G Spa—the tiny, dank club in the basement of the Meatpacking District's Hotel Gansevoort—is closing on Saturday. It was a celeb-magnet and a dreadful place. It will not be missed. (We voted it the Worst of Nightlife back in 2006—"You'd just be drinking $15 cocktails in a sauna, crammed into an incredibly tiny space, and trying not to pass out from the smell of chlorine.") The entire Gansevoort Hotel is vulgar and gross, but G Spa actively insulted our intelligence, arrogantly testing clubgoers' patience by making them feel like they should want to party in a humid spa. As Down By the Hipster put it, the club "holds an important place in the history of the Meatpacking district, in that it proved that for a time, no matter what you opened there, people would come." Hopefully those days are waning. Check out the magic you missed out on:
See you in hell.
[via Cityfile; photo by Nikola Tamindzic/Home of the Vain]
As you stumble home drunkenly this evening, trundling down Stuart St. in Boston, or off of some semi-major highway in the greater Chicagoland area, don't plan on getting your faux-Irish crapbag food fix the way you've gotten it for years. Tonight, everything goes away. After three hundred and twenty-two devoted years of deep frying sandwiches (seriously, one bite and you died... in a good way) Bennigan's Grill & Tavern, known to some as Not-Applebee's, is 
At the Movies with Siskel & Ebert, in its heyday, was a 
Well, they're here. "Angelina Jolie gave birth today to two baby girls at a French hospital in Nice, sources told In Touch Weekly. The much-ballyhooed twins were born in good health and under the watchful eye of Jolie's beau, Brad Pitt, an insider said. The 33-year-old actress gave birth by ceasarean section at 6 p.m. (France time) in a La Fondation Lenval hospital room fully protected from the lenses of paparazzi. The first baby was born at 6:45 p.m. The second girl entered the world 15 minutes later." [
At the risk of sounding earnest, there is simply no end to the 
Oh I can hardly believe it! Such language! No, not from the mewling hormone vessels (ack, remember those days?) on 
["
[Pretty pretty princess and Britney Spears apologist 
According to her bio, 
Somewhere in Japan a ragtag group of people on some sort of television show got together and (some donning black face) reenacted, with eerie precision, the famous pile-up of celebrities that is the video for 1985's charity song "We Are The World". Japanese Michael Jackson! Japanese Cyndi Lauper! Japanese Lionel Richie! Even Japanese Ray Charles! No matter that this has nothing to do with anything. We just can't send you into the comfort of the weekend without first making you ponder the fact that things such as this exist. Video after the jump. 
The influence of 
Tim Rutten's last media column for the LA Times is about the purchase of the paper's parent company by Sam Zell:
What the red robin is to spring or the Shagbark Hickory's brilliant flaming foliage is to autumn, dirty Craigslist postings are to winter. Every year near the first snow, the Casual Encounters section of Craigslist positively bristles with cold young men and women (but almost entirely men, and some of those women are also men!) looking to be warmed up. This usually involves some amount of sexual contact with strangers or as one 34-year-old man put it, "IT'S COLD OUT-LETS RUB OUR HOT BODIES TOGETHER TO KEEP WARM." I've always relied on the radiator, a good pair of slippers and tea but hey, what do I know? 
As the world begins to look increasingly like a Terry Gilliam film, it's becoming difficult for women of a certain class to be massaged, coddled and waxed in public by women of a usually much lower class. Once oases of relaxation, now spas are riddled with "haughty employees [who] enforce strict policies about clients' behavior.. appointments [that] have to be confirmed a day ahead, or else." Etiquette! Confirmation! Quelle horreur! But there is a solution.
It's only a matter of time before socialgay Kristian Laliberte writes his memoir, Give Me Laliberte or Give Me Girth. Until then, we'll have to make do with what scraps of Lalibertian reverie we can find. Now, someone at 
The Garden State is one step closer to sewing up the title of 