Points are awarded to artists as follows:

Category 1: What They Know
Went to art school: +1
Went to art school within day-trip distance of Chelsea (New Haven being the outer limit): +2
Went to art school that actually teaches how to paint and make things: -2
Is a “conceptual thinker” unable to personally make his/her own art (i.e., if making photography, doesn’t know how to use a camera or develop film and hires a “fabricator” to do it): +3
Lets it be known that he/she can actually draw and paint realistically: -5, unless from Leipzig, in which case, +20

Category 2: Whom They Know
Worked as famous artist’s assistant: +1
Is sleeping with famous artist (or major gallerist or Artforum editor): +2
Has incriminating photos of same in latex nun’s habit : +5
Is offspring of major museum trustee: no points. Everyone is just humoring them.
Roberta Smith loves the work: +10
Hilton Kramer loves the work: -10

Category 3: How They Look
Movie star good looks: + 5
So-so looks but dresses notoriously slutty and puts out: +5
Has larger than 28-inch waist: subtract one point per extra inch.
Under 30: +5
Under 35: +3
Over 35: subtract one point for each extra year.

Category 4: Where They Show
Respectable gallery: +1
Respectable Chelsea gallery: +5
Gallery where owner answers the phone during Art Basel Miami Beach week: -10
BONUS QUESTION: On a scale of 1 to 10, how rude is the gallery receptionist? Add one point for each degree of surly aloofness.

Category 5: Artist’s attitude
Ironic: +5
Oversexed, confessional exhibitionist: +5
Stridently political: +5 if left-wing, -50 if right-wing
Earnest, loves beauty: -10, unless people think he/she is using beauty in an ironic way.

SCORING: For investment purposes, a potential art star should score 25 points or more. Unfortunately, there will be a waiting list for that art. You aren’t on it. Thanks for playing.

“Osama, Obama,” says one Taliban follower, “makes you wonder…” Rivals for the jihad leadership are discrediting Osama by mispronouncing his name, creating a subliminal suggestion that he harbors the political views of a senator from Illinois. A report circulated on Radio Kabul further suggests that Osama may have attended a secular school when he was six years old. Furious loyalists insist that the 9/11 mastermind is resolutely Middle Eastern, not Midwestern, but even so, the unfortunate name association sticks.

Observes Fox News commentator Dexter Ailes, “It probably doesn’t help bin Laden any that his middle name is Hilari.”

Could this trend migrate from Paris to New York? We’d probably need separate categories for shirts on hangers and shirts folded in boxes.

When I went to Dalton, it was the least suburban, least plaid-wearing, least sporty school you could imagine. We had a few teams that played in Central Park, but Friday Night Lights it was not. You could take Modern Dance for gym credit, and you could even get out of that by signing a “Missed the Gym Bus” sheet on the Phys Ed department door. Back then, the gym was on 92nd Street, and you weren’t permitted to walk there from the main building on 89th Street because it was Too Dangerous to stroll the Upper East Side on a Tuesday morning. We’d scrawl our names on the “Missed the Gym Bus” sheet, then sneak out for coffee and cigarettes.

My only Dalton-related athletic memory is of one of my richer classmates who lived in a floor-through apartment on Park Avenue. Her home was arranged in a circle, around the building’s air shaft, and she once invited me to “go jogging” with her through the chintz filled rooms. She’d calculated how many laps made a mile.

So when did all these asthmatic Manhattanites learn to play golf? Am I the only one who didn’t assimilate to non-urban life after graduation? Or is it (egads) because I’ve never owned a country house? I asked a fellow classmate who, like me, pointedly avoids going anyplace that doesn’t have a lobby. “Golf. Feh,” she shrugged, “it’s just glorified stick ball.”

It really makes you stop and notice how much room these public spaces take up. A seemingly narrow corridor could actually make a great classic six…

Today, of course, ironing is an upscale hobby phenomenon, with enthusiasts spending over $300 million annually. Empois himself has just been tapped as editor-in-chief of the new magazine, Pressed! The title will compete head-on with newsstand powerhouse Fine Ironing.

“We feel the market is large enough to support two titles,” says Empois, sporting an immaculate wrinkle-free suit in his new penthouse office. “Fine Ironing is a fantasy title for people who want to look at pictures of elegantly pressed clothes, but it’s unrealistic for do-it-yourselfers. Our focus will be geared toward the consumer, showing her where to buy products she sees celebrity ironers using on the Starch Network.”

The premiere issue includes a ten-page spread for De la Fer, the French specialty store with branches in Tribeca and Bridgehampton. De la Fer just launched a new line of must-have stainless steel ironing boards and appliances, retailing for $7,350 a set.

“Most of De la Fer’s customers actually send their ironing out,” admits Empois. “But so many of today’s homes have open floor plans that incorporate ironing areas into the living room. An attractive appliance is de rigeur, even if you only use it once a month for a quick touch-up at parties.”

For rooms furnished in traditional antiques, De la Fer offers Scalamandré silk ironing board covers, starting at $800. “That’s the kind of value-added tip we’ll offer our readers,” brags the new Pressed! editor-in-chief.

And who will be on the cover of the first issue? Empois is coy, but sources say it will be celebrity presser Mister G, who created an empire with his trend-setting presentation of tiny, elaborately folded garments on big white ceramic trays. (Prices start at $56 for a scarf.)

Credited with single-handedly launching the artisanal ironing movement in America, Mister G appeals to both starch connoisseurs and the general public. Reservations at his Manhattan location are booked two months in advance.

“No one does kick-pleats like Mister G,” gushed a tourist waiting in line recently behind the store’s velvet rope. “I watch his television show every week, but I can never get them right at home.”

Still, others snipe that fame has hampered Mr. G’s quality control. “I saved up for months to send him a suede jacket,” confided a former client, who declined to give her name for fear of being blackballed by other ironers. “It came back with a crooked seam. If you’re not part of the socialite set, he just hands your clothes off to a sous-ironer.”

Empois shrugs off the controversy. Nor will he comment on rumors that Fine Ironing plans to sign Preston Prescott, star of the reality TV show Iron Ironer, as contributing editor – a move that could undercut Pressed! circulation. Last week the Upper West Side Barnes & Noble had to issue timed tickets when the popular but admittedly down-market Prescott signed copies of his new bestseller, Perfect Cuffs in 30 Minutes.

“These days, anybody thinks he can be an ironer,” sniffs Empois. “Prescott may be a reality television star – he may be the darling of Park Avenue dinner parties — but look at his technique. My poodle could do better buttonholes! Five years ago the guy was probably wearing permanent press.”

Indicating that our interview is over, Empois steers me out of his office. As we’re shaking hands, a hapless messenger walks by in a shirt whafting of drugstore spray starch. Empois wrinkles his nose.

“I don’t mean to be a snob,” he stage-whispers, “but how can people live like that?”

The show is a good excuse to get down to Chelsea, which you KNOW you’ve been meaning to do for the longest time. It runs till February 10.

Avoid the temptation to stock up on too many kiddie events — animated movies, tickets to The Grinch, etc. Look for things you can both enjoy doing. And no, don’t even think about the Museum of Natural History — everyone on the planet has the same idea. Here are my suggestions:

1. The Metropolitan Museum, but NOT the Egyptian wing and Arms&Armor, which will be packed with strollers (and which your kids will see a wearying number of times on school field trips anyway). Go to the uncrowded sections like Assyrian art, musical instruments, or period rooms.

2. Coney Island (Brooklyn). Yes, in winter. The Aquarium is worth the trip all on its own, but if you go on the right day, some of the boardwalk attractions might be open — and everyone likes Nathan’s hot dogs (admit it). And it’s fun to walk on a beach in New York City, no?

3. The New York Botanical Garden’s Holiday Train Show (Bronx). Yes, this is going to be totally mobbed, but it’s worth it. Seeing miniature replicas of the Empire State Building, Gracie Mansion and the Brooklyn Bridge made out of twigs and leaves and dried oranges is delightful at any age. Plus you can warm up in the tropical section of the conservatory. Go early on a weekday to avoid the biggest crowds.

4. Cathedral of Saint John the Divine (Upper West Side). They’re kinda busy this week with religious services (great if you’re into that), but afterwards the cathedral gets back to its quirky “medieval” and frankly pagan family activities.

5. The Village Chess Shop (Downtown). Sure, you could stay home and play boardgames all week, but it’s so much more fun in a bohemian locale. Besides, the Village is full of kiddie-things-for-grown-ups — best of all, enormous, fancy cupcakes.

Any other suggestions?