There's been a rumor floating around medialand this afternoon that VF scribe Dominick Dunne — celebrity, friend to celebrities, chronicler of celebrity trials — had a heart attack last night. The version we heard even ended with an ominous "and he's not doing well." But we're now able to tell you that the report of Dunne's heart attack, as it turns out, was an exaggeration. Vanity Fair's spokeswoman assures us that Dunne's heart problem last night was merely a palpitation, and both he and his doctor expect he'll be just fine.

An email we received last night:

Turns out it's not just us. amNew York reports today on a study showing that New York has risen to be the 11th worst city in the country for allergy suffers, up from 88th last year. Worse, because of what some allergy guru is describing as a mild winter (are we the only ones who remember a blizzard or two?), allergy season has started earlier than ever this year. The good news — in so many ways — is that you don't live in Hartford, apparently the worst allergy city in the country. And also this, a helpful tip from Gawker: Claritin continues to work wonders, and Duane Reade- or Rite Aid- or CVS-brand Loratadine works every bit as well for a fraction of the money. Which reminds us we really need to go take one, so our hands stop itching.

Without much comment, we present a press release specially selected — chosen, if you will — for this Hebraically significant day. Herewith, a new argument for why we lean to the left each time we drink a glass of wine:

And the 7.25 million who are allegedly have no mental distress? They reported lying to people taking surveys.

There are many things we love here around Gawker HQ, but none make us feel quite so full of joy as do accounts of New York's media elite behaving like dirty little children. Today comes one such item from one of our most beloved venues in all of Manhattan, the Conde Nast cafeteria:

Charlie Suisman's Manhattan User's Guide today points us to the city health department's most recent inspection report on the legendary, Gehry-designed, garlic-free Conde Nast cafeteria. Food-service establishments get points for violations, with the goal being the lowest total score and 28 points requiring a reinspection. How'd the caf do? Fifteen, which is low enough to pass but higher than the overall city average of 13 points. Most interesting, though, is one of the reasons for that score:

At right is the cover of last week's Newsweek. And here is the correction from this week's Newsweek:

We were disappointed — thought not, truth be told, particularly surprised — to click through and discover this article was not in fact about hand sanitizers with bad attitudes, cutting school and hanging out by the train tracks to smoke cigarettes with kids from bad families. Transgressive hand sanitizers seemed so much cooler and more interesting than usual. Sigh.

• Bruce Willis, who seems to think he's an expert on everything these days, likens the Colombian drug trade to terrorism. Put your nose where your mouth is, homeboy. [Scoop]

• Uma Thurman and petit hotelier Andre Balazs have parted ways; no more free rooms at the Mercer for her, we're afraid. Like she cares. [Page Six]

• In a display at their Barneys boutique, stationery company Mrs. John L. Strong is showing off actual stationery from A-list clients, including the addresses of Ann Curry, Lauren DuPont, and the Osbournes. Money can't buy class, but it can sell you out. [Lowdown]

• A Boston restuarant refuses to serve alcohol to teen actress Amanda Bynes. Poor Bynes; if only she had remembered to wear her Lohan costume, she could've gotten suitably wasted. [Page Six]

• Now that Millenium owns Reebok Sports Club/NY, only the prettiest employees are visible to customers. It ensures better weight loss results, really. [R&M]

"How Blonds Evolve," Reading File, Week in Review, Sunday:

So there are all these feel-good stories today letting us know that George Pataki is feeling hale and hearty and all of that. His brother-in-law says he looks "tremendous." His wife says he's coming along well. His spokesman says he's up and about and reading his email on a laptop. But no one is telling us the detail all his Empire State constituents must be dying to know: Can the governor shit yet?

You know what's even more unpleasant than reading about whether or not the governor can take a shit?

Lucky us: the New York health board announced yesterday that it's currently developing NYC-branded condoms. And what will these condoms look like? Gothamist asks the important questions:

Americans — even New Yorkers — are nothing if not gluttonous sorts. And so it's not surprising that articles telling us maybe it's OK to do things — drink red wine during pregnancy, smoke cigarettes — that we've long been told we're not supposed to do. So it's entirely unsurprising that today's "Low-Fat Diet Does Not Cut Health Risks, Study Finds" would shoot to the top of the list.

Yeah, so today's supposed to be a really depressing day. But, well, we just don't know. We haven't really left the apartment to see if it's bad out there, mostly because it's past 4 PM and we've not yet showered or gotten dressed today. Not that it matters — it's not like anything good is going on out there. We'll just miss a bunch of stupid things with stupid people who just don't understand us. No one will care if we go outside today or not. Nobody cares about anything, and we're all going to die anyhow.

The Internet has brought the world many things, and at the moment one of our favorite things on the Internet is the city's online database of restaurant inspection results. Now that this information is so readily available, our lovely and talented readers like to email us results from the database every now and again. Today, for example, a clever little birdie delivered the most recent inspection report from Soho House, the overhyped playpen for the (moderately) rich and hip, which we're not nearly cool enough to visit with any regularity.

But that's just what they'll do, doc. One of these days those lips are gonna exhale all over you.

Don't get us wrong; we are among the leading practitioners of subway-germ paranoia. (We do not, under any circumstances, allow our hands to touch the subway. Or the turnstile. Or the handrail in the station.)

Oh dear. Must we watch? Even with the big bad Shat, there's only so much one can take.