Trump Parc, for the birds: The city's most famous lovebirds have become grandparents — and fans of Pale Male and Lola are chirping with joy.

Something amusing exists about a bunch of rich, tweedy folk on the Upper East Side sitting and talking amongst themselves about the horrible smell that has taken over their lives. Could it be one of the servants? Perhaps that fellow who takes out the laundry? Maybe grandmummy? Did we forget to check her for a pulse last week?

Admit it: this exact idea has crossed your mind before.
Would New York smell half as, um, sweet if it weren't for the complete lack of dependable plumbing in our "finest" buildings? We think not, but the endearing idiosyncrasies of one's shower are hardly as charming during this diabolical heat. After realizing his shower was out of commission, Jake Bronstein's problem-solving skills led him to the Bryant Park fountain for a quick rinse. The adventure left Bronstein squeaky clean, a feeling which should last for about 5 minutes on the town.

We have always thought that bike messengers were the undead, like in Death Becomes Her or even Weekend At Bernie's. They flip in and out of traffic so fast, they have been impaled on a few side mirrors. We know they're good at avoiding collisions; we just think they must be made of rubber too.

Counting down the death of a dream.

Those party animals at Curbed should have extended the deadline for their name-a-neighborhood contest just a little longer, cause Newsday just came up with their entry today:

According to The Guardian's media section (registration required), Ryan Parry, the Daily Mirror reporter who made headlines in 2003 when he famously infiltrated Buckingham Palace and Windsor, and took pictures of the Queen's breakfast table, which included cereal kept in Tupperware boxes, will be coming to our fair city as that paper's New York correspondent. (Because what this town really needs is another British journalist.) As a special welcome to our newest resident, we'd like you to suggest a few locations Mr. Parry might like to infiltrate here in town. (Bear in mind that no one wants to see photos of the Mayor's throw pillows.) Send your suggestions to tips@gawker.com and we'll print the best ones at the end of the day. The winners receive the satisfaction of knowing that they've helped me meet my post quota as I run out the clock on my increasingly tiresome tenure here. Thanks! AB

Late yesterday afternoon, a 97-year-old retaining wall collapsed on the Hudson Parkway, harming no one but inconviencing hundreds of nannies eager to get home from a hard day's work on Riverside Drive. Longtime residents of neighborhood were suitably rocked by the events:

Hipper-than-thou restaurant/club proprietress Amy Sacco is ratcheting up her campaign to terrorize Chelsea with her not-yet-opened eatery on West 23rd Street, Bette Restaurant. (To recap: Bette is housed within the thoroughly fabulous London Terrace complex home to Annie Leibovitz, Chelsea Clinton, and others and several months ago her contractors managed to blow out the gas to the entire building at 465 West 23rd.)

Remember how much everyone loved Daniel Libeskind's World Trade Center master plan back when he first unveiled it? Yeah, well, fuck of a lot of good it's doing Dan now, as he lies curled up in a ball at developer Larry Silverstein's feet. Today's Post:

Architect Charles Gwathmey's took critic Paul Goldberger's review of his first residential tower in this week's New Yorker rather well, don't you think?—MG

A plan to alter Washington Square, add a five-foot-high fence to close the park at night, and move and remove trees and popular attractions, is the latest fracas pitting Greenwich Village residents against their ber-neighbor, New York University. The fifty-year conflict has seen buildings demolished, tenants evicted, roads vanish from city maps, public land disappear and even a bizarre scheme to dome the historic park. More recently, N.Y.U. tried to close several more streets around the park—almost all lined with N.Y.U buildings—to extend its "campus-like area." So the Greenwich Village Block Associations are howling along with the dogs in the square's soon-to-be-relocated dog runs. They say:

Out in Williamsburg (New York s famed Asshole District) Brooklyn operatives are running a Free Store —sort of a communist boutique that, unlike us, is actually working.

With The Plaza hotel set to close its doors at the end of next week for an 18-month renovation, scavengers are offering Plaza memorabilia for sale on eBay: porcelain ashtrays (current bid: $82,) a pair of silver-plated mini-trays ($51), and a silver goblet ($10). (The virginity you lost during your Plaza debutante ball in 1974? Priceless.)
The Plaza closing nears, memorabilia prices rise [NewYorkology]

A Gawker correspondent reports from Mario Batali's still-trendy pizza joint Otto in the Village,

Click to enlarge.
File this one under Great Moments In Google Maps: a search for locations under "you suck" in New York turns up some interesting listings. The Village Voice, CBGB, The New York Sun, Matador Records, and several other amusing answers are included, although we would never encourage anyone to avoid the Gay City News.

LES denizens, behold your new darklord, hotelier Jason Pomeranc, who has commenced his hostile takeover of Allen Street's "neglected frontier." The new hotel, located between Houston and Stanton, will feature a swimming pool, spa, and, if you're lucky, a shithole only half as bad as that of the Hotel on Rivington.

If H&M's foray into advertecture on the Flatiron building still has you choking on your tongue with disgust, just think of all the pretty pictures to be painted. Doesn't art make it all better?

On the front page of yesterday's Times Real Estate section, a major story that made us spontaneously gurgle:

We're sure the good people over at the uncomfortably-titled RapeMap organization mean well with their map of unsafe areas, but since those areas seem to be defined more or less as "Williamsburg," this strikes us as yet another compelling reason to stay in Manhattan. Between the angular mohawks, the dangerous tree-lined streets, the errant strollers, the bickering couples, and, apparently, the frenzied rapists, Brooklyn has become an epicenter of dangerous activity.