Rumor Has It

New York has Gawker, Washington has Wonkette, and Los Angeles has Defamer -- profane, gossipy, bitchy, and devastatingly funny bloggers who chronicle the many foibles of their towns' respective rich, famous, and beautiful people. (Back when he was posting regularly, Boats Against the Current trained his typically sharp eye on their sites here and here.)

Philadelphia is a world-class city in many, many ways, but when it comes to skewering our celebs, we may as well be Gary, Indiana.

Smothered by the draconian standards of print editors and hamstrung by our relative paucity of stars, the Inquirer's Michael Klein and the Daily News's Dan Gross are but pale imitators, content to politely discuss the tipping habits of local television anchors and radio DJs. The Inky's new gossip blog, Spilled Inq, is even worse, with staffer Kristin Holmes doing little more than rewriting wire-service copy and the rumors dug up by other papers. Juicy, huh?

Meanwhile, Gawker, Wonkette, and Defamer gleefully and recklessly destroy their usually deserving targets with lacerating, borderline-libelous posts that are as hilarious as they are observant. Witness Defamer's conclusion to a post about Mary-Kate Olsen's checking into rehab to take care of a who-could-have-seen-that-coming eating disorder:

Saddest of all in this troubling Olsen chapter is that from now on, Ashley will henceforth be known as the Fat Twin. Thanks a lot, Mary-Kate.

That's high, high comedy, friends. That's Tina Fey-funny.

On special occasions, they get to approach the same story from different angles, such as Defamer's and Wonkette's respective snarkfests over the nasty divorce between wannabe senator Jack Ryan and smoking-hot actress Jeri Ryan. Compare that to the local breathless coverage a few years ago of the overrated Monica Malpass's split, and Philly comes off looking, once again, painfully parochial.

Of the three, my personal favorite is Wonkette, and not just because she's a not unattractive strawberry blonde with an impressive rack. (Though, um, that certainly doesn't hurt her cause.) There's something perversely satisfying about seeing politicians and journalists, so quick to puff up with indignation over the sins of their fellow citizens, punctured with the darts of their own hypocrisy.

Meanwhile, back here in the City of Brotherly Love, we're stuck with scintillating items on the round of golf Will Smith played when he was back home for his sister's wedding, and the identity theft suffered by a former city councilman. Wake me when they write about Cecily Tynan.