· Music round-up: The Smithereens at the Key Club; Ima Robot at the Roxy; Camper Van Beethoven and Cracker at Safari Sam's; and Rob Crow of Pinback at the Troubadour.
· Newsweek entertainment reporter Alison Samuels reads from Off the Record: A Reporter Unveils the Celebrity Worlds of
Hollywood, Hip-Hop and Sports at Vroman's. Topics covered: the celebrity worlds of Hollywood, hip-hop, and sports. (We think.) For the porn-inclined, Ron Jeremy will sign Ron Jeremy: The Hardest (Working) Man in Showbiz at Book Soup. Topics covered: Fucking. (Pretty sure on this one.)
· AFI presents a screening of Spike Lee's Inside Man at the ArcLight, followed by a Q & A with—usually this is the part where you zone out, but pay attention this time—superproducer Brian Grazer, who will regale all in attendance with stories about how the project really came together only after he spent months in conversation with dozens of bank robbers, ultimately enabling a key breakthrough in which he finally "got" why they often wear ski masks instead of something flashier, like those Roman helmets with the fun brushes on top.

It's been a day full of big wins for the billionaires of DreamWorks SKG. Earlier, we pointed out that the California Coastal Commission granted David Geffen a much-needed ten-foot buffer between his Malibu Gay Mafia stronghold and the sun-worshipping Untouchables who dare to splay their unsightly forms upon his beloved, but distressingly public, stretch of Carbon Beach. Now word comes that bite-sized mogul and two-time intramural DreamWorks Animation wet t-shirt champion Jeffrey Katzenberg has tasted $2.17 million worth of bittersweet victory in a lawsuit against the rubber-pushing villains of Goodyear, whose faulty, leaking heating hoses did grievous damage to his Park City-adjacent vacation home:

With the first Love-Crazed-Astronaut-related project now officially jammed into the development pipleline (even one that's only tangentially connected, but apparently sold on astro-sizzle), studios that want to stay on the cutting edge of fundamentally cinematic batshit-level insanity should already be scrambling to discover the next unhinged hotness. In the interest of making their jobs a little easier, we introduce you the The Valentine's Day She-Vampire:

Ben Affleck's big comeback bid—which was supposed to have culminated in the actor's triumphant return to the Academy Awards dais to accept his second, unshared Oscar for his work in Hollywoodland, thereby blotting out the memory of all Gigliian cinematic transgressions that came before it—alas did not come to pass. Still, that doesn't mean the actor has closed himself off to the possibility of fresh beginnings: In a recent interview, Affleck talked of his recent decision to quit smoking, and, what's more, a first-time experience with colonic irrigation:

A reader, impressed by the incredible context sensitivity of Amazon's "related searches" function, pointed out the results of a recent "Anna Nicole Smith" query he made at the site. (We're sure he was genuinely interested in picking up a piece of the illuminating literature concerning her interesting life, like Great Big Beautiful Doll, not just hunting for back issues of Playboy.) Pamela Anderson's name probably only snuck in there only because she's another blonde breast-enhancement enthusiast famous because of her willingness to take off her clothes, not because Amazon's amazing software thinks she's in danger of a "mysterious" demise that may or may not be related to huge bottles of prescription analgesics in her fridge.

· Here are the current odds for this year's Razzies (awarded next Saturday): Basic Instinct 2 and Sharon Stone are still way out ahead, but we're still holding out for a Wicker Man/Nicolas Cage upset. [Gold Derby]
· 40 theaters across the country will be screening compilations of live-action and animated Oscar-nominated shorts, allowing office pool entrants a little more to go on in those categories than, "West Bank Story. That sounds like a fun Israeli twist on something I know and like! I'll vote for that one." [Variety]
· Leslie Unger ascends to Chief Flack status at the Academy, effective April 1st, replacing John Pavlik, who's retiring to follow pursuits which hopefully won't involve calls from People fact checkers verifying exactly how many Oscar ice sculptures will be featured at the Governor's Ball this year. [Variety]
· ShoWest names Don Cheadle their male star of the year, a tasty little ace-in-the-hole his agent can drop at the very last moment during salary negotiations for Oceans Fourteen. [THR]
· While the formula for winning a Best Actress Oscar is to make yourself ugly, Best Actor requires far fewer complicated prosthetics and fatsuits: You just need to play a jerk and/or complete screw-up. May the best prick win! [Reuters]

· The comedy spec Space Invader, concerning a love triangle on a space station, is the beneficiary of the "Get me a fucking script about a crazy astronaut! Now!" frenzy gripping studios in the wake of the Lisa Marie Nowak story, selling to Fox Atomic (with Will Arnett attached to star) after receiving "several" bids. We assume that the first note for the rewrite will involve the addition of a set piece involving a malfunctioning adult diaper. [Variety]
· TV studios prepare for a potential writers strike by making a lot of noise about stockpiling scripts and accelerating production schedules of existing series, hoping their counter-threat of cutting short Kiefer Sutherland's hiatus might pressure the WGA to sprint to the negotiating table. [THR]
· Analysts and media companies alike are vexed about the maddening imprecision of measuring how many people are watching their "Dick in a Box" videos online. [Variety]
· Poison's Bret Michaels will star in yet another Flavor of Love spin-off, Rock of Love with Bret Michaels, for VH1. With Michaels and C.C. DeVille now both VH1 reality stars, when will Poison's overlooked rhythm section of Bobby Dall and Rikki Rocket finally get a chance to shine on basic cable? [THR]
· American Idol grinds the bones of its competition to dust, scattering the remains of its vanquished Nielsen foes to the primetime winds. [Variety]

Yesterday, 24/7 online Anna Nicole Smith newswire TMZ.com exclusively revealed that in addition to once partying with America's Princess Di at the WeHo Gay Pride in 2005, Dr. Sandeep Kapoor had apparently prescribed methadone to a Smith alias shortly before she gave birth to the daughter whose paternity would later be claimed by not less than forty-five virile men. Since that story broke, the site has plunged ever deeper into his life by following up with a pair of items on Smith's Dr. Feelnothing, revealing his bizarre fetish for entering sport utility vehicles while draped in blankets and discovering that one of his stated areas of practice is Entertainment Medicine, a discipline whose existence was summarily denied by celebrity-frequented St. John's Hospital in Santa Monica. We expect that the always exhaustively thorough TMZ won't be deterred by this obvious attempt at stonewalling their investigation into the shadowy underworld of the ent-med field, whose secretive, utterly discreet practitioners are always available to perform emergency, overdose-obscuring surgical procedures or help the famous manage the pain of celebrity through pharmacological means.

By now you may have seen the pictures from Britney Spears' latest East Coast escapades, during which she made good on her pledge to debut a "new me" in 2007 by choosing to conquer NYC nightlife wearing nothing but a jewel-encrusted mini-necktie and bikini. (She's since returned to our left-coasted shores, where we strongly suspect the clothing-optional party will continue to rage.) One former Spears confidante, however—Felicia Culotta, her nine-year "personal assistant, chaperone, and friend"—can hold her tongue no longer:

Huzzah! The 24-year-long power struggle between Carbon Beach-hogging Malibu megamogul David Geffen and the unwashed masses dedicated to ensuring easy public access to the stretch of luxurious sand behind his compound is finally over! As you can clearly see from the helpful LAT graphic (floating head our value-add) illustrating the settlement reached yesterday between Geffen, the California Coastal Commission, and the public advocacy group People Against Billionaire Beach Hijackers, the DreamWorks partner agreed to open a 42-foot section of the sand he's previously closed off in exchange for being granted a ten-foot plebe-buffer that should help reduce the noisome odor of off-brand cocoa butter that often wafts from the baking flesh of commoners and onto to Geffen's deck, ruining many an oceanside meal. According to the Times, Geffen's attorney is heralding the detente as a "new era of understanding," one in which his client's formerly trigger-happy snipers will first fire a warning shot before gunning down tourists who wander uncomfortably close to their master's property line.

With the heartbreaking story of lip-syncing supergroup Milli Vanilli previously explored only in sensationalistic fashion by heavy-handed Behind the Music episodes and cruel late-night talk show monologue punchlines, Universal sensed an opportunity to tell the tale of the disgraced 1990 Best New Artist Grammy winners in a more sympathetic and artistically ambitious fashion; according to Variety, they've acquired the rights to make a film about the duo, which Jeff Nathanson, the scribe currently charged with coming up with a fresh spin on the high-pitched ways in which Chris Tucker expresses his inability to understand the broken English of Jackie Chan for Rush Hour 3, will write and direct. In Var, Nathanson explains why he pursued this challenging project:

· We suppose that the Celebrity Puke Match Game is pretty easy if you've been keeping up with your celeb-chunk-blowing gossip.
· A Valentine's Day heartwarmer if ever there was one: Donor 150 meets some of the kids made with his sperm bank donations. [via LAO]
·Had your fill of Studio 60 parodies yet? No? Then here's Stall 60.
· Howard Stern announces his engagement, quickly followed by a description of the post-engagement fucking he and new fiancée Beth Ostrosky did once he handed over the diamond. Sadly, a celebratory game of Anal Ring Toss was not invovled.

Demonstrating that she fundamentally misunderstands the entire purpose of stunt-casting her former Friends castmate in a role that requires some light lesbianism, Courteney Cox did her best to desensationalize the kiss she and Jennifer Aniston share on the season finale of Dirt, dumping a bucket of ice water into the laps of millions of tumescent potential viewers hoping to finally see their cherished fantasies of a little Monica-on-Rachel action realized on TV:

30 Rock star Tracy Morgan (or, as one headline writer who has yet to climb aboard NBC's Comedy Night Done Right train put it, "Ex-'SNL' star Tracy Morgan") has pled guilty to his DUI charge from November. And if he stays out of trouble for the next little while, it appears he'll be off the hook:

· Music round-up: Albert Hammond Jr. at the Troubadour; Common at the House of Blues; The Head Cat (featuring Lemmy from Motorhead and Slim Jim Phantom of the Stray Cats) at the Knitting Factory.
· AFI appeals to your most unimaginative romantic instincts by offering a special Valentine's Day screening of Breakfast at Tiffany's at the ArcLight. Sure, you'll score afterwards, but you won't feel like you really earned it. [via Flavorpill]
· Another Valentine's recommendation that doesn't require a trip to the pharmacy for chocolate, candy hearts, and/or a Plan B pill: WordTheatre presents Love & Eros: An Evening of Fairy Tales, Saucy Stories and Poetry at M Bar, featuring readings from sexytime enablers like Shakespeare, Walt Whitman, and Anais Nin.

As long as we're on the subject of unconventional marketing campaigns for awards contenders, we pass along an operative's report of how her Sunday brunch was interrupted by Fox Searchlight's frosted Oscar-pandering on behalf of its hopeful Little Best Picture:

Those obsessive chroniclers of every bizarre, Atkins-baby chapter to unfold since the death of Anna Nicole Smith at TMZ have really gone above and beyond the call of duty this time, tracking down the shadowy Dr. Sandeep Kapoor—who allegedly filled out a methadone prescription for Smith 13 days before she gave birth—to this 2005 photograph, where he sits on the edge of a convertible Saab in the WeHo Gay Pride Parade, with his Mardi-Gras-bead-festooned celebrity patient reclining nearby in a spread-eagled display of her courageous commitment to promoting alternative lifestyles. We're not exactly sure what TMZ is trying to say by choosing to run this photo about the true nature of out n' proud gay doctors-to-the-stars; hopefully, it was the only one available, and not part of some greater plot to paint professional Gays as menaces to society who harbor secret drug-pushing, baby-starving agendas. Interesting to note, however, is that just out of the frame was Howard K. Stern, covered at Anna's request in head-to-toe rainbow body paint, using every ounce of his strength to push the vehicle along the length of the Santa Monica Blvd. parade route.

Perhaps realizing that talent's access to chances to grudgingly perform fellatio on a casting director or producer in exchange for a walk-on role on Grey's Anatomy is bottlenecked by selfish gatekeepers like agents and power-mad nightclub doormen, the creators of Cast-a-Date offer an innovative way for show business hopefuls to use the internet to free themselves from the inefficiencies of the Hollywood system, giving them a safe online place in which to mingle, pretend to listen to one another blather on and on about the crazy dreams that brought them to L.A., and then arrange for the aforementioned trade of sexual favors for acting gigs—all without having to leave the comfort of their studio apartment! So far, there's only a single casting notice for a host/bikini model job posted, but as the site grows in popularity throughout an industry tired of the needless hassle of having to sit in traffic before getting their shot to be taken advantage of in person, its virtual casting office will be overflowing with higher-profile opportunities for the web-embracing stars of tomorrow.

The peace of a Torrington, Connecticut multiplex was shattered Monday night, when an audience in the process of being vaguely disappointed by a 7:00 p.m. showing of Dreamgirls was suddenly jarred out of its immersively underwhelming cinematic experience by the unexpected intrusion of an out-of-control SUV barreling through the wall of the theater. The establishment's owner was predictably shocked by the unplanned intermission:

· Every Guild Gets Awards! Dept: Remember how authentic those Buckingham Palace gates and that flower shrine looked in The Queen? No? That means the art director was doing his job. The Art Directors Guild makes sure to fête the greatest achievements in contemporary, fantasy, and period movie categories Saturday at the Beverly Hilton. [Variety]
· Bon Cop, Bad Cop took the top prize at Canada's Genie Awards, but we realize you'd like to download an official press release listing all of this year's winners, so here you go. [GenieAwards.ca]
· Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck picked up four awards from Germany's association of film critics for The Lives of Others, but the top award goes to Hans-Christian Schmid's exorcism drama, Requiem, soon to be reimagined as a Sarah Michelle Gellar mid-budget horror vehicle. [THR]
· BoxOfficeProphets.com give their Calvin Award for worst picture to BloodRayne. We'd recommend they start practicing their right uppercut. [BoxOfficeProphets]
· More from Saturday's AMPAS Scientific and Technical Awards: The juggler killed, and Maggie Gyllenhaal successfully induced hundreds of science-geek boners by properly pronouncing the word "densitometer." [Reuters]