· According to Us Weekly, peripatetic Hollywood do-gooders Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie have just moved into a fourth, "charity vacation" home in New Orleans, whose local hardships will help teach the couple's overprivileged baby-blob about the harsh realities of life.
· CAA Sports is expected to soon be eating babies on behalf of LeBron James and Allen Iverson.
· The makers of the Jack Bauer action figure learned the hard way not to trust their prototype to Keifer Sutherland, especially when he's planning a bender.
· Golden Globes viewers probably noticed that something wasn't quite right with the zombie pitchman the Redenbachers greedily reanimated to sell some popcorn.
· Who could possibly believe that someone in this town might become a little obnoxious when given some power?

Last week's round of Paula Abdul satellite interviews (we can't decide which we prefer: the perky Seattle duo who kill Abdul with kindness, knowing the longer they keep her there, the worse things will get, or the straightlaced San Francisco interviewer who can barely conceal his utter contempt for her every rocking, slurred, incoherent answer) called for some serious damage control. When a flack's half-assed "press-junket-related exhaustion" excuse didn't seem to do the trick, a seemingly sober (but only somewhat less incoherent) Paula dropped in on Ellen to explain what actually happened:

After considering the evidence presented to him by a police investigation, the Bahamas' Chief Magistrate has decided that not nearly enough has been done to turn the overdose death of Daniel Smith into a three-ring, media-accessible circus. A formal inquiry has therefore been scheduled for March 27, where his mother Anna Nicole Smith will likely be called to the stand to answer lingering questions of the, "What the fuck was your child doing popping methadone like they were Altoids?" variety:

As of today, CAA has relocated to its intimidating new Century City headquarters (pictured above; we've Photoshopped out the ominously swirling, lightning-belching hellcloud the firm's partners had installed in the sky directly above the structure to remind the entire city of where the seat of industry evil is located, because we don't want to scare the children), finally forsaking the lesser agency chop-shops that clot Beverly Hills. And just one day into CAA's tenancy, longtime residents of the once-sleepy community are already watching their quaint little neighborhood be overrun by the pushy, Armani-attired hordes who will soon control The CC; we pass along the lament of one anonymous, dispirited local that was shared with us:

· Music round-up; Justin Timberlake and Pink at Staples Center (Note: Cameras will not be allowed at this performance—Justin doesn't want you stealing his Sexy and taking it back home with you to post it on your blog); Darker My Love at Safari Sam's; Mia Doi Todd at Tangier.
· Writer and social critic Barbara "Nickel and Dimed" Ehrenreich joins with Biological Anthropologist, Primatologist, and Darwinian Feminist Amy Parish for "Dancing In The Streets: A History of Collective Joy" at the Central Library, a discussion about the ways the people communally celebrate happiness. Hollywood Hills coke parties and hippie drum circles both will be covered in the course of their conversation.
· Novelist/Dave Eggers spouse Vendela Vida signs her new book, Let the Northern Lights Erase Your Name, at Book Soup.

At the risk of further stoking the fire of a sexagenarian lust unexpectedly ignited during Helen Mirren's two Golden Globes victories last night, we share with you the Reporter's account of the Double Queen's bawdy backstage remarks:

Capping a round of unparalleled media saturation that began with his Miss USA pardon, then quickly segued into his well-documented musings on Rosie O'Donnell's unbecoming height-weight ratio, the underwhelming premiere of Apprentice: L.A., and his conspicuous, NBC-underwritten presence at last night's Golden Globes, comes the cherry on top of Donald Trump's overexposure sundae: a star on the Walk of Fame.

From the Golden Globes after-party thrown by the Weinstein Company. Actually it's Dominick Dunne who might have thought this was the Oscars, and that he was at the Vanity Fair party, and that Paris Hilton was Hedy Lamarr.

Update: Did you know there's a guy named Dominic Dunn who is an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT OLD DUDE WITH GLASSES than Dominick Dunne? Yeah, us neither.

Obviously looking to stir up some trouble, an anonymous tipster dropped us this note about the conspicuous table-hopping activities of Paramount emperor Brad Grey, whose various fiefdoms came away with awards for Dreamgirls and Babel:

· Jeremy Piven (for some reason, E! Online's Kristin Veitch refers to him as "Mr. Ari Fleiss," but we're pretty sure she means Ari Gold, and not some Hollywood agent/madame hybrid) ditched his date at the after parties for someone younger, hotter, and who didn't give birth to him: Melrose Bickerstaff, better known as the runner-up on the latest season of America's Next Top Model. They were "flirting, smooching and displaying all sorts of couple-like behavior." His Entourage spouse Perrey Reeves, meanwhile, consoled Bubbe Piven, who tearfully questioned why he couldn't "just find a nice girl without a ridiculous-sounding shiksa name." [E! Online]
· The Weinsteins' party was packed despite having only Bobby in contention. After some face time at the Fox party, Rupert Murdoch popped by, then cozied up to Harvey, who suggested a trip to the Bahamas, conjuring unsettling images of the two in bathing suits. [Slate]
· Moët & Chandon set up a booth at the end of red carpet arrivals, where they provided guests with mini bottles of champagne outfitted with complicated flute/straw mechanisms. A baffled Leonardo DiCaprio was later heard yelping in pain when he mistook the libation for a carbonated eye wash. [The Envelope]

· Warner Bros. announces a deal with Fox-owned stations for a daily show based on website TMZ.com. Think an "edgier" Insider or E.T., but with regular segments devoted to video of Brandon "The Firecrotch Guy" Davis entering and exiting Hyde and an onscreen bug devoted to monitoring exactly how much gas is in Paris Hilton's car at any given moment. [Variety]
· Finally, the words we've been patiently awaiting while lamenting a singular talent being wasted on party-hosting and horse-auction gigs: "Tara Reid is attached to star in and executive produce the indie romantic comedy Honestly," the story of "a hard-boiled private eye who works as a temptress to test the fidelity of philandering husbands" (and then, of course, eventually falls for her mistress-diddling quarry) . Even more touching: It's being directed by her brother. [THR]
· The highest-rated Globes in three years earns NBC a Monday night ratings win, a victory that Donald Trump will soon attribute to his frequent appearance on camera due to his Apprentice-promoting placement at The Greatest Golden Globes Table in the World. [Variety]
· Netflix debuts its new online Watch Now video-on-demand program, which lets customers stream movies and TV shows over the internets free of charge. [THR]
· Now you can say it with authority: Germans think Ben Stiller is funnier than Hitler, as Night at the Museum holds off Third Reich yukfest My Fuhrer - The Absolutely Truest Truth About Adolf Hitler at the Teutonic box office. [Variety]

Even on Hollywood's Second Biggest (And First Drunkest) Night, Isaiah "Dr. McChokey" Washington found himself unable to escape the lingering spectre of Chokegate, in which the homophobic slur Washington allegedly hurled while in the middle of a high-minded debate with co-star Patrick Dempsey over their professional relationship launched other co-star T.R. Knight out of the primetime closet. While Washington offered a red carpet soundbite expressing his unbridled enthusiasm for all things queer ("'I love gay. I wanted to be gay,' he said. 'Please let me be gay'"), the controversy-hungry press corps wouldn't let him off the hook when he arrived backstage following Grey's Anatomy's Globe win. Reports Access Hollywood:

As audience members were still dabbing their tear ducts with linen napkins in response to America Ferrera's moving acceptance speech for her Best Actress In A Television Series - Musical or Comedy win for Ugly Betty, off-camera goons clearly directed the overcome young actress Maria Menounos's way for her mandated, "You just won a Golden Globe! How does that make you feel?" moment of backstage awkwardness. Ferrara stood helplessly as Menounos parroted the prattle fed into the earpiece skillfully hidden beneath her flat-ironed hair, then bravely attempted an escape before tear-gas and tazer-equipped NBC gold coats helpfully ushered her back in front of the camera so she could answer such pressing, big-moment-deflating questions as, "What do you say to all those people out there who did not want you to play Ugly Betty?" before fearfully rejecting her interrogator's insistent demands that she use the compulsory screen time to provide a list of names she might have forgotten to thank in her acceptance speech.

Showing the same kind of unfailing dedication to a comedy bit that led the actor to never launder his trademark gray suit or properly use Western-style bodily waste elimination devices during months of in-character press obligations (while Fox publicists undoubtedly tired of toting takeaway feces bags for excited journalists, the exacting actor demanded they be available for all junket participants), Borat star Sacha Baron Cohen offered this behind-the-scenes look at how co-star's Ken Davitian's anus—the subject of Cohen's Golden Globes victory speech—not only made his performance possible, but nearly turned their movie into a faux-documentary snuff film:

We know that we harbor absurdly high expectations for awards shows, and that anything short of witnessing a despondent Leonardo DiCaprio dousing himself in the alcohol that is so readily available at these events, taking the stage in the middle of Forest Whitaker's emotional victory speech, and spectacularly self-immolating to atone for his public failure to win the trophy despite comprising 40 percent of the Best Dramatic Actor field all by himself will leave us feeling empty and disappointed. Still, we wonder if even such a magnificent tableau as the one above would satisfy; deep in our hearts, we suspect that performers can never possibly be drunk enough, dispirited enough, or engulfed in the raging flames of nullification enough to please us, the jaded kudocast viewer. But still we watch, because settling in for three-plus hours of watching well-dressed famous people handing gilded trinkets to other famous people (who then go on to recite a list of names of still more people, some of them familiar to us) momentarily makes us feel better about the acute lack of attractive celebrities handing us shiny objects in our own, small, tragically un-televised lives.

· A tip to those easily freaked out by the way 24 dramatizes the methods that terrorists can use to wipe you out: You might want to skip tonight's episode.
· Britney Spears dropped $40k to stay at the two-story Hugh Hefner Sky Villa at the Palms over the weekend, which includes a fee for the concierge to keep the kids busy at the slot machines while mommy and her new friend test out the Jacuzzi.
· Compared to the bi-curious pain that Miss Nevada USA put Donald Trump through, you'd think he'd be pretty excited that Miss New Jersey USA merely was impregnated by her live-in boyfriend. And the Miss USA folks really move fast, as the runner-up who assumed the NJ tiara due to her predecessor's inability to uphold the pageant's anti-knocking-up bylaws already has her headshot in the place of honor on MissNewJerseyUSA.com.
· Stars Killed By Gunfire: Perhaps the most morbid local TV station website slideshow we've ever seen. A real achievement!
· Cocktail conversation topics to avoid with director Taylor Hackford: "'Ask him what he's done since 'Ray' - that's guaranteed to get you punched out,' one pal of the couple helpfully advised."

· Music round-up: The Submarines at the Echo; Richard Swift at Spaceland; the Secret 6 at the Troubadour.
· Join Rob Corddry, his brother Nate, and friends Bob Odenkirk, Kate Walsh, and Patton Oswalt at the UCB Theatre, where they'll shun the Golden Globes to put on a comedy show benefiting the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.
· Avoid the internets after 5 p.m., which will be thick with spoilers for our tape-delayed, 8 p.m. West Coast telecast of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association's annual Golden Globes drunkfest. A simple drinking game we'll be engaging in to properly enjoy the show: each time someone takes the stage to present an award, take a drink, then another one when they begin trying to read the Teleprompter; each time the camera pans to people trying to look like they're having a good time in the audience, take two drinks; any time Harrison Ford is shown, chug the whole bottle and hurl the empty against a wall, because that's what he would want you to do.

Open All Night has pictures of John Travolta at a G'Day L.A. event, featuring the Wild Hogs star sporting a dense, healthy head of amber locks that serve to accentuate his trademark widow's peak. But take the unforgiving eye of a professional camera lens, and pair it with an online editor's itchy zoom finger, and the honeycomb-nylon-mesh signs begin to tell another story: that of an actor in over his balding head, beholden to a shadowy organization who drains him of financial resources in exchange for the promise of never divulging the deeply personal and potentially embarrassing information they keep on file. Yes, joining the Hair Club for Men is easy; it's getting out that can prove to be damn near impossible.

While the big bomb dropped at yesterday's TCA press tour events involved Lost producers Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse unexpectedly announcing that they're looking to identify a creatively valid "end point" to their series (and ABC president Steve McPherson's seeming annoyance over the showrunners' yapping about those ongoing discussions) and rob ABC of an opportunity to explore the mysterious fates of heretofore unseen survivors from the "cargo hold" and "wing" sections of the doomed plane (the "Holdies" and "Wingies," respectively) in syndication-padding eight and ninth seasons, we found this nugget from the TV Week's Critical Eye junketblog an even more enthralling behind-the-scenes look at the series:

· The 12th annual Critics' Choice Awards Friday night gave The Departed best picture and best director, while Dreamgirls and Little Miss Sunshine take four awards apiece, and Helen Mirren and Forest Whitaker take lead acting awards in the races for which they were considered the favorites. Scorsese's Oscar hopes are raised as never before, but the threat of a Lucciesque disappointment lingers. [The Envelope]
· The AFI Awards keeps the proceedings painless, with few speeches, lots of clips, and everyone out the door by 2 p.m. [Variety]
· The Scripter award—going to the pairing of a screenwriter and the author of the book upon which its based—goes to The Children of Men author P.D. James, and the movie's screenwriting team. [THR]
· The Golden Globes air tonight (with a three-hour delay for us—thanks, NBC!), and you know what that means: Yes, a song that's gotten an obnoxious amount of radio play this year will be rerecorded by session singers, with lyrics rewritten to incorporate many nominees! ("I remember when, I remember, I remember when I saw Dreamgirls! Do Globes make us crazy? Globes make us crazy!") [HFPA.org]
· Bonus Golden Globes Governator surprise: Arnold Schwarzenegger will announce the Best Motion Picture Drama. [NBC4.tv]