In this week's issue of the New Yorker, a story by staff writer Ariel Levy details her experience traveling to Mongolia while pregnant—and losing her baby to a miscarriage. Reader beware: It will either make you want to curl up into a ball or go out and hug everyone you can.

Andre Leon Talley, Vogue's inimitable editor-at-large, turns 60 today. Actor Tim Robbins is turning 51. John Mayer is 32. Angela Lansbury is 84. Sports commentator Tim McCarver turns 68. JetBlue founder David Neeleman is turning 50. David Zucker, the man who directed Airplane! and The Naked Gun, is 62. Broadway producer Jeffrey Seller is 45. Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers is turning 47. Bob Weir from the Grateful Dead turns 62. Mega-art collector Donald Jonas is 80. And Suzanne Somers turns 63 today. Below: A list of people celebrating their birthdays this weekend.

Wyclef Jean has been busy stumping for Obama as of late, but perhaps he'll find time to take a short break today to celebrate his 36th birthday. Others who may (or may not) indulge in cake today: Socialite Debbie Bancroft is 54. Artist Ryan McGinley is 31. Chicago director Rob Marshall is 48. Legendary newsman Jimmy Breslin is 79. New Yorker staff writer and author Ariel Levy is 34. Film critic Richard Roeper turns 49. Eminem celebrates his 36th. Ziggy Marley, the son of Bob Marley, is 40. And Kirna Zabête co-owner Beth Buccini is 37. Weekend birthdays after the jump.

He knew we were waiting for details, and he hasn't kept us in suspense: Simon Doonan's wedding to Jonathan Adler was, says Simon, "a perfect day," during which the lovebirds laughed, cried, and "threatened to stomp on each other" instead of stomping on a glass. They then headed off on honeymoon in Big Sur not alone, but with Jonathan's mother and sister, Ruben and Isabel Toledo, and Ariel Levy and her wife Amy Norquist. [NYO]

Guess who my new Facebook buddy is? Go ahead, guess. All right, I'll tell you. Eustace Tilley. Okay, not the Eustace Tilley, but I am now officially a fan of the New Yorker on Facebook. That magazine is so hip — first they hire cool kid reporters Kelefa Sanneh and Ariel Levy and now they're on Facebook! I have a link to my awesome blog on my Facebook account, do you think David Remnick will check it out? He'd definitely see from my elaborate explanations of what I did last weekend that I could be the next voice of the magazine. Do you think facebook messaging him some poetry I did in high school would be too much? [via ETP]

With layoffs, cutbacks and buyouts everywhere else, the New Yorker is probably the only magazine around that's actually hiring. Kelefa Sanneh and Ariel Levy are joining the magazine, making them respectively the second black guy and first out lesbian on staff. The two are expected to report, presumably on cultural trends. And with these hires, the New Yorker is taking an aggressive step to up their cool quotient.

Ariel Levy's New York Magazine profile of Clay Aiken, the fey second season American Idol runner up and new star of the Broadway musical Spamalot, is as peculiarly entertaining as the singing sensation himself. Judging by his statements in this interview, Aiken, who is essentially a fried chicken lollipop made animate, does not battle with his sexuality as popular gossip would have you believe. Rather, he simply embraces a strange, forced asexualism that he credits to his busy work schedule. (Though, he may be, um, forgetting a few things.) Also embraced by the lanky leader of the Claymates is a silly, lonely yokelism that, the piece suggests, will both isolate and embolden him in cold old New York. While Aiken may sit at home every night, alone in his apartment, Levy calls him a "Promosexual", and posits that that bit of him may fit in perfectly with many a self-selling New Yorker. But before she comes to this somewhat sunny conclusion, she tears into him in hilariously bitchy fashion. My favorite segment of the article lies after the jump. [NYM]

Feminist blogger Jessica Valenti's new book Full Frontal Feminism has a controversially betorsoed cover, which she justifies to New Yorkmag like so: "Let's face it, no young woman is going to pick up a book with the woman's symbol with a fist on it." Is that what books about feminism usually have on their covers, though? Let's look at some recently published ones.

The significance of holding last night's party to celebrate the New York Observer and its new website at the Four Seasons restaurant was intentional, obvious, and not at all lost on anyone. Despite its recent Frank Bruni demotion to two New York Times stars, the restaurant remains the symbolic and probably actual center of New York old-guard media power. After so many years of playing gadfly to the media, politics, and real estate elite of this city, the Observer and its boy-owner and his advisers chose to make a very specific sort of statement.

Ariel Levy's New York mag profile of the three rich white kids who are single-handedly keeping "downtown" alive got a lot of people roiled up this week — not least its elusive, controversial main subject, Dash "the Pollock of Peen-juice" Snow. On the Irak blog, Levy was called out as a "wacked reporter." Then, as so often happens, things got much harsher in the comments, and Levy was raked across the coals in the standard retarded playground-bully ways. Seriously, if you've ever kind of suspected in the back of your mind that some hipster dudes were thisclose to being skinhead thugs, but found skateboarding just in time, your suspicions will be confirmed by the scattershot misogyny and antisemitism on display here. So edgy.