

I watched a very young, New Yorker get a touch of stage fright and have to be scrambled into a restroom so he could yak at one of his first West Coast performances at the Hollywood Palladium before about 4000 people. Who knew that guy would one day marry Beyoncé.

— CurtSchillingsCreditors

Josh Brolin

I had a short, tense telephone conversation one time with Josh Brolin, though it was completely the fault of the company I was working for at the time.

The company I worked for had a list of famous people who had done business with it over the years. Josh Brolin was one of those famous people, and was listed as an actor. No problem there. The problem is someone decided to list him as the son of James Brolin (still okay so far) and Barbara Streisand (whoops!).

After being informed by Mr. Brolin that 1) Barbara Streisand was was not his mother and that 2) his mother had died tragically, I apologized as much as I could, put the phone down, walked over to our web team and had them make a quick update.

— Captain Pedantic, AWAY!

Judy Collins and Shirley MacLaine

Judy Collins came into my restaurant every Monday night with a gaggle of her friends who made the entire waitstaff utterly fucking miserable week after week. They made us cut dessert into four sections. Ms. Collins was obsessed with people recognizing her even no one ever did. They insisted on sitting in the upstairs section because of this, forcing one of us to run up and down the stairs nine billion times for our paltry 15%. One of her friends referred to my engagement ring as a "starter ring".

My favorite celeb who also happened to be a total pain in the ass was Shirley MacLaine. I brought her a cappuccino (she was on the balcony of her room relaxing but there were no bussers available to do room service ), and she asked me if we had Sugar in the Raw. I said "no, I'm so sorry" and she was like "WHAT THE HELL GOOD ARE YOU THEN" in a way that totally made me laugh and then she gave me ten bucks as a tip and was like "you're a doll, ignore me". She was super sassy and I loved her despite the fact that she bordered on rude.

— crucifictorious916

Barbara Hershey

I've had many celebrity encounters, but most were perfectly fine, or boring. The oddest was standing in line behind Barbara Hershey while she bought an enema kit at a drugstore in Beverly Hills.

— secretagentman

The Ones With Members of the Cast of Friends

Chandler

I was working as an intern with NBC during one fall press tour, Matthew Perry was there for Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. He demanded sugar free red bull, and for whatever reason we didn't have it. He threw a huge tantrum, refused to participate. He was unbearable, I couldn't believe it. He did the bare minimum that he was contractually obligated to do then asked for a car to come pick him up. His NBC publicist, i won't name her here, scrambled and managed to quickly get three cars there ready for him. He came walking out and got into his own car that he arranged without telling us, leaving her practically in tears holding the keys to three cars. Chandler is an asshole.

Good story to balance it out. Working the red carpet of the emmys down at USC's Shrine Charlie and Martin sheen were stuck in jammed traffic several blocks away. I had to go pick them up in a golf cart and bring them back so they didn't miss Conan's opening, he was hosting that year. They were kind and hilarious.

— mattinacann

Ross

I was walking down a residential street on Chicago's north side in the early spring of 2001, and an older lady was desperately trying to run up behind us in spiked heels while clutching a fur coat to her chest. She kept yelling "DAVID!" while waving her clutch purse in the air.

Neither of my friends, nor I, are named David, so we didn't know who she was yelling at until we spotted a shabbily-dressed guy loping schlubbishly far up ahead of us. We figured he must be 'David,' but he seemed completely unaware of what was happening. Being good Samaritans, and having just finished a rehearsal for a comedy show, we all three at the same time yelled, "DAVID!" in the most obnoxiously loud voices possible.

Up ahead, David Schwimmer spun around with a look on his face that screamed two things: he desperately needed a pitcher of black coffee and to kick each of our asses.

We innocently pointing to the older lady who was just catching up with us, whereupon he craned his neck and relaxed his rage-veins. She thanked us as she scampered past.

After a pause, my one friend said, "So that was David Schwimmer."

"Yes, yes it was," I answered.

After another pause, my other friend gravely whispered, "We could have taken him."

— No Oddjob

Phoebe (and Julia Louis-Dreyfus)

In the summer of 1999, I was working at a small indie movie theater that was just behind the technology curve. We still accepted personal checks and cash but didn't have a credit card machine. However, we at least recognized that we were too indie for our own good, and there was an ATM 20 feet away from the ticket window. One weekday matinee, I was the only person selling tickets and Lisa Kudrow was in my (very short) line. She tried to pay by credit card and I politely apologized for the inconvenience and informed her that we didn't accept credit cards, but that there was an ATM just steps away. She got incredibly huffy and actually used the line, "don't you know who I am?!" Given that it was peak Friends popularity, I certainly did, and I took a vicious delight in replying "Yes, I do Ms. Kudrow. However, I still don't have a credit card machine so I can't accept your credit card as payment here."

Also at that same movie theater, Julia Louis Dreyfus complained repeatedly about the price of water bottles and concessions. She's an actual billionaire, complaining to a teenager earning minimum wage. The mind boggles.

That theater absolutely ruined any incipient celebrity worship I might have had. People whose talent I respected all turned out to be assholes while Adam Sandler - Adam Sandler!!! - was the nicest gem of a person. There was a little girl tantruming because we didn't sell cheese popcorn and he got down on the floor, played with her, made her laugh, charmed her overwhelmed grandmother and diffused the whole situation.

— DreamingInGreen

The Best Story

Mandy Moore, by far. I used to live in the West Village in '08. One afternoon I went to the local Rite Aid during rush hour and I remember I had a bunch of stuff I picked up in my arms. As I grabbed a large 20 pack of batteries in some middle section, I turned around to head toward the register, and some woman walks–plows right into me. All of my stuff goes yard sale across the floor, and I give a quick embarrassed "sorry, are you ok?" as I immediately react to kneel down to grab everything–even if the it wasn't entirely my fault. As I'm on my knees fumbling between toilet paper and batteries, this woman is simply standing there where she stood, not helping, a bit awkward. I look up at her and sure enough, it's Mandy Moore. And oh my hell, is she giving me the death look, and definitely not the same look she was giving in A Walk to Remember. She just remained there, disgusted at me, watching me pick it all up, making me feel like a low piece of shit. She walks eventually walks off and I'm now in a long line at the register that of course has like 5 registers with 1 person working them–sorta taking it all in, slightly reeling about that bitch. That's when I start to hear someone behind me huffing and puffing in the back of the line. Sure enough, it's the Moore bitch. She was obviously in a frantic rush to be somewhere, somewhere not domestic like a rite aid where all the plebes exist. She does this the whole time till I check out, and as I leave I look back at her with a "cya later cunt" smirk on my face. Made me get a little dignity back getting out of there before she did.

Heading home, I lived across the street above the Cowgirl restaurant, and next to it was this really good smoothie place at the time called Elixir or something. It was empty, and I'm all needin'-a-smoothie-stat to calm my temper down from that bitch's humiliation attempt. As I order, the door chimes set off as it flies open. It's. The. MotherFuckin. Bitch. Huffing and puffing through her nostrils, literally puffing down the back of my neck. I turn back around to the smoothie dispatch, and gave my best, idiot midwestern "whatcha got on the menu today" questionnaire. I was asking the dumbest questions about their offerings, while thinking out loud my thought process as to which would be the best to my liking. The perfect stall tactic. She was absolutely furious, trying to argue with me to move aside. I just ignored her and didn't acknowledged she existed–just like what she'd done to me. She's was so inflated I don't even think she even recognized me from 10 min ago in the Rite Aid. Mandy kept trying to speak up to the register trying to get them to take her order over mine, but I just raised my voice louder when she did. Made her sit through a couple minutes listening to my conversation with myself. Best part was, the employees wouldn't even acknowledge her. I was the local there, they know me, it was my turf. God it it felt good.

Finally got my blueberry banana with granola, didn't even look at her when I walked out, and went upstairs to my apt. I've experienced and seen some crazy shit during my time on Hudson St., but that was one of the most bizarre things to happen in literally 20 minutes.

Mandy if this thread ever comes up in an internet search you do on yourself, let me leave you with this: Your self-absorbed celebrity-pass bullshit doesn't work, you're not even a has been, just a has once. You're just a basic bitch, and I'm the local.

— Unionandbond

Update: The celebrity story purportedly about Michael Jordan has been excised from this collection after it was brought to our attention that the story is likely an urban legend.*

[Art by Tara Jacoby]

There are hundreds and hundreds of people out there who believe that, secretly, they were David Carr's favorite. And maybe we all were. He had the rare emotional capacity to make each of us his favorite, one by one by one.

The first time I met David Carr, maybe seven years ago, I mistook him for a crazy person. (He actually was a crazy person, in the warmest possible sense of the word.) He was a big guy, and he walked with a hunched-over shuffle, and when I spied his indistinct shape walking towards me from a couple of blocks away I assumed he was a homeless man in a trenchcoat, struggling for each step. The fact that he was a feared and respected media figure at a fancy newspaper always seemed like a wonderful cosmic prank against the existence of stereotypes. Within five minutes of meeting, he was telling the sort of personal stories that most people reserve for their very, very closest friends. Before you knew it, you were telling the same kind of stories. And then you were friends for life. There is a great story in his book about a surprise birthday party for him where everyone wore t-shirts saying "I Am A Close Personal Friend of David Carr," and I have no doubt that everyone believed it, because it was true. If you were friends with him then so was your family and so were your friends and so were their friends. His team grew exponentially. He had a quality that is often attributed to Bill Clinton, that of being able to make you feel like you were the only person in the room when he turned his attention on you. But while Bill Clinton might deploy that quality with insincere motives, David Carr did not. His sincerity was spooky.

If you went out to dinner, he would order a feast. If you ordered one entree, he would order two entrees, and eight appetizers, too many to even fit on the table. He would keep pushing the plates towards you, "Try this, try this. You don't eat pork? That's mine then." Once, when he let me pick the restaurant, I took him to Vegetarian Paradise on West 4th St., with no meat to be found on the menu. After a customary enormous meal, we walked down the block to a diner. "Let's see if they have any real food here," he said. We went in and sat down and he ordered, and ate, a ham and cheese omelette.

If you needed a hug, he would give you a hug. If you didn't feel that you needed a hug, he would still give you a hug. He seemed to know better than you how much you might need a hug. He always hugged, like a man who had come home from war, which in many ways he had. We would talk about sobriety and fighting and love and who was really sharp and who was an asshole. If you needed advice, he would give you advice, and if he needed advice, he would sit there and listen to you give it, even if you weren't sure it was worth hearing. If you needed to be yelled at for being an idiot, he would oblige, and he would sit politely and be yelled at himself, as well. He always had an idea about what should be done, even if he didn't always do it.

It's funny—when someone that we don't know dies, we writers always feel qualified to speak up and tell everyone what we think they were all about. But now that someone I consider a friend has died, I find that I'm not up to the task. I don't know the words that adequately capture the man. He had a family, and his memory belongs to them. David Carr was one of the luckiest men I ever met. In 58 years, he lived at least 158 years worth of life. Everyone who knew David Carr was lucky too. The only unlucky people today are those who never got a chance to know him, because they would have enjoyed it.

Last Sunday, I went to Boston. I went to Boston because David Carr had asked me to speak to his journalism class at Boston University on Monday. Sunday night, a huge snowstorm rolled in. Class was canceled, and so was David's flight, and so was the breakfast we'd planned to have together on Monday morning. Yesterday, he called me on the phone, thanking me effusively for doing very little, as was his way. "I owe you a dinner," he said. "I owe you the nicest, biggest, fanciest dinner you can think of."

You still owe me that dinner, D. But it can wait.

[Pic by Victor Jeffreys]

Sam Taylor-Johnson's movie adaptation of E. L. James's novel Fifty Shades of Grey is an erotic thriller without the thrills. It's a hooker fantasy without any cash transaction. (At least Christian Grey could have the decency to pay Anastasia Steele for her trouble and degradation!) It's S&M without any real pain. It's sex without a single fluid swapped.

Fifty Shades of Grey is a bad movie that is lit well and features actors trying their best to enliven dialogue made for (and by?) robots. As though afraid that the very concept of S&M is already more than its audience can handle, the powers that be provide little else than fast-forwarding fodder. Screenwriter Kelly Marcel has excised all of the "Crap!," "Double crap!," "Triple crap!," and "Jeez!" interjections of James's embarrassingly popular novel and what's left of the dialogue is of little consequence.

Some samples:

Anastasia, referring to the bedroom she's been assigned in Christian's Seattle penthouse: "How many women have stayed in here?"
Christian: "Fifteen."
Ana: "That's a lot of women."

(It isn't even, though.)

Christian: "I don't make love. I fuck. Hard."

(He doesn't even, though.)

Ana: "Why can't we sleep in the same bed? Why won't you let me touch you? Why does it have to be like this?...I need more. I want more...Let me touch you. Let me."

"What did you expect?" my boyfriend asked me after the screening, interrupting my ranting. It's a dumb movie that's based on a very dumb book, and it was only ever going to appeal to the lowest common denominator. Yeah, I get it, but here's what I expect:

I expect a premise that's a little stronger than the one whereby Christian and Ana first meet: She drives hundreds of miles to interview him at his office on behalf of her sick roommate Eloise Mumford (E L O I S E M U M F O R D), who's writing a story about him for their student paper.

You don't have someone conduct your interview for you if you're writing a piece. You arrange to do it by phone. Setting this garbage on fire is the fact that Christian ends up answering the questions via email anyway. This couldn't be more obvious of a device unless it came in a box.

I expect chemistry to arise from something other than the fact that these people were cast together in a romance, so duh, they're hooking up. In this respect, Fifty Shades of Grey reminds me of 1981's Body Heat, in which Kathleen Turner, a 10++, falls for William Hurt, a 7, at best. At least Body Heat had a bonafide hottie—neither Dakota Johnson (Anastasia) nor Jamie Dornan (Christian) is particularly appealing in their own right. She is plain, avoidant, and routinely disheveled. She reminded me of Anne Hathaway playing a blogger. He has this incredibly annoying tick of pursing his lips like Church Lady. His dom routine feels put on enough to read like drag, and his character likes white wine way too much for me to invest much in his macho essence, anyway. Both have proportionate facial features, I guess?

I expect some conflict, any conflict, please someone fight something already! The only conflict in Fifty Shades is internal: Anastasia wrestles with whether she should let go and become Christian's part-time live-in submissive, and he wrestles with whether he should bend his strict rules to accommodate this person he is so taken with for no reason at all. When Marcia Gay Harden and her immobile face showed up halfway through as Christian's mom, I figured, "Oh, she's going to hate Ana and finally I can sink my teeth into something other than my lip, which I'm doing just to stay awake," but nooooooooo. Christian's mom loves Ana on sight and that's that!

I expect to have at least an inkling of what this man whose wealth I'm luxuriating in by proxy actually does. I have no idea what business Grey Enterprises is in because no one bothers to explain it, not even when the miserable, incompetent Ana interviews him about his job in the movie's opening. Context clues provide absolutely nothing. (Christian on an important business call: "Grey. What? When? Tell Stefan to have the plane ready." Later, this is referred to as "some...situation at work.") What does Grey Enterprises sell? Enterprises, maybe? Pencils with Grey Enterprises printed on them figure into a few scenes, so perhaps it's a pencil factory?

I expect a protagonist in 2015 that texts as often as Ana does to have a fucking smart phone. Why is this dolt still carrying a flip phone? Why doesn't Christian notice her plight and buy her a phone before a new car? Or, like, include the phone with the car? She needs a phone! Get that woman a fucking iPhone you billionaire.

I expect a script to be able to handle more than two characters talking at a time. People are constantly excusing themselves from interacting with Ana and Christian, or Ana and Christian leave such interactions on their own. A more complicated conversation might violate the pre-first level at which this movie operates.

I expect a movie whose only thing that it has going for it is a discussion of S&M in a mainstream arena to be not so goddamn judgmental. And yet, during the film's centerpiece sex scene, as Ana is being tied up and spanked, we hear Beyoncé moaning, "Got me lookin' so crazy right now / Your love got me lookin' so crazy right now" in a slowed-down version of "Crazy in Love" recorded specifically for this movie. Crazy! You crazy for that one, bondage enthusiasts! At another point, Ana asks Christian why he's into S&M and he says, "It's the way I am." Yeah, right, cool, I thought. And then, because she's a nag and they really have nothing else to talk about anyway, she asks again, and he says, "Because it's the way I am…because I am 50 shades of fucked up!"

That's a terrible piece of writing and an even worse disservice to its audience. Fifty Shades of Grey offers titillation and then judgment. It asks, "Curious?" and then resolves that one must be fucked up to really be into the sort of thing it's selling. It's insulting to those seeking a vicarious thrill through this movie, a way of exploring these desires that many people don't feel comfortable verbalizing or getting to the point of actual experiencing.

I love that something exists to push conversation about kink and alternate ways of having sex into mainstream discourse. I hate that it's something as stupid, dull, and toxic as Fifty Shades of Grey. Stupid, dull, and toxic is not a very surprising combination in blockbuster filmmaking today, and yet this one was particularly infuriating.

The only thing 50 shades of fucked up is this movie.