We've viewed the cover, read the editor's letter and seen proof that socialites actually do eat (or pretend to, anyway). But those are mere tastes of Radar 3.0, which recently fell into ETP's hot little hands (or, rather, frozen fingers, given the arctic temperatures). Maer Roshan and crew have been working toward this for almost a year, so there's plenty more for those who like their pop culture served skewered. The front of the book is packed with items including a trademark Jeff Bercovici scoopbyte on the bully habits of Arnold Schwarzenegger's son, a "Sindex" linking the seven deadly sins to current culture icons (including a gratuitous potshot at the not-yet-launched but reportedly bankroll-heavy Portfolio for "Gluttony," a karma-tempt if ever there was one) and a semi-decapitated (or getting there anyway) Kevin Federline shot by Steven Klein as some sort of media cruxifiction. Highbrow! Readers are also treated to a "Blow Back" timeline of cocaine in the headlines since the '70s (turns out the stuff has staying power), plus a faux-tourism guide to Baghdad offers nightlife tips and advice on what to bring (our favorite, courtesy of an inventive soldier: "Tampons: 'They're sterile, more absorbent than plain cotton gauze, and swell when wet...Ideal for gunshot wounds'"). A text-heavy feature charts celebrity "Inner Fatties" (versus their natural Doppelgängers, the necessary "Inner Skinnies"), separating the Anistons from the Regans and the Pivens from the Goldblums (we'll let you figure out which is which - though Bill O'Reilly is one we don't want to touch). A mock-interview with a U.S Army recruiting avatar is witty and original, though we couldn't help but think we'd seen it somewhere before (so too with the "50 Years of Radar" spread on the last page). Tarantino/Rodriguez fans can pore over a Q&A with Grindhouse drool-fodder Rose McGowan (though a few more hot pics accompanying the interview would have been a nice touch). 
The cover story delivers as promised, profiling the licentious antics and womanizing ways of unmarried notables (though their toxicity may be a function of over-ripening, given that the average age of the, er, gentlemen selected is 49). Naurally, the biggest cock in the room goes to Judith Regan. Radar is nothing if not cheeky.
External media is well represented, with Time Out New York's Howard Halle and Observer-to-Gawker defector Choire Sicha supplying single-page features (Sicha also writes of avatars -- a popular subject in this issue, along with, strangely, amputated legs). The socialite photo spread is alluring and slickly styled, with some appropriately ironic touches (a would-be "Work For Food" sign reads "Daddy Won't Buy Me A Jet"), NPR's Kim Masters delivers a smart profile of Jim Carrey and a sneak peek at Dana Vachon's much-anticipated Wall Street roman a clef adds to the bonanza. And, of course, who can forget Tyler Gray's examination of the existential question that touches us all: "Is Your Baby Gay?" We'll let you figure that one out yourself when the magazine hits newsstands on Feb. 13th.
