show. Personally, I endorse the traditional Brazilian (no pain, no gain). And while I’ve been known to opt for a precious little Swarovski crystal appliqué tattoo, there really is no need to gild the lily, is there?
your e-mail
Q:
Dear GG,
I heard there’s a pretty racy film making the rounds on theInternet, and it proves that a certain someone has been ina movie before. It was shot on location in Central Park,with that stud N. Her hair looks kind of brown and curly,but it’s got to be S, right?
—Cineaste
A:
Dear Cineaste,
You’re going to have to get your facts straight: there was a movie, from, like, a year ago, and no one involved in that production has anything to do with what’s filming here right now. That well-endowed star is off making art—and who knows what else—in Prague. Au revoir!
—GG
Q:
Dear GG,
There’s this really annoying girl in my yoga class—I’m just trying to get in shape and keep busy while my best friend is at, like, art camp in Prague for the summer—but she’s always going on about how yoga is a “way of life.” Anyway, after class the other day she was gushing to the teacher about some new “spiritual book lover,” crush and he sounded suspiciously like someone I know—only not. Like his evil twin. Or his good twin. Anyway, I’m confused. Are there pod people in town replacing everyone with clones or what?
—Scared
A:
Dear Scared,
This is an intriguing development. I doubt it’s aliens, though—sometimes it’s nice to just enjoy a little summer fantasy. Haven’t you ever pretended to be someone you weren’t on vacation? Try it sometime: check into your hotel as the Principessa de Medici or something like that, and don’t be surprised if management sends up an enormous fruit basket or some Dom Perignon. Stretching the truth sometimes has its merits.
—GG
sightings
B paying an excess-baggage fee at the Virgin counter at Heathrow. Souvenirs for friends and loved ones, or was it that oversize wedding dress garment bag? N picking up a few staples, like Visine and condoms, at White’s Pharmacy in East Hampton. D enjoying a very healthy fourveggie smoothie at Soho Natural. Maybe he’s shaping up for swimsuit season? S might want to take a page from his book—after sneaking out of rehearsal early, she headed straight to the Tuleh sample sale near F.I.T. and then made a not-so-brief pit stop at Cold Stone Creamery. Now, now: looking like a star is half the work! Not that she ever has to worry.
You know you love me.
gossip girl
Gossip Girl 09 - Only in Your Dreams
a little bird told me. . . .
“Nate Archibald. I can’t believe my eyes.”
“Hey, Chuck,” muttered Nate. On his way home that afternoon, he’d noticed his front tire was a little low on air, so he’d pulled into the BP station on Springs Road. It had been an incredibly hot day, the kind of day with no ocean breeze to break up the haze, so Nate’s hours of backbreaking labor had left him sweaty, sunburned, and exhausted. Judging from the horrified look on Chuck Bass’s smooth, naturally tanned face, Nate figured he must look pretty terrible.
That’s a first.
“What happened to you?” gasped Chuck. He pulled his vintage Ray-Ban aviators down the length of his nose and handed the gas station attendant a fifty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
“Nothing happened, man,” Nate responded, annoyed. He removed the hose from his tire and bounced the bike up and down to check the pressure.
Despite the thick heat, Chuck Bass was wearing madras board shorts and a gray cashmere hoodie. He looked as perfectly primped as usual, his thick eyebrows arched tidily above his piercing brown eyes, his aftershave-commercial-handsome square chin shaved smooth. He extended a hand to help Nate to his feet.
“Given up on cars?” Chuck asked, nodding at Nate’s bike. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone green on us.”
“Yeah.” Nate looked hopefully toward the tastefully gray-shingled BP gas
your e-mail
Q:
Dear GG,
I heard there’s a pretty racy film making the rounds on theInternet, and it proves that a certain someone has been ina movie before. It was shot on location in Central Park,with that stud N. Her hair looks kind of brown and curly,but it’s got to be S, right?
—Cineaste
A:
Dear Cineaste,
You’re going to have to get your facts straight: there was a movie, from, like, a year ago, and no one involved in that production has anything to do with what’s filming here right now. That well-endowed star is off making art—and who knows what else—in Prague. Au revoir!
—GG
Q:
Dear GG,
There’s this really annoying girl in my yoga class—I’m just trying to get in shape and keep busy while my best friend is at, like, art camp in Prague for the summer—but she’s always going on about how yoga is a “way of life.” Anyway, after class the other day she was gushing to the teacher about some new “spiritual book lover,” crush and he sounded suspiciously like someone I know—only not. Like his evil twin. Or his good twin. Anyway, I’m confused. Are there pod people in town replacing everyone with clones or what?
—Scared
A:
Dear Scared,
This is an intriguing development. I doubt it’s aliens, though—sometimes it’s nice to just enjoy a little summer fantasy. Haven’t you ever pretended to be someone you weren’t on vacation? Try it sometime: check into your hotel as the Principessa de Medici or something like that, and don’t be surprised if management sends up an enormous fruit basket or some Dom Perignon. Stretching the truth sometimes has its merits.
—GG
sightings
B paying an excess-baggage fee at the Virgin counter at Heathrow. Souvenirs for friends and loved ones, or was it that oversize wedding dress garment bag? N picking up a few staples, like Visine and condoms, at White’s Pharmacy in East Hampton. D enjoying a very healthy fourveggie smoothie at Soho Natural. Maybe he’s shaping up for swimsuit season? S might want to take a page from his book—after sneaking out of rehearsal early, she headed straight to the Tuleh sample sale near F.I.T. and then made a not-so-brief pit stop at Cold Stone Creamery. Now, now: looking like a star is half the work! Not that she ever has to worry.
You know you love me.
gossip girl
Gossip Girl 09 - Only in Your Dreams
a little bird told me. . . .
“Nate Archibald. I can’t believe my eyes.”
“Hey, Chuck,” muttered Nate. On his way home that afternoon, he’d noticed his front tire was a little low on air, so he’d pulled into the BP station on Springs Road. It had been an incredibly hot day, the kind of day with no ocean breeze to break up the haze, so Nate’s hours of backbreaking labor had left him sweaty, sunburned, and exhausted. Judging from the horrified look on Chuck Bass’s smooth, naturally tanned face, Nate figured he must look pretty terrible.
That’s a first.
“What happened to you?” gasped Chuck. He pulled his vintage Ray-Ban aviators down the length of his nose and handed the gas station attendant a fifty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
“Nothing happened, man,” Nate responded, annoyed. He removed the hose from his tire and bounced the bike up and down to check the pressure.
Despite the thick heat, Chuck Bass was wearing madras board shorts and a gray cashmere hoodie. He looked as perfectly primped as usual, his thick eyebrows arched tidily above his piercing brown eyes, his aftershave-commercial-handsome square chin shaved smooth. He extended a hand to help Nate to his feet.
“Given up on cars?” Chuck asked, nodding at Nate’s bike. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone green on us.”
“Yeah.” Nate looked hopefully toward the tastefully gray-shingled BP gas
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