Once upon a time, a wacky new talk show called Late Night With David Letterman premiered on NBC. And on that very first episode in 1982 was an up-and-coming comic actor by the name of Bill Murray.

A young Neve Campbell, as a Catholic high school girl, on The Kids in the Hall. And feel free to post your fave KITH sketches in the comments.

Those communist-era magazines seem so quaint, if one forgets the dull horror of the system that produced them. Russia's Soviet Museum carries an excellent online collection of the usual propaganda posters and photographs-and these images of Soviet Union magazine, in which the strategic rockets are daintier than the women's fashion. [via Metafilter]

Back when David Letterman was hosting Late Night, I looked forward to nothing so much as an appearance by superstar Chris Elliot. For instance, his stint as "Chris Elliot Jr." during which he would deliver a spot-on Morton Downey Jr. impression, with Dave standing in for whatever pablum-puking liberal was that night's foil. Here Chris goes after the fat cats behind 7-11.

Find a funnier Chris Farley moment than this one. I dare you. I double-dog dare you. [Hulu]

Little Chocolate Doughnuts. God bless hulu.com.

Oh, we want so much to hate Street Carnage, Vice co-founder Gavin McInnes' home for his immature bullshit now that Vice is all grown up, but today they posted a clip of former child star and recovering trainwreck Natasha Lyonne watching a clip of herself as a child on Pee-Wee's Playhouse, the greatest television show of all time. Young Natasha is adorable, older Natasha is looking healthier, and while we don't like the company she's keeping here, she can't help but sound poignant when she says Paul Reubens still sends her Christmas cards. Heartwarming. Older Natasha clip, after the jump.

Here's a feature about how this poster for American Teen, a documentary about five Indiana high school kids, "isn't just just clever marketing." The image is a cute homage to John Hughes' perennial favorite The Breakfast Club, and American Teen "examines a brain, a beauty, a jock, a rebel and a recluse, but then delves deeper, revealing these real kids to be far more than superficial stereotypes." But the part that I care about is that it's been done before.

An article about late adopters in the NYT today gives us the chance to point and laugh at Olds using dial-up and Netscape, out of tech nostalgia or laziness. "Over nine million" people still use AOL's dial-up, and "tens of millions" rejected Yahoo's recent email re-design, preferring the classic model. However, late adopters, aka "technology laggards," might play an important role, according to tech forecaster Paul Saffo: "They are crucial in pacing the nature of change." [NYT] After the jump: an amusing vintage commercial for the Commodore 64.

"'Heroes' star Hayden Panettiere has signed on to topline 'Daydream Nation,' a teenage comedy from writer Michael Goldbach, who is making his directorial debut. Kieran Culkin is in negotiations to star as well. ... The producers are hoping to reinvent the coming-of-age story for the 21st century, calling the film an intellectual comedy a la 'Juno' and 'Election.'" [Hollywood Reporter via Pitchfork via YM]

Yesterday's gallery of journalism flicks, whose soaring soundtracks are partly responsible for infecting your mind with the Pulitzer bug, was a collection of some of our favorites. Twelve of yours, clamored after in the comments, are after the jump. Can we talk about Michael Keaton's secret burning desire to be a scrappy little news guy? Robert Redford too. 'Course, if the role of scrappy news guy came with a dressing room, an Alan Pakula script and six or seven figures, we'd be all over it too.

Don't lie kids. There's nothing wrong with staving off career burnout and despair by watching Robert Redford make Bob Woodward look good in All the President's Men. You know you've done it and you've probably got the 1976 Watergate flick to blame for your outsized career expectations. The chase! The glory! The downsizing! The infotainment! Erm, sorry-the chase! After the jump, a video gallery of nine of our favorite old movies about journalism, and some new movies about old journalism that aren't half bad either. Pass the ice cream.

* "I was almost a newspaper delivery boy but lacked the snazzy cap and knee-shorts. And the delivery manager tried 'initiating' me by warming his hands by sliding them down the front of my pants on a 5am street corner. Even for San Francisco, I thought that was a bit odd. I mean, it wasn't that cold."

Slate's TV Club was worried about a scene from The Wire in which an editor is chastised for cursing in the newsroom. Is that even possible? (It's getting that you can't even tell a female coworker she has a nice rack anymore!) Romenesko solicited swearing-in-the-newsroom tips, and reporters and former copyboys everywhere responded. What the fuck did they say?

So we were a tad scatterbrained on Friday and forgot entirely to post the second weekly installment of Old School Odes, in which we (and you!) remember The Press The Way It Was. We apologize heartily for neglecting our elders. Last week our inbox was flooded with the smells, sights and sounds of journalism's Golden Age. We've never seen the word 'fedora' quite so many times. We also got a good serving of cranky Si Newhouse stories and heard some whacked-out altweekly shit from the 1970s for which we have zero proof, but it involved crack cocaine and who can resist a good crack-cocaine-in-the-newsroom story. After the jump, our favorites from your nostalgia. Thanks to all who wrote in-keep them coming!

Things we miss about old-timey journalism: bourbon in every desk drawer, the sound of 400 Underwoods clacking away at the same time, teletype rolls cascading out into the hallway and the undivided attention of the American public. Things we don't miss? Alcoholic colleagues (Balk aside), carbon copy paper, the glass ceiling and mini-fridge-sized tape recorders. Would we go back to the golden age of newspapers, the days of afternoon editions, hearty circulation, fat expense accounts and the magic of the rewrite desk? Oh, probably, but we'd like to take our iPhones, if that's cool. With that, we announce the beginning of Old School Odes, in which we remember The Press The Way It Was.

I miss Boldface Names real bad.

Happy 20th birthday, 'Bonfire of the Vanities'! Today, the Times celebrates Tom Wolfe's novel with a look at the ways New York has changed since 1987—it's full of rich white people now, did you know?—and interviews with some of the people who characters in the book were based on, or who knew those people. The choicest quote comes from Ronald L. Kuby, the former partner of the radical lawyer William 'Al Vogel' Kunstler. "'Bonfire of the Vanities' ... managed to create a fantasy criminal justice system where rich, white Sherman McCoy is being railroaded by a combination of craven black leaders and corrupt journalists and spineless political leaders. That was white people's fantasy, that was not black people's reality. It was a fundamentally racist novel appealing to the very worst in white people, at their most privileged and snivelly. And no, I don't think it could possibly have the same cachet today."

Are you tired of rising property costs in Williamsburg? Are you tired of the scourge of espresso bars, cheese shops, yoga centers and day spas? Do you yearn for the old days when a prostitute or drug dealer set up shop on every corner? Remember infamous Williamsburg coke bar Cokie's?!?!?! We've got just the thing to dissuade recent undergraduates from moving there AND to sate your taste for nostalgia. Buy them the Brooklyn Paper! Because seriously, their latest police blotter is out of control.

Professional underminer Mike Albo mourns the halcyon early 90s in today's Critical Shopper column. Also, the Times still hasn't caught on to the fact that he only ever makes fun of the impulse to buy or own fancy clothes: "I know it's not 1993 anymore, but some of these prices still gave me pause. Fourteen years ago these clothes would have been incomprehensible to me. If I had walked in, listening to Letters to Cleo on my portable CD player, I would have reacted like a cave man who, hurtled through time, had come across a microwave and was dumbfounded, 'Wha? $135 for T-shirt? Me no understand.'" Also: "[1993] was a carefree, de-gorgeous era, when I often wore girl's-size thermals printed with snowflakes or flowers and $3 thrift store bell-bottoms. I even knotted my hair in Bjork buns." HOT.