It's Anna Wintour's 20th anniversary as editor of Vogue, and the be-bobbed one has certainly earned her title as one of the most feared figures in fashion. But it's worth remembering that she hasn't had a smooth ride. In fact, Wintour was beset by a salacious—and probably false—sex scandal rumor as soon as she took her job. Here, from the pages of Jerry Oppenheimer's biography Front Row, is the story of the alleged Wintour love connection with her boss, Si Newhouse—and how Wintour's reaction became a rare and fleeting moment of feminist pride inside Conde Nast:

Last week Charlie Rose wondered if Conde Nast was trying to buy Rolling Stone. Now Keith Kelly reports that they're actually trying to buy Us Weekly, Jann Wenner's other, more valuable but less cherished property. The "price tag could hit $750 million," according to the Post. Which would give Wenner enough cash to continue running Rolling Stone into the ground for decades to come. Us does seem like a more likely target for Conde Nast, but the high price and the overall print market these days are cause for skepticism. And though Charlie Rose may have gotten it wrong on that particular issue, that interview's main benefit stands: it is still accurate to call Graydon Carter a "self-described pussy." [NYP, Previously]

Gorgeous and magical Alanis Morrisette stopped by "The Howard Stern Show" Friday, where she discussed her break-up with loser Ryan Reynolds-who her band, Howard, and Artie Lang all hate-as well her experimentations with lesbianism. Clip after the jump.

Nine out of ten talking heads agree, nothing clears your mental palate in advance of the weekend like tearing into a hearty Dirt Sandwich. No matter what happened to you during the work week, Molly McAleer's compilation of the week's best moments from the world of celebrity infotainment will cure what ails you. You get called "oily" on national TV? Try a Dirt Sandwich. You end up in sex tape with Mini-Me? Try a Dirt Sandwich. You set off a brawl between the Paps and the Surfs? Try a Dirt Sandwich. Short of a fistful of paco, nothing will turn that end-of-week-frown upside down faster than a Dirt Sandwich. Enjoy!

Dimitri the Lover is a man with a seduction manual to sell. (Men with "seduction manuals" are the new twentysomething-girl "sex columnists"!) We introduced you to him yesterday, via his awesome "If you're on any sort of medication for anxiety or depression, I'm not interested" voicemail. As the weekend is fast approaching—and because we're not afraid to be servicey—we've gone ahead and compiled a shortlist to some of the worst daters roaming the bars and streets, completely unfettered by shame.

Right on the heels of Mary-Kate Olsen's passive aggressive jabs at ex-classmate and David Letterman punching bag Spencer Pratt last night, the professional Hollywood sleazeball has promptly retaliated by releasing a few downright cruel and unoriginal insults to Us today. As Pratt tells the weekly:

With festival fatigue closing in on all sides and the Verne Troyer sex tape still searing our minds one pixel at a time, we really needed a laugh Wednesday night. A panel discussion seemed like it might do the trick: "Funny Women," gathering Jennifer Tilly, Janeane Garofalo, Alyson Hannigan and Illeana Douglas poolside at the W, where comedian/director David Steinberg peppered them with questions when not contributing random career asides of his own.

If you ever selected a plastic surgeon or LASIK doctor based on a random YouTube video, it's probably apt that that video only happened as a result of an under-the-table payment and the doctor was really incompetent and now you walk around blind and ugly. But what about the victims of the future? Plenty of doctors have gone right ahead and offered patients rebates or huge discounts in exchange for posting glowing videos about their procedures online, although something like that would be patently unethical in the "regular" media. Docs are like, "Huh, rules, really? I just thought it would be nice!" Patients are like, "Sweet, cheap surgery!" The loser is you, the affluent, narcissistic consumer. A couple of typical videos are after the jump; just because "a famous celebrity (name undisclosed for privacy)" gets LASIK from Dr. Feinerman doesn't mean you have to, too:

Click to viewSex tapes. We've all seen them. Hell, by this point, we've probably all made them (and that includes Molls)! But even on your loneliest of lonely nights, when you dial up RedTube in search of the dirtiest, kinkiest porn that the Internets have to offer, we'd bet you dollars to donuts that none of you ever typed the words "Mini-Me Sex Tape" into Google looking to get off. That is, until now. According to our friends at TMZed:

Barack Obama is on the cover of Rolling Stone again! So soon after the last one. And just one week after he showed up on the front of publisher Jann Wenner's UsWeekly! In fact, if you have a magazine, you have probably put Barack Obama on the cover. It's summer, so nothing is really going on besides Batman and this Barack Obama character. Does anyone without a pair of breasts sell so many magazines? Did our prettiest president even get this much ink until he tragically died? Attached, a composite of the media maelstrom. (The Tiger Beat one, sadly, is from The Onion. It was our favorite too.)

Apparently some CBS execs saw their foreign correspondent Lara Logan on The Daily Show last week, and, like thousands of young men across the nation, they said, "who is that cutie?" It turned out she already worked for them! But because she insisted on reporting depressing news from depressing places like Afghanistan and Iraq, she never made it on-air. That will change! A CBS press release says Ms. Logan will now be "CBS News' Chief Foreign Affairs Correspondent and will be based in Washington, D.C." Effective immediately! Now Ms. Logan can shoot herself in the head when she's forced to watch the news they show us here in the states. Oh, and also, did you know she is a HOMEWRECKER? Oh ho ho yes she is.

Katy Perry has a big dance hit with her pseudo-lesbian-curious song "I Kissed A Girl." The singer has been clawing for a break since at least 2001, and it turns out that before discovering the celebrity-making power of girl-on-girl tongue this year, and even before trying to win fame via her "really big boobs" in 2004, Perry pitched herself as a Christian singer. Her debut album was released under her prior recording name, Katy Hudson, and included gospel songs like "Faith Won't Fail" and "Last Call," the latter featuring the phone number for the church where her father was a pastor. UPDATE: Here's what Perry, still in her holy music phase, told Alison Rosen of Seventeen magazine about premarital sex:

After the troubling events that brought Season One of The Two Coreys to its Corey-splintering conclusion, we honestly weren't sure if we'd ever see the two best friends and faded idols in the same room again. Still, as all of Hollywood knows by now, Haim is ready to work, and work—that undependable mistress—eventually came: Haim was a last-minute addition to The Lost Boys 2, necessitating the above reunion in a diner booth. And while we've always enjoyed the lightly structured drama that propels each and every episode, nothing prepared us for the bombshell revelations that would come tumbling out of the Bottomless Coffee Thermos of Shame. Did Corey H. just say he was "raped?" Did Corey F. just respond by saying he was "molested?"

If there's one thing you can count on from the hard working journalists who populate the infotainment sector, it's that they will stop at nothing — nothing! — to get you your dirt. That's right, you think that Katie Couric is going to ask Justin Timberland Timberlake if he stuffed his shorts to achieve that bulky package look he's sporting in The Love Guru? Hell to the no! That's strictly the realm of nose-to-the-grindstone warriors like Access Hollywood's Shaun Robinson, who strive every day to bring you the stories that make your world turn. Just imagine where we'd be as a nation if someone as dedicated to the pursuit of truth and justice as Miss Robinson is was around to ask the tough questions about WMDs! But we digress. Each and every week, Defamer's Molly McAleer puts together another episode of Dirt Sandwich as a means to honor these commendable souls who brave fierce junket conditions to appear on our television sets nightly. Never forget, people, never forget!

So the Times didn't like it. Whatever. I'm still DVR'ing the latest Disney Channel musical teenybomp crapfest Camp Rock because, well, I love that stuff. Yes. I am a (slightly shameful) fan of High School Musical and its silly sequel. As I hope you're well aware by now, I have a minor obsession with Gossip Girl. It's a slightly embarrassing truth: my tastes never evolved past fifteen. Well, OK, that's not exactly true. I mean I love the good, challenging stuff. I like weirdo avant garde plays and Terrence Malick movies and I love a good Frontline, but I also lurrrve Degrassi. I'm not exactly sure why some part of my brain still lingers in the dim, echoing halls of high school, but it does. And even though people make fun of me for it (I believe my esteemed boss's words were "ha, freak"), I think it's OK.

On a weekend when the wholesome American Girl doll "character" movement rocks its pre-pubescent influence at the box office for the first time, a loyal reader points us to a bit of perverse toy revisionism for the rest of us. Behold, in recognition of the Hitchcock film's 45th anniversary, The Birds Barbie:

This ad for Cooper's Beer just won an award at the prestigious ad festival in Cannes. I guess because of its sophisticated message: No Fat Chicks. The copy reads "Only 2.9% alcohol," meaning you won't get too wasted to notice this pretty girl is totally not skinny, and if you take her home, dude, whoa, watch out in the morning! I would really like to hear some Jezebel input on this thoughtful campaign. Click through for the second terrible award-winning spot, which has the equally important message: No Nerdy Chicks With Freckles Either, Broheim!:

In order to prove ownership of a MySpace account, the company asks users to film themselves reading their account number to the camera. Brad Troemel assembled a number of these clips into Proof, a mesmerizing look into MySpace's user base. The clips were selected from a larger and more diverse collection of people and styles, but the bricolage of nothing but young women in various stages of punk, goth and emo nearly unanimous in their taste for spikey up-dos, bangs and heavy, heavy mascara certainly captures a zeitgeist. Does it seem just a little skeevy to anyone else that MySpace is assembling a collection of young women videotaping themselves for security purposes, even if unintentionally? Granted, at least the company isn't demanding sex in order to get user accounts restored. Full video after the jump.

Celebrity gossip. Some of us love it, some of us hate it. Most of us, though, sort of love to pretend to hate it but secretly love it. Though, admit it, lately it's been a bit staid. Everything now just seems a bit tired (or, you know, British). So is celebrity gossip really dead? For our sake, we hope not. And, really, we don't think it is. We're just in a time of change, the old guard is leaving and a new, squeaky foaming-at-the-mouth group of celebutantes is entering. People are so very tired of Britney, she does nothing but ride tiny cars these days, and Lindsay Lohan seems actually (shriek!) sorta cleaned-up and is working. So let's get on with the new ones. But who will they be? Well, as is (sigh) clearly evident, young starlets will get the brunt of gossip's harsh glare, but there will be some men, too. Find our picks for 16 of America's next top freak idols after the jump.

OK! is the celebrity magazine that is the most willingly manipulated by celebrity flacks, which is really saying something. So it's perfectly appropriate that the magazine just promoted sleazy former celebrity uberflack Rob Shuter to its executive editor position. That's because Shuter is skilled at doing the two things that OK! is most famous for: lying on behalf of celebrities, and losing other people's money. Even he, the great fabulist, couldn't write a more sickening script than this.