Assange. Swinton. Assange. No, Swinton. Assange?

Last week, Michael Bloomberg attended a press conference for the 100th episode of Gossip Girl. “I just don’t see how Blair could marry Prince Louis when she’s clearly in love with Chuck,” said the New York mayor, who apparently had nothing bigger on his plate to worry at that moment, such as the allegations of rape made against Greg Kelly, the son of his police Commissioner Ray Kelly, or the NYPD head’s own cameo in an anti-Muslim training video for NYPD recruits.

“I just wish that Nate and Vanessa had been able to work things out … but, again, I’m just a casual fan,” he added.

We don’t begrudge Mayor Bloomberg his guilty pleasure—after all, we spent all of Monday night watching the premiere of RuPaul’s Drag Race instead of doing actual work. We’re pretty sure front-runner Sharon Needles is taking all her inspiration from Lady Gaga, who has been stealing her “signature” look from drag queens and selling the designs to Barneys. It seems only fair.

Julian Assange, who is not quite a drag queen (though if he started dressing like Tilda Swinton we might not even notice a difference), is also guilty … of loving The Simpsons! The Wikileaks founder and all-around creepy person of interest will be supplying his own voice for a Feb. 13 episode, the plot of which we’re predicting will involve Lisa picketing SOPA and Bart teaming up with the Australian after confusing the name of the international whistle-blowing organization with that of a rapper with poor bladder control. We’re impressed with Matt Groening’s ability to convince infamously reclusive celebrities to perform cameos. How does one even get through the levels of publicists, assistants and team of ninja henchmen guarding the abodes of Thomas Pynchon or Michael Jackson and pitch them on doing a Fox cartoon? We’d say Scientology was involved somehow, but Nancy Cartwright’s robo-calling fiasco from 2009 made it clear she wasn’t a high enough in their caste system to be considered an Operating Thetan … let alone a Thetan operator.

But let’s not pick on Scientology too much. After all, we are located in New York, where members are basically regulated to asking people taking stress tests in the Times Square terminal. What worries us more is another pseudo-religion. You know, the formerly fringe one based out of Utah, where a single patriarch rules over a cult that’s become alarmingly more mainstream every year despite its seemingly arbitrary set of rules and scripture. We’re talking of course, about the Sundance Film Festival, which just finished its 28^th year of indie hits and celebrity swag parties sponsored by Bing and Grey Goose vodka. We realize Sundance plays a very important function, since by February most actors are so worn out from the exhausting L.A. awards season that they need to depart en masse for a vacation on the slopes—where they will also be handing each other awards and mingling with the Kardashians.

The festival was originally created to promote independent American filmmaking but has turned into a paparazzi paradise where it’s easier to find Tracy Morgan passed out at a party than a ticket to one of the 181 screenings taking place over the course of the week. Still, some of the original anti-Hollywood sentiment remains in the proceedings: The grand jury prize went to Beasts of Southern Wild, directed by first-time filmmaker Benh Zeitlin and starring an 8-year-old unknown named Quvenzhane Wallis as an impoverished African-American girl scraping by in Louisiana with her father. Expect the remake to star Willow Smith, or even worse, one of the Fanning sisters.

(Un?)fortunately, the end of Sundance is just a placeholder in the middle of a season marked by Hollywood award ceremonies, Fashion Week and Jay-Z’s first concert at Carnegie Hall. We’d ask our assistants to help us with all the RSVPs, but they’ve already taken the time off to start gearing up for South by Southwest. Or maybe we’ll just stay home and watch Gossip Girl.

Morgan with Megan Wollover and Melissa Leo at the BCDF Pictures celebration before his collapse. (Patrick McMullan)

After a surprising collapse during an award ceremony last night at the Sundance film festival, Tracy Morgan's health issues appeared far from over. Lewis Kay, Morgan's publicist, was quick to rule out drugs and alcohol maintains upon his release this morning that "exhaustion and altitude" were to blame.

The Observer can attest that Park City's 7000 ft. elevation isn't easy on the capillaries. Eyewitness reports labeled the behavior leading up to the collapse of the 43-year-old diabetic as anything but normal, so it's possible the cause was being too high (in the mountains). Anyway, we're glad to hear he's out.

Tracy Morgan at the ceremony after which he was hospitalized (Getty Images)

Shocking reports out of the Sundance Film Festival indicate that the movies have been overshadowed by celebrity behavior--in this year's edition, by the collapse of 30 Rock comic Tracy Morgan. The Hollywood Reporter, er, reports that Mr. Morgan collapsed after an awards ceremony honoring him (and other megastars like Kate Bosworth and AnnaLynne McCord).

He was escorted to a nearby hospital; he reportedly "seemed out of control" at the ceremony but hospital spokesmen said that no drugs or alcohol were in his system. While Mr. Morgan has a history of substance abuse and health problems (including a recent kidney transplant), "seeming out of control" is also his modus operandi. We just wonder if Tina Fey has grown weary of planning episodes responding to Mr. Morgan's real-life issues.

Art imitating life on "30 Rock" (NBC)

Never one to shy away from the IRL controversy of its stars, last night's 30 Rock devoted a whole episode to Tracy Morgan's now-infamous homophobic stand-up set in Nashville last Spring, which he's since apologized for.

The episode, aptly titled "Crisis Control" revolved around the backlash after "Tracy Jordan" (played by Morgan) angered the gay community, and confused GLAAD (Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation) with the trash bag company. Topical!


A GLAAD spokesman has already commented to The New York Times about the episode, saying "I thought it was hilarious. We’ve been called worse than trash bag manufacturers and look forward to seeing the second part next week." Guess this means he won't be fired after all.

We're looking forward to Jack Donaghy's inevitable clash with an unnamed airline after he refuses to turn off his phone during take-off because he's too busy playing the addictive iPhone game "Words with Business Associates."

Mr. Morgan.

Last night, just as Madison Avenue began to swell with eager fashionistas and fashionistos for Fashion's Night Out, The Observer ducked out of the crowded street and into the Valentino boutique.  Yes, there was the extravaganza at Bergdorf's and the trick-or-treat carnival down in Soho, but that didn't matter. At Valentino, it was karaoke night.

As soon as we arrived, we ran into Carlos Souza, famed jeweler and vice president of PR for the legendary fashion house, who asked us if we were planning to sing. We quickly declined, but had to ask, why karaoke in the first place?

“Karaoke is so popular,” said Mr. Souza, in his charming Brazilian accent. “It really brings people together and puts them in a good mood”.

But, of course, there was more to it than that. It turns out that Valentino himself has a penchant for karaoke. When Anne Hathaway -- or "Annie," as Mr. Souza calls her -- visited Valentino on his boat in Capri this summer, she brought him a karaoke machine as a gift, and Valentino became enthralled.

“During the holidays, people were looking around, asking 'Where is Valentino?' He was alone in the salon singing karaoke by himself!”

And since the Stiller Foundation, Ben Stiller’s charity organization, emphasizes the education and welfare of children, they decided to make it a family karaoke night. Indeed, family was prevalent at the boutique, as parents and their children (from babies to adults) joined together over drinks and hors d’oeuvres.

On display was the Valentino “T-Shirt Couture for the Stiller Foundation” signature T-Shirt, a nude stretch jersey with lace detail, made for both women and young girls.  Half of the t-shirt’s sales will go to the Stiller Foundation.

Finally, after a few glasses of champagne, the invitees were ready to sing.

“What’s up what’s up?” boomed Tracy Morgan, our Master of Ceremonies for the evening, over the loudspeaker. “You know what karaoke stands for? In Japanese, it means the real singer’s not here yet.”

Mr. Morgan did a great job of hyping up the crowd before introducing Mr. Souza, who sang "The Girl from Ipanema" with a teenage girl in braces and facepaint. While they sang, we took the opportunity to catch up with Vogue social editor Chloe Malle (a former Observer writer) who was waiting for her mom, Candice Bergen, to arrive.

“I feel like [Fashion Week] is the real hurricane that everyone has to get ready for," Ms. Malle said. Everyone’s like ‘Are you ready for next week?’ You have to batten down the hatches.”

So how has she prepared for the storm ahead? “I tried to sleep for 48 hours. Now I’m good to go.”

Bergen then arrived, sharply dressed in a black flared-leg pantsuit with a FNO t-shirt to match her daughter’s. “I have to wear it,” said Malle, “and my mother wanted one because they’re very soft.”

So with their matching outfits, The Observer wondered, could we expect them to sing a duet?

Ms. Malle was enthusiastic about singing, Ms. Bergen less so. “I’m going to try very hard not to,” Ms. Bergen said with a grin. So Ms. Malle was to sing on behalf of the family, and she decided to go with Aretha Franklin. “It’s unspecified which song yet, but I said any number would be appropriate. It’s far too bold but that’s never stopped me before.”

Some minutes later, Malle stepped behind the microphone and belted out “Respect.”

Around then, Valentino himself made a brief appearance.

Unfortunately, he didn’t sing.

We weren’t disappointed, though. Former Fugees member Pras showed up, and joined Morgan at the karaoke machine to sing “Killing Me Softly” and “Ghetto Superstar." Pras rapped his verses while Mr. Morgan sung the chorus. The 30 Rock star mis-sung some of the words, but hey, the guy does a great Mya impression! The audience, both the parents and their teenagers, sang along.

Suddenly, Natalie Cole arrived, surprising everyone, and sang "Unfortgettable" for the crowd.

But amidst all the karaoke fun, Ben Stiller was nowhere to be seen. He and wife Christine Taylor arrived just as the party was coming to an end, and were instantly swarmed by photographers.

Morgan left his emcee duties to come say hello. By now, his navy sweater had come off, and he had soaked through his undershirt with sweat.

Hors d'oeuvres were gone and the guests began to clear out. As we made to leave -- other parties, of course -- Mr. Souza grabbed us.

“Write that it was the funniest party ever," he said.

We think he meant ‘funnest.' We're still not sure -- his accent, as we said, was a bit strong. But either way, Mr. Souza was right. Karaoke does bring people together.

Fuzzy wuzzy. (Photo: Kevin Rogers)

Kevin Rogers, the Nashville-area comedy fan whose heartfelt blog post about Tracy Morgan's homophobic rant was publicized by Truth Wins Out—resulting in a Twitter-storm of outrage, a decision to finally come out to his parents (an hour before appearing on CNN), a knuckle-rapping for Mr. Morgan courtesy of Tina Fey, another from Bob Greenblatt and finally a live, GLADD-brokered summit with the comedian himself—is not merely a stand-up critic.

He's also a professional photographer (weddings, mostly) who's recently been pursuing a more creative sideline: photographing hairy gay men, also known as bears. Some of his best work is collected in a new online magazine, FUZZ, which is out today. (It was in the works well before the controversy, and Mr. Rogers made it clear that his blog post was not designed as a way to promote the magazine.)

"FUZZ is a magazine that puts out an artistic view of the furry man," Mr. Rogers told The Observer, speaking by phone from his home outside Nashville in a slow, neighborly drawl. "People are starting to embrace bear culture, but I haven't seen anything out there where you can just tear a page out and frame it and hang it on your wall."

For the 18-page premiere issue Mr. Rogers focuses his lens on three chunky, hirsute models—“real men, hand selected by me for your viewing pleasure," as the website states—in a variety of settings, including a men's restroom, a nightclub and a weed-filled lot. Although genitalia are concealed, due to some printing restrictions, it's "everything but," Mr. Rogers said. He laughed and corrected himself. "Everything and butt."

While fairly bearish himself, Mr. Rogers says he prefers to think of himself as a cub. "Maybe that's just me wanting to hold on to my youth," he admitted.

As for his press conference with Mr. Morgan, he said that the two met privately a few minutes beforehand. "He made me look him in the eyes and just said he was sorry. He said he's really been hurt by this, but that he wanted to make it a positive learning experience." Afterwards, as the two men walked down the hallway, Mr. Rogers added, "He told me he'd made a friend for life."

The Observer couldn't help asking: Up close, is Tracy furry? "He's not a bear," Mr. Rogers reported. "He's smooth."

FUZZ is available now. The print version is $6, and the digital version $3. Mr. Rogers is counting on a hit, he said, because he fears his wedding photography business might be adversely affected by Tracy-Gate. "I am in the absolute buckle of the Bible Belt."

"Jokes are tricky things, and what makes a joke funny is the context it's in and the intention behind it," said Ms. Fey. Too true! (And Alec Baldwin's Tweet today, "Oh that Tracy," indicates that the cast and crew may just be used to Mr. Morgan's, er, "zany" humor.) "The thing that I'm most proud of about the show is that it's a truly diverse, inclusive, and positive workplace," Ms. Fey said at the time.

Mayor Bloomberg visits Foursquare’s headquarters in advance of “Foursquare Day.” April 14, 2011 (Photo Credit: Spencer T Tucker)

2012: Charlie Rose hosts Oct. 11 debate. [Keach Hagey]

2012: Pawlenty's pollster privately acknowledged his boss isn't that conservative. [Ben Smith]

Writing Obama: Ball sends the president a letter about emergency radios. [Nick Reisman]

Cuomo's Money: State is "functionally bankrupt." Unions shouldn't expect raises. [Joe Spector]

Cuomo's Critic: A notable one, Blair Horner, departs NYPIRG. [Liz Benjamin]

Bloomberg's Deposition: "Your reading is good," the mayor says to an opposing lawyer. [David Chen]

Trump's Language: "[F]irst major gaffe of his latest fake presidential campaign." [Steve Kornacki]

Trump's Language: [R]eminiscent of the Jim Cow," says former NAACP honcho. [Josh Benson]

Trump's Language: Makes the headline in the Daily News. [Glenn Blain and Lukas Alpert]

Trump's Language: Raises eyebrows, to say the least. [Colby Hall]

Trump's Language: Still shocking. [Roland Martin]

Covering Trump: A reader, named Donald, criticizes my coverage. [Observer]

Turnaround: Tracy Morgan says he's investigating Trump. [Ben Yakas]

Media: Long format will survive, according to Rolling Stones. [Joe Pompeo]

Pictures: Queens Tribune executive Michael Nussbaum gets into Rory Lancman's photo. [Flickr]

Just a bit more profane. Last night, the real-life Morgan walked out of his courtside seat at the Knicks-Heat game at the Garden, and engaged in a nice chat with Charles Barkley and Kenny Smith, live on TNT's "Inside the NBA." Like anyone with any reporting chops would do, Smith asked Tracy Morgan a question that was sure to elicit a ridiculous response.

"He's the only one who can settle it," Smith explained. "Tina Fey or Sarah Palin?"

Barkley intervened.

"Sarah Palin's good-looking, isn't she?" he said.

And then Tracy Morgan's response! Let's just say it was bad enough that TNT crawled out of bed to issue a response.

Do yourself a favor and watch below, because the content is too much for us to even write about.

(Kidding! Tracy said Palin is "good masturbation material." There. Got that out of our system.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdmYAYBgDIo

nfreeman [at] observer.com | @nfreeman1234

Click for Scandal Report: Champagne Mania Makes for A Boozy Golden Globes

We will not comment upon the success of the best-day plan, but we certainly tried our hardest. Orchestrating the Best Day of Our Lives required a lot of planning: a program of carefully choreographed leisure, ideally incorporating some reading time in parks (we have been meaning to see what's what with Tom Rachman's The Imperfectionists).

Over the course of the weekend, we ultimately experienced the still-novel sensation of sweatiness in Williamsburg, East Williamsburg, the East Village, the Lower East Side, Nolita, Soho, Williamsburg again, the Upper East Side, the West Village and Greenpoint. It had become important to drink beer on as many patios as possible.

In our vigorous strolling, we encountered the insane line outside the Shepard Fairey MAYDAY exhibition. We certainly had no time to wait there! Also along the way, a friend pointed out the many Momofuku locations where we cannot afford to eat--Ma Peche has only just opened for dinner; thus we add another to the list. Likewise, the $12 cups of coffee recently introduced at Café Grumpy were not under consideration, although we did go for some Blue Bottle iced coffee ($4.50).

By Saturday night we were drunk and deep in Greenpoint, a set of circumstances that conspired to make us feel very far from real life. We were at the restaurant where a dear friend cooks-perhaps not a James Beard award winner yet, but surely the time will come. Just off Franklin Avenue, Greenpoint was picturesque and weirdly unfamiliar: Making it to the n+1 release party had begun to look like an unlikely prospect. Where did we feel like we were, exactly? There were some good bricks and shutters going on. Maybe Philadelphia or Montreal or Washington, D.C., we and our companions suggested, naming several cities in which we had spent little to no time. Yes, we all agreed, embarking upon a fresh bottle of wine: Washington, D.C. Probably that was it.

Meanwhile, in actual Washington, D.C., the White House Correspondents Dinner was taking place. From what we understand, the White House Correspondents Dinner is pretty much exactly how we like to imagine famous people operating: all hanging out together in nonsensical combinations, bound only by shared celebrity. David Remnick and Tracy Morgan? Sure. Justin Bieber? Why not. Let's all go hang out at the White House and talk about some famous-person things. This all sounds sort of surreal and dorky, and for that we like it, even if the Met gala on Monday night was the adult-prom's cooler New York incarnation.

In our Greenpoint oasis, we were insulated from everything-even the news of an almost-bombing in Times Square, which we heard about only later, from our mother. We were in a strange paradise accessible only by G train, train of fools, on which a conductor actually died last week.

We took a black cab home and passed out after watching Reality Bites, reflecting that, Best Day of Our Lives or not, reality was not too bad. Most things that we anticipate--like a gay non-celebrity coming out in People or the Hold Steady's new album--eventually disappoint. Summer, however, does not.