[Photo via Pink Martini]

Nous Ne Voulons Pas Travailler! Midterms may start today, but that doesn't mean we spent the weekend hunched over hardbacks and illegible notes (apart from a quick cappuccinoed couch sesh at Think). We actually like the idea of scholarly activities, of paying heavy library lip-service, interrupted only to deplete our dining dollars at the Starbucks across the street, but we aren't so good at making it a reality, baby. Manhattan's just too damn irresistible. We kicked things off by helping a friend turn, er, 21 with hazelnut cocktails at the White Rabbit Lounge, and scanning the sweaty beplaidened masses in Angels and Kings for its raven-haired founder and his chameleon love.

After Saturday's rain and wind ruined two umbrellas, our favorite Malababa bag, and our Danish delivery, we opted for a domestic night fueled by Yellowtail and Lipstick Jungle (we are pathetically obsessed with Nico's glasses --who makes them???). Sunday morning we (a)toned to our spinning instructor's remixed George Clinton/Rihanna/Shakira medley. Luckily, the evening's soundtrack, the multicultured musings of Pink Martini at the Avery Fisher Hall, proved slightly more enjoyable, thanks in no small part to People Magazine editor-in-chief 's skillful work on the triangle. Sympathetique indeed!

[Marquee Hosts...Ashlee Simpson]

We asked the GofG staff: "What is your favorite thing to do when you have nothing to do, on a Sunday afternoon in NYC?" Here's what they had to say:

"On Sunday afternoons we like to run up to Central Park and blow kisses at the polar bear. On the way back, we rummage among the 45 cent refuse at the Strand and take one man's trash to Cafe Pick Me Up (Thompkins Square Park), where we people watch as we pretend to read." (The Undergrad)

"Wander through the East Village to sift through thrift store gems, hit up Veselka and leave with a giant slice of cheesecake. Then I head over to Washington Square park to watch the speed demon chess players before trekking back to Williamsburg for a session at Greehouse Yoga." (Maddy Madison)

"Sadly, I work Sundays nights, so I'm crunched for time. But during daylight hours, I like to tourist-watch on the steps of the Met, which is sort of like bird-watching but involves more tour buses and pop-up maps of New York City." (The Hyphenate)

"If I'm not at Felix's with my dawgs or buying new sneaks, I'm on my couch with my take-in watching in demand." (Stanley Stuyvesant)

"As an Upper East Sider, my favorite thing to do on city Sundays (provided the weather isn't as cold as it is, say, TODAY) is to grab a friend, walk over to the Whitney, have brunch at Sarabeth's downstairs and then take in the newest exhibit. One great thing about the Whitney is that it's small, so you can do all that and have plenty of time to troll up and down Madison Ave., checking out (and maybe even buying) some new fashion finds." (Queen Samantha)

"Well beside being a day of rest Sundays are usually my caineover (coke hangover) days, so I make sure to take it really really easy, not even go to brunch. I'll wake about 1ish, listen to the Smiths till about 3:30 or so and then slide into an easy rejuvenating evening of causal, esoteric talk and thrift store shirt hunting." (Oper8tor)

"Having a campfire in one of the grills at Prospect Park using the stray twigs and paper found in the grass, then sending a friend go buy marshmallows. I know it's weird, and possibly illegal, but it's a good way to enjoy a chilly afternoon outdoors, and to insure your winter coat carries that 'campy' smell for the rest of the season. Mmmm, mmmm." (Brooklyn Rah Rah)

"Brunch at Aquavit, Le Bilboquet or Nello's uptown with the Sunday Times followed by a look around James Cummins bookstore, and a stroll through the park followed by an afternoon of reading, a delectable dinner with my loved ones and an early bedtime." (J.J. Hunsecker)

"Coffee at Ruby's, then gym for Fluidity class followed by brunch at Ideya, massage in China town, and then movies and sushi take in." (Holly Golightly)

If you heard the name "The Emperor's Club," what kind of business would you think that was? If you guessed it was a high-end prostitution ring for wealthy international clients, you would be correct. New York papers are reporting today that four have been arrested after an FBI investigation for managing The Emperor's Club, which not only introduced clients to "models" (you know, the girls who have spent their entire young adult life trying to get into Gap ads while dreaming of runways in Paris, and find they can't afford to drink vodka eat lettuce on those few and far-between modeling gigs.) Girls were ranked on a website based on a one-to-seven diamond system, you know, because diamond's are a girl's/high-end prostitute's best friend. What was the going rate for these models-of-the-night? Between $1,000 and $5,500 an hour. The Emperor's Club had money-earning ladies all over the map, in New York, London, Paris, Los Angeles and Miami, and some would travel as far as Vienna to meet important clients. Service was also not limited to the company of beautiful women—The Emperor's Club would also provide "investment services" and contemporary artwork bargains. You know, because millionaires are busy people and need venues for one-stop shopping. But gentlemen, guess what—you may be rich, but it's still illegal no matter what you pay by the hour.

Dreams. We’ve all had a prophetic one of sorts in our lives. You know, the one where that guy from your Art History class suddenly appears as a lumberjack and guides you out of a forest full of unicorns the size of bumble bees and you wake and think to yourself, ‘Maybe I’m kind of into him.’? No? Well, maybe it’s not a guy from your class. Maybe it’s your neighbor from that farm town in Kansas you used to live in with the lawn ornaments, or the bodega dude who knows exactly how you like your coffee. Or maybe it’s Hillary or Barack. Maybe they’re trying to tell you something. Or, maybe the universe is trying to prepare you for something. Following me here? Not yet? Well, if you are one of the many whose mind is vexed continuously by the present Democratic struggle for a presidential candidate, then perhaps one of the front runners has crept his or her way into your dream cycle? Perhaps, if you were able to share the scenario that took place in this dream, and piece it together with the many others who are also meeting personally with the candidates in their subconscious, together we all could piece together a massive puzzle. That’s where www.idreamofhillaryidreamofbarack.com comes in. People across the globe (with internet access and a command of the English language) can share their sleepy-time adventures with everyone. So far I’ve read plenty of Obama sexy dreams, but have yet to come across a Clinton/Obama encounter. If I were writing my own dream dictionary, I’d have to say that would most likely qualify as a “split ticket”, but we won’t get too graphic about “who’s on top.” Ewwwww.

Some revelations after a Gilt-ridden Wednesday night: Most of us graduated from tequila and college around the same time. With our entry into the [laughably] real world of New York, we came to see the pitfalls of, say, becoming too chummy with a bottle of Patron and concluding the evening sans bra but with a staggering array of drag queen phone numbers. Ah, lessons learned in the wee hours are the most educational, no? Yeah, I don’t think so either but Tequila Confessions does. Billed as a safe space to share your lushy tequila “experiences,” Tequila Confessions also wants to bolster your wealth of intimate knowledge of their liquid gold. It’s practically a public service. Come, document for all posterity and future employers precisely how many bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches you downed from the deli right before you turned control of your bodily functions over to a drink most commonly associated with a worm. What are you waiting for? There are exes to humiliate and friends to alienate, viral style!

[Embracing Your Inner Serena van der Woodsen]

Now New Yorkers have validation of location for their news obsession with French President Sarkozy's love triangle, which is the first time in living memory that a French president receives almost as much coverage as Britney Spears, just as many headlines as American Idol, and far more camera time than our own language-butchering President. Cecilia Sarkozy, recent ex-wife of the now Monsieur Carla "Maneater" Bruni, will be getting married in New York to on-and-off boyfriend Richard Attias on March 22nd. (Well, no one on the PR or events organization side will confirm the date but a French magazine, Point de Vue, reported this was the date and that is good enough for us.) Exact venue remains unknown, though the bride will be wearing Versace. I wonder what made the former first lady of France (no matter for how brief a time) choose New York for her nuptials, other than the bargain on the dollar-to-euro exchange. All I can say is: Take that, France. If it's The City of Lights versus The City That Never Sleeps, we still hold our own for high-profile weddings.

[Remedial Gossip 101: French Edition]

With the ubiquity of Digital cameras and flickr accounts, (we even succumbed and created one), the current trend in digital web based voyeurism shows no sign of fading. One site that acts a hipster Sartorialist (just without the insightful comments) is The Cobrasnake. Los Angles based photographer Mark 'the Cobrasnake' Hunter is a party photographer, a hipsterrazzi, who take pictures anywhere the party is happening. From club jams, like the weekly party at L.A.'s Cinespace ,to the runways and parties in Paris during fashion week....The Cobrasnake can be found documenting the scene for posterity. The site has also become somewhat of a guide of what to wear and what not to wear. Hunter's photographs often focus on the little things that make this epoch in history so special things like cell phones, and texters texting, sneakers, people wearing glasses, other people taking pictures, cult celebrities in film, music and fashion, and the hottest boys and girls on the scene. Hunter says that he takes the pictures because he likes photography and looks forward to looking back at them twenty years from now. The Cobrasnake's photos can also be seen in magazines like Nylon and Vice. More»

Sick of that pesky ghost from the Great Depression era jostling your piggy bank in the wee hours of the night?  Ever get that weird sensation that someone is WATCHING you in the shower?  No?  Well, I guess you live in one of those fancy, refurbished high rises where the buzzer works and your floorboards all stick together so they don’t creak every time your upstairs neighbor decides to unleash her hounds in the hallway.  You are specialer than I.  But, for the rest of us struggling to maintain our sanity amidst the paranormal energy fields of our historically rich (err, dumpy?) apartments, look no further for relief!  Brooklyn Ghost Investigations is all over your boogie man.  For only $20/hr, you can totally set yourself up with a supernatural Peter Venkman-style sleepover party, complete with homemade Ouija Board.  It’ll be like a weird psychedelic version of Ghostbusters acted out in your living room!  My recommendation:  don’t be sober.  According to The Daily News the real action doesn’t go down until 3am.  That’s like high noon in Ghostville.  Open the fridge.  Get Zuul on the line.  

Please, say it isn't so. The Wall Street Journal ran a story today about the evils of watching online video clips at work, the entirety of which can be found here. If you don't want to read the story, since The Journal can be a little dry and you have far more entertaining blogs to read, I'll extract and sum up the not-so-surprising information in the story: Watching videos online sucks away office productivity. A startling amount of employees are doing it. And most of all, it's those damn interns.

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If you have yet to hear about ultra-sonic child deterrent, read up, because it’s fresh off the boat in New York.  The genius of this idea (called the mosquito), is its ability to scatter annoying teenagers using nothing but a high-pitched, eardrum grating sound only audible to those under the age of 20.  In addition to teenagers, it would presumably keep away other annoying varieties of children, like the four-year-old that won’t stop screaming and flailing, as well as the 9-year-old who thinks she’s cooler than the hottest It Girl and insists on being verbal about it.  Anyway, if you were thinking, “Well, what about the good teenagers and children?” you wouldn’t be the first.  Across the pond, this device is drumming civil liberties groups and children’s rights advocates into action.  I can’t believe that it will take very long before we see the same debates surface here.  So, before those pansies ruin a good thing, here’s my idea:

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[Photo via The Observer]

Would you ever go to a mechanic who didn’t own a car? Maybe, but you probably wouldn’t trust your skin to a hack job with pock marks and a greasy T-zone. That’s where the latest crop of Park Avenue princesses dermatologists come in. What better motivator to scrub your face with exotic, overpriced elixirs nightly than by seeing your doctor saunter in the room like a computer-enhanced Cate Blanchett. Plus, it looks like the old axiom holds true…the best gems come from the mouths of “babes.” One very self-satisfied doc wanted to inform readers that “my father is a Shakespeare professor and he [calculated] that it’s harder to become a dermatologist than an astronaut.” Interesting, because an affinity for early English literature does not scream "Highly Regarded Statistics Expert". But that’s just me. Now excuse me, I have to go wash my face.

Well, unfortunately there isn't one, but there should be one don't you think? After all, Eliot Spitzer recently announced that the state's official author and poet for the next two years shall be Mary Gordon and Jean Valentine, respectively. These honorary distinctions are made by the New York State Writer's Institute, in the hope that these two writers will promote fiction and poetry across the state through public talks and readings.

I didn't know people still read print on paper anymore...I mean it's 2008, isn't that stuff out-of-date? Just kidding, but really we should create an official state blogger designation. I'll go ahead and kick off the nomination by throwing my hat in the ring and anyone else who wants to nominate others, just comment below. Let's say nominations close at the end of the week then we'll all vote. Sound good? Good. I'll start by nominating myself.

J.J. Hunsecker