While we've made it a policy to never make New Year's resolutions, accepting that we will make the same mistakes over and over again and are powerless to change the self-destructive behavior that will eventually result in a grisly doom, we recognize that some people need the injection of soul-lifting positivity that compiling such an inventory of well-intentioned goals can provide. Today's Rush & Molloy column reprints a number of the 53 resolutions that Promises Malibu Platinum Club member Courtney Love posted to her website, which can serve as a blueprint for anyone wishing to improve themselves in the coming year through misspelled declarations of self-empowerment:

Rather than rely on a method more appropriate for the public's interest level in their event, like scrawling the names of their honorees on a series of Post-It notes, affixing them to the door of the Guild's office, and letting any concerned members of the media wander by at their convenience to discover the identities of this year's lucky thespians, SAG insisted on the needless formality of calling an early morning press conference to announce the nominations for the 13th Annual Screen Actors Guild Awards. This year's Saggies—considered by the industry to be the leading indicator of who will stand behind a podium on TNT (and TBS! Live!) on the last Sunday in January and gush speeches about how "this award really means the most to me, because it comes from my incredibly talented peers, who know exactly how much hard work goes into this sacred craft of ours"—contain few surprises, recognizing Leonardo DiCaprio for both Blood Diamond and The Departed (though in different categories, avoiding the kind of draining Leo vs. Leo faceoff he'll be subjected to at the Golden Globes), Helen Mirren's year of utter domination over all other cinematic monarchs, and the Dreamgirls ensemble for not setting back their profession by murdering one another off-camera in tragic fits of diva-fueled jealousy. Round-ups of the announcement are here, here, and here, and the full list of winners is here, should you wish to take a moment to recognize the performers you will likely decline to watch claim their statues on basic cable on January 28th.

In the end, all that time Ryan Seacrest exposed himself to the dangers of potential electrocution by engaging in an hours-long, open-mouth kiss with one of the Times Square ball's empty light bulb sockets was not spent in vain, as the New Year's Rockin' Eve host saw his wish granted of putting his freshly sharpened smooching skills to good use on Christina Aguilera shortly after midnight. Aguilera awkwardly swiveled her head away at the last moment, however, leaving Seacrest with nothing but a wall of bronzed cheek upon which to lay his big, wet one—perhaps to not muss her makeup, or simply to avoid coming into direct contact with Seacrest's well-documented, flexed-sphincter style of lip-lock.

Fans inclined to take Fox up on its above-referenced request to send in videos explaining how Seth Cohen's ability to lay the hottest chick in school despite being a comics-obsessed social pariah helped them kick their cutting habits may want to hold off on their submissions, as the network today finally made the long-awaited announcement that it's euthanizing the struggling series. Series creator Josh "I'm Too Busy With Other Stuff To Even Notice This Is Happening" Schwartz puts a happy face on the news in the Fox press release about the show's demise:

· Music round-up: Kevin Bronson DJs in the back room at Club NME (free) at Spaceland with Clean Prophets playing up front; Joe Purdy at the Hotel Caf ; Zibra Zibra at the Silverlake Lounge.
· Director John Woo will be at the Virgin Megastore on Sunset to sign his comic book, 7 Brothers, and perhaps politely indulge your queries about what it was like to work with a legend like Christian Slater on Broken Arrow.
· 7 Dudley Cinema at Sponto Gallery hosts its fifth annual Venice Film Festival, a one-night event that features music, poetry, and short films shot in or about Venice. (California, not the other one.) [via LA CityBeat]

PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are submitted by our readers, and are posted several times a week, so send them in often. Submit yours to tips[AT]defamer.com (please put "sighting" or "PrivacyWatch" in the subject line) and let everyone know about Jeff Goldblum's most recent chick-scoring/equipment-monopolizing adventures at Crunch.

Our inbox brings sad news for those daytime TV viewers who futilely chose to protest Oprah's talk show hegemony by giving their allegiance to an ultimately doomed competitor:

· The 3000-member Producer's Guild of America named the nominees for its awards, with the producers of Babel, The Departed, Dreamgirls, Little Miss Sunshine and The Queen all nominated for best picture. Unlike the Academy Awards limit of three, their awards have no cap on the number of producer's names that can be submitted under a single title, meaning no movie money person will be left out from the fun of feeling like PGA queen for a day. [Variety]
· The Oscars also have a three name rule for Best Song, meaning Dreamgirls' "Listen"—with four credited songwriters including Beyoncé—wasn't eligible unless one name was dropped; the Academy decided that name will be Beyoncé's, in all probability closing the door on her one Oscar shot, while ensuring her Jennifer Hudson voodoo doll sees another needle. [The Envelope]
· The Oscar nominating ballots went out Tuesday, arriving before most Academy members were even back from vacation, and are due back on January 13, meaning marathon screener viewings will be required. Otherwise, a quick match of DVD shuffle board can always quickly knock a few entries out of contention. [THR]
· The Academy has added a 115-member makeup branch (including hairdressers), where those artists used to be lumped into the all-service "members-at-large" category. That's a tenth of the size of the actor's branch, but still may be enough to swing a Best Picture nomination Big Momma's House 2's way. [Variety]

A concerned operative just sent word that ICM's motion picture agents have been called into an emergency meeting, the purpose of which was unknown to our informant. (Layoffs? Unexpected shortage at the baby buffet? Emergency recall of those cute little clocks everyone got for Christmas because their mechanical innards are carcinogenic?) But another source tells us that the meeting was to announce that motion picture head Robert Newman (rep of Francis Ford Coppolla, Jonathan Demme, and a bunch of other high-profile directors, according to Studio System) has been poached by Endeavor, but that's all we've heard. Developing...

Mexican director Juan Catlett is suing Mel Gibson, claiming that the director lifted scenes from Return to Aztlan, his own, earlier movie about the end of the Mayan empire, for Apocalypto, allegations obviously orchestrated by Gibson's Jewish tormentors to further impede his already dim Oscar hopes. [Variety]
Pilot pick-up mania! NBC greenlights three drama pilots: a dysfunctional cop show from Dennis Leary and pals, a spy dramedy from The O.C.'s Josh Schwartz, and a new, probably ill-advised stab at The Bionic Woman. [THR]
Dancing with the Stars runner-up Mario Lopez is already reaping the impressive career benefits of not winning the high-rated celebrity waltz-off, replacing the guy from Desperate Housewives for the coveted gig of hosting the Miss America pageant on Country Music Television. [Variety]
THR triumphantly declares 2006 the Year of the Comeback at the international theaters, erasing the bitter memories of 2005, the Year That Too Many Sunny Weekends In Germany Sent Hollywood Into An Overseas Box Office Freefall. [THR]
Adult Swim nerds rejoice: The Aqua Teen Hunger Force movie is getting a March release date on 800
screens. [Variety]

Justin Timberlake has had a busy year, having successfully campaigned on behalf of the return of sexy after it suffered a series of sexy-rights abuses during its internment at the Guantànamo Bay detainment camp, and more recently focusing his attentions on the creative wrapping of his genitals. Sadly, however, there were no bow-adorned penile presents under the tree for Timberlake's longtime girlfriend Cameron Diaz this Christmas, according to a report from Star magazine:

We'd hoped that the New Year's holiday break would have given Donald Trump sufficient time to come up with a new round of masterful insults with which to pepper nemesis/secret lust object Rosie O'Donnell, but it appears that everyone's favorite egomaniacal, lesbian-savaging billionaire showed up to his latest ET/The Insider session (in which he seems to be responding to Barbara Walters' claim that she's happy with her hiring of O'Donnell) woefully unprepared to top his previous operatic assault, falling back on an uninspired litany of recycled taunts. Still, ET's punishing editing somewhat enhances the cumulative effect of The Donald's relatively half-assed efforts at provocation, and the ensuing stream of quick-cut, loserslobliafatslobcrudetough arrogantpushydisgustingdegeneratedegenerate invective might be just enough to tempt O'Donnell to drag on the now-tired feud for another round when she returns to The View's couch, possibly by threatening to make out with his precious, bi-curious Miss USA whenever she gets out of rehab.

A Los Angeles judge has put a deadline on the paternity test that would determine once and for all who is the natural father of Dannielynn Hope Marshall Stern, the last good thing to happen to Anna Nicole Smith before her life turned into a nightmarish blur of toxicology reports and Bahamian compound evictions. Anna Nicole has until January 23 to submit the baby to testing, according to ex-boyfriend Larry Birkhead's attorney. Smith, of course, has been insisting all along that the child belongs to longtime lawyer and suspicious satellite presence Howard K. Stern, the man, according to sworn testimony, about whom Smith once said, "EWWW...GROSS!!! No way!! I would never [date him]!'" only to later take his hand in non-legally-binding marriage shortly after her son's methadone-induced death. Now that a deadline is set, we can finally look forward to seeing some sort of resolution regarding the persistent ex-boyfriend vs. creepy lawyer babydaddy scenario, and with the amazing recent advancements in modern genetic testing, not only will we know with certainty who sired the child, but exactly what Anna Nicole secured in the verbal barter that immediately precedes any of her romantic transactions.

The NY Times' David "The Carpetbagger" Carr explores the heart-stopping, bowel-loosening effect that yesterday's national day of mourning (and postal service interruption) to recognize former President Gerald Ford's passing had on studio publicists anxious to get their screeners into awards voters' hands on the first work day of the new year, who spent a jittery, mail-free Tuesday contemplating the cruel "purgatory" in which their precious DVDs languished because of the utterly inconvenient death of a former President:

The question seemed inevitable following Monday's reports that Britney Spears celebrated the New Year by quickly drinking herself into a sudden, paralytic nap-like state at a Vegas nightclub, but don't get your hopes up about reading a message on her website announcing, "Whew, all this partying is making me tired! I'm going away for a little while, y'all. I can't say where, but I Promises I won't be gone more than 28 days!!!" The Scoop dutifully passes along a story from the always reliable Life & Style claiming that Spears merely checked into the spa Sanctuary on New Year's Day, where she can lock herself in the Sanctum and wash away the icky feelings caused by overindulging in Pure's freely flowing sleepytime juice in its vitality pool and deluge shower. Once initially cleansed, she can then spend some time being pampered by a session of lotus flower aquatic reflexology, in which a therapist releases blockages in her energy meridians, allowing her to momentarily put aside the nagging feeling that she forgot to tell her mother to come over and watch the babies while she jetted off for a couple of days of me-time.

· Pretty much every dream we've had about Angelina Jolie since the Chosen One's birth has looked exactly like this stunning painting. [via BoingBoing]
· Jesus! He's marrying you! Be nice! Fuck!
· Not even in her wildest dreams did Demi Moore imagine she'd find a 25-year-old himbo willing to give up his best groupie-porking years to shack up with her.
· Jalopnik's got the Japanese trailer for Michael Bay's Transformers movie. Good news: Shit still blows up in this version.

With all the correction space we're allotted for a single post already devoted to admitting our amnesia about the FCC's jurisdiction for levelling indecency fines in our earlier item about comely, sailor-mouthed MTV microphone holder Vanessa Minnillo's New Year's Eve f-bomb, we're making room here to share a helpful publicist's clarification about our mistaken assumption that the unbleeped expletive was a result of the show's lack of a time-delay:

Ask anyone in L.A. if they have ever seen the House of Davids, and you're likely to be greeted with an enthusiastic round of nodding heads and disgusted faces familiar with the infamous Hancock Park residence one might describe as an architectural interpretation of the top tier of Siegfried and Roy's fantasy wedding cake. But not much is known about the house's owner—until now, that is, as Losanjealous notes the following cast bio on the site for a new E! reality show already guilty of flagrant false-zip-code-advertising, High Maintenance 90210:

While it seems that our names were somehow deleted (erroneously, we're sure) from Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes' "nice list" this holiday, at least one of our readers maintained good enough relations with Team Cruise to receive a Christmas greeting from America's Most Suspicious Nuclear Family. Happily, our operative took the time to painstakingly photograph the mysterious "card" they received last week, allowing those of us not lucky enough to make the list to share in the Cruise's heartwarming (if concisely expressed) seasonal wishes: