As the official site describes it, HBO's Tell Me You Love Me offers "an unfiltered look at three couples as they navigate critical periods in their lives." By "unfiltered," of course what they mean is, "boldly ushering slapping balls into the premium cable landscape." And no one's slapping balls were more closely scrutinized than actor Adam Scott, whose Cruiseian good looks made up one-half of the couple you would have most eagerly TiVoed through the boring stuff to see knock prosthetic uglies. Talking to BlackBook, Scott reveals what went into making the "banging for real" illusion come alive:

While at the Tate Museum in London, actress Reese Witherspoon politely asked if the person who just took a picture of her could delete it. Witherspoon felt it was kind of weird to sneak a photo right behind her back like that, then suggested if they wanted a photo to simply ask for one. The person told Witherspoon that she wasn't taking a photo of the actress, but of her child who happened to be standing behind her. Witherspoon quickly apologized and returned to her family. The woman leaned over to her friend and whispered, "Sucker. I was so taking her picture."

Lindsay Lohan's lesbian relationship is now so open that girlfriend Samantha Ronson has even put up a photo of the two kissing on her MySpace page. So why did it take so long for everybody to recognize that the troubled starlet and the Ronson family spinner were a couple? It was waaay back in summer 2007 that Star first reported how the new couple supposedly kept the fires burning by exchanging sexually charged messages on MySpace. And it's not as if the public has an aversion to hot girl-on-girl action. Famous girls no less! One of which you don't even have to imagine naked! Why the lag?

Believe it or not, half-ass blogging neophyte Patrick Goldstein has kind of a genuine scoop today at The Big Picture: A heads-up to an interview with CARA (Classifcation And Ratings Administration) board head Joan Graves, arguably the most notorious (and notoriously private) movie censor of the last 50 years. Of course, it's not Goldstein's interview, but rather his wife's, banished to the relatively innocuous comfort of Graves's alumni magazine at Stanford. But that doesn't make it an any-less-terrifying glimpse behind the scenes of the ratings board's "parent-friendly" tyranny:

Blake Lively's people are throwing a hissy fit over the Gossip Girl star's cover shot on this month's Seventeen. And before assuming this is just another case of some publicist overreacting and getting their La Perlas in a twist over nothing, one quick look at the cover in question actually makes us side with the flack this time. Lively's gone out of her way recently to make sure no one confuses her with Paris Hilton, but her puffy eyes, hollow cheekbones and vampire chompers on the Seventeen cover aren't helping her case. Which begs the question: why is it so hard for a magazine to shoot a decent celebrity cover? Gwyneth Paltrow, Angelina Jolie and Sarah Jessica Parker are all recent victims of the same unflattering cover treatments, and all kinds of oddly unglamorous shots have hit newsstands for years.

They say that every soul has their One out there somewhere—and after a false start that left her hunched over and coughing up blood on her Gazebo of Broken Dreams, DeAnna Pappas finally found hers last night on The Bachelorette's season finale. And who, we ask, is more deserving of legitimate and lasting happiness, having submitted herself to not one but two six-week-long cattle-call searches for true love? No one! Learn who DeAnna chose—the very same fellow who scribbled that spell-unchecked grocery list of proposal talking points above—after the jump!

Stop-Loss star Ryan Phillippe's afternoon exercise was interrupted by a helicopter flying high above his Hollywood Hills home. Phillippe tried yelling at the copter, but his plea for privacy was drowned out by the whoosh of the whirling blades. Phillippe retreated inside his home, but quickly returned a few moments with an assortment of poster board and a large magic marker. Phillippe furiously scribbled a message on the poster board then held it up to the sky. The cards read:

Our obsession with Disney's forthcoming nature extravaganza Beverly Hills Chihuahua has resulted in feverish demands for an earlier release date and, failing that, an unabating anticipation of the day when we can plunk down our $10 for studio's garish, G-rated monument to ethno-canine stereotypes. The bastards appear to be listening, however, as a new teaser making the rounds features the angry, George Lopez-voiced hero Papi rallying the diminutive troops, wetting panties and calling for "mas" all-you-can-eat taco bars and "no mas" handbag accessorizing. Seriously — who can wait for this?

Semi-mummified Viacom overlord Sumner Redstone explains how he managed to work an immortality clause into his 8-trillion-year contract: "I don't want to die. I love what I'm doing. I love Viacom. I love CBS. And so I don't want to die. I have a will to live. The same will to win that I've always had. And, I'm gonna fight death as long as I can. I like it here. I don't want to go anywhere else." And with that, the eternally youthful media titan gave a mischievous wink—causing his lower jaw to shake loose and fall to the ground, evaporating into a small cloud of dust upon impact. [Page Six]

After sufficiently mourning the split between Justin Long and Drew Barrymore by giving our iBook a tearful embrace, we found ourselves facing a familiar Drew-inspired dilemma: figuring out who the serial dater extraordinaire will add to her illustrious list of ex-boyfriends next. Even before sort of settling down with the Strokes’ token hottie Fabrizio Moretti, Barrymore winked and giggled her way into the hearts of a wildly eccentric group of actors, musicians, comedians, sex tape vendors, drug addicts, directors and Firecrotch ranters. She’s aimed high (Leo), low (Feldman), and was an early member of the Lesbian Chic bandwagon. After the jump, we take a look at all her past paramours in order to narrow down our own suggested candidates for the next round.

Just one day after an Israeli political blogger's account of being ambushed in Jerusalem by Sacha Baron Cohen's voguing/strudel-loving alter ego was devoured by the Bruno-obsessed internets, comes news of strange events going down at a fair grounds in Little Rock that would appear to have the swarthy British prankster's riot-inciting fingerprints all over it. Arriving for what was billed on posters (pictured above) as "Blue Collar Brawlin': Hot Chicks, Cold Beer, Hardcore Fights," local cage-match fans instead got a generous helping of a different kind of man-on-man action:

While DreamWorks, Lionsgate and even Cash-Machine Manoj all have Indian capital to thank for their varying degrees of independence, Terry Semel is apparently courting a few billion dollars from Dubai as he nears a deal to acquire the management giant (and burgeoning media player) IMG. The ex-Warner Bros./Yahoo! kingpin has had his eye on Teddy Forstmann's hobby since at least June, when it was rumored Semel was knocking on a few gilded doors around the Middle East, hat in hand.

Who is Madonna dating these days? Isn't she married to some failed British movie director? Or is she sleeping with that irksome baseball player? These are all very important, and understandable, questions. The iconic singer and fake Englishwoman has dated many, many mens (and some womens) over the years. It can be hard to keep track of them all. Luckily, in a fit of boredom, our video man Richard Blakeley has put together a handy little chart as a refresher course in Madge's topsy-turvy love life. She's been with some wackos! Or maybe she herself is the wacko. The edifying chart lies after the jump.

Jeremy Piven most certainly felt the burn while jogging in Malibu on Monday afternoon. The Smokin' Aces star reportedly began to cramp up somewhere between mile two and three and attempted to walk it off. Piven slowly walked down the street, hoping that a car full of co-eds from near by Pepperdine University would come by and offer a ride back to his place. Alas, they never did, and Piven was forced to walk hands-on-hips all the way back to his place.

Sexiest Beef-Pusher Alive Matthew McConaughey can strike "dabble in fatherhood" from his phonebook-thick bucket list, as his girlfriend has just birthed the actor's first child: a healthy son, with ten fingers, ten toes, but—in an unfortunate congenital defect which doctors reassure will have no bearing on the child's quality of life—only one, tiny flip-flop. From the Reuters report:

What started out as a holiday-weekend news curio exploded yesterday when CNN uncorked what may be its most important news package of the year: Coverage of a very hungover Susan Olsen — the actress who played little Cindy Brady on The Brady Bunch — fleeing a radio interview to throw up. But this isn't just any Z-list scandal; this is shaping up as perhaps the most shattering gastric crisis in the long history of Pueblo, Colorado. "It was Cindy Brady!" the radio host cries out. "At 8:30 in the morning! What happened?" Indeed — especially with the ex-star's "mildly autistic" 10-year-old son with her in the studio ("Watch her drink like a pig!" Fox News reports he "interjected") and an unrepentant Olsen excusing the episode with a shrug: "That's how kids learn!"

· We're thrilled to see that E! is perfectly prepared to throw their First Family of Reality under the bus if it means getting a pretty inspired sketch on the air. [Chelsea Lately]
· Nicole Kidman delivered a beautiful girl today named Sunday Rose Kidman Urban. Her birthing canal was then swiftly Botoxed back to its original state. [Reuters]
· When we heard the title, "Molly Ringwald on Molly Ringwald," we figured we were in for some brat-packer-themed porn (à la Pretty in the Pink). Sadly, there is no Molly-on-Molly action to be had here, but cheap thrills abound nonetheless. [LAT]
· Speaking of John Hughes heroines: Ever wonder what happened to Curly Sue? Wonder no more! [MySpace via Too Much Awesome]
· Hey, kids! What time is it?! [ffffound.com]

Back after the long but not long enough Fourth of July weekend (truth be told, we really coulda used a four day weekend), Molls and her BFF Edward are here to bring you a special musical version of tonight's To Do's. While it's not quite as ambitious as Joss Whedon's "Once More With Feeling" episode of BtVS, we think you'll be quite impressed. Enjoy!
· Stevie Wonder at the Hollywood Bowl.
· American Idols Live! at the Staples Center.
· Reel Talk With Stephen Farber at the Veterans Wadsworth Theater.

A grieving flack has emerged from Drew Barrymore and Justin Long's Shiva-House of Love, mascara smeared, lapel torn, and offering a somber, "I can confirm the split but have no other comment," before adding, "And if you'd like to come in to pay your respects and have a nice piece of kugel, you're more than welcome." Our deepest condolences to both families.

As of today, our fantasy of an exotic lifestyle of TV criticism is officially over — beaten, bloodied and left for dead by Ray Richmond, who compares the debauched good old days of the Television Critics Association press tours to the nearly irrelevant confab starting tomorrow in Beverly Hills. It's the first such event since July 2007, back before last winter's conference was scuttled by the writers strike and mainstream media had begun shearing critics and culture writers from their ranks like slabs of fat.