Bouncy-haired singer Ariana Grande—whom you may know from her hit single "The Way," or because the teens in your life are always sending Keeks about her to Facerange on their Blueberries®—seems like her life would be all catchy hooks, and bubblegum sunsets, and buying a new pair of earrings that you love. And it probably is! But, as she recently told Complex magazine, it's also full of demons from hell who constantly terrorize her and wreak havoc on her vulnerable psyche.

Today, freelancer Luke Winkie wrote a little thing assigned to him by Complex entitled "The 40 Hottest Women in Tech." It was a list, you see, or really, a 40-image slide show of totally bangable women who work "in technology," (which includes, uh, hosting television shows, "New York City Government," and YouTube). The tagline reads, "Our digital beauties." The post begins:

"As we go to press… we still haven't gotten our interview [with Linday Lohan]," Complex's August/September issue opines. What follows is the journalistic equivalent of battered wife syndrome, the magazine making excuses for the starlet who blew them off.

Economic meltdown or not, certain nightclubs still seem to be blessed with celebrities who will show up for free drinks, supermodels who will show up for the celebrities, and billionaires who will show up for the supermodels, black Amex cards at the ready. We know this thanks to writer and costume-lover Hud Morgan, who bravely traded his fruitinis for passionfruit shots and infiltrated 1OAK on behalf of Men's Vogue (a scan is after the jump). Illustrating how magazine publishers, too, are defying the recession and financing the posher forms of writerly hobnobbing.

After a hue and cry from defense contractors who were buying chipmaker PA Semi's core product in bulk, Apple has agreed to continue supplying merchants of death arms manufacturers with the newly acquired company's Pwrficient chips. [News.com]

Streetwise agitator Bucky Turco is leaving his post as blogger in chief for Complex, the Marc Ecko glossy urban shopping rag which had only one really interesting feature: its blog. Bucky says he's bringing back Animal New York, his dormant passion. Beware. [Bucky Turco]

Complex, the Marc Ecko-owned urban shopping magazine, has figured out how to boost traffic to its website among those coveted digital influencers: by spending $1 million on TV ads. Why yes, that does seem like the most cost-effective strategy, assuming you are, as one tipster put it, a "blind leading the blind media organization." Click to watch the first full ad, and marvel at how little of Will Ferrell's time a million bucks gets you these days. [Folio]

• Rosie O'Donnell has been depressed for years, enjoys hanging upside-down. [NYP]
  

In the tiny block of text that accompanies her cheesy cheesecake spread in the new ish of Complex, former Trumpslut Susie Castillo has some choice words for successor Tara Conner: "It's not the job of Miss USA to be in rehab. Other girls worked hard to give it a positive name, and it's going to be tarnished for a very long time now." Seriously, Castillo is a moral beacon:

We're not sure which is worse: the fact that this limited edition! $60! Jack Spade! baseball cap is only available this Saturday at Barney's, or the fact that Complex magazine seems to think this is a good thing. Come to think of it, we would've nominated it for the Douchebag Hall of Fame, but unfortunately the rules dictate that all douchebags must be living, breathing human beings—not hats. When the rules change, though, we'll fast-track this one.

An insider over at Complex Magazine informs us that the people in charge over there, have deemed it necessary to send a company-wide e-mail requesting that emplyees stop accosting 50 Cent whenever he enters the building. We particularly like this line, "This office should be a second home for 50, not a place where he feels compelled to put on a show each time he walks through our doors." We can understand why the staff reacts so much, because while we prefer to stalk from afar, when we're in close with celebs, we demand only Grade A top-shelf shucking-and-jiving. No matter if we're in his house or ours.