For those of us who actually look forward to our weekly dose of dippiness courtesy of future toxicology report subject Paula Abdul, wonderful news: She has renewed her American Idol contract for three more seasons:

· Music round-up: The Antiques at Tangier; Irving at King King; The National at The Troubadour ; Hedwig and the Angry Inch (with Donovan Leitch and Bijou Phillips) at The Roxy.
· AFI screens the Steve Buscemi-directed Lonesome Jim at the ArcLight, then sticks around to answer your questions about the movie, how it feels to be murdered by the Coen Brothers, or what it's like to direct Hollywood's lone working Affleck.
· The Writers Bloc presents the pretty interesting pairing of Erica "Fear of Flying" Jong and Jerry "Permanent Midnight" Stahl in conversation at the Skirball Cultural Center.

Randy Quaid's recently filed lawsuit against the producers of Brokeback Mountain has turned a pair of watchful binoculars on how talent is being paid for working in features produced by the so-called "mini-majors"—those arthouse divisions of huge studios such as Focus and Fox Searchlight. The studios claim that the low-budget films wouldn't be made without their casts and crew drastically cutting their asking price, while above-the-line players like Quaid feel they are nickle-and-dimed only to have the studios spend huge amounts on marketing, eventually reaping big distribution fees. The NY Times reports:

We hate to think we'd left you in a state of suspense regarding Amanda Scheer Demme's various nightlife interests after yesterday's post about her alleged shitcanning by her bosses at the Roosevelt Hotel. Both TMZ and Page Six have updates about Demme's fate, which her reps are spinning as a "buyout" (which seems technically true, since we assume it would cost the hotel some cash to tear up her contract). Says TMZ:

Courtesy of an operative watching some action unfold over by the Burbank studios, Sign #12,574 That People In This Town Take Themselves Far Too Seriously:

A couple of thoughts immediately crossed our minds upon viewing Us Weekly's completely convincing, obviously not staged photos of American Idol spokesmodel Ryan Seacrest and profoundly desperate Housewife Teri Hatcher:

The masterpiece of crazy that is Sharon Stone is not that unlike the work of the great Impressionists—it's only once you examine every subtle, insane brushstroke that you can appreciate the genius of the whole. A Sharon Stone CrazyWatch Round-Up:
· The den of awkwardness that was the Basic Instinct 2 premiere after party started with Stone arriving 25 minutes before anyone had shown up (she didn't bother to stick around for the movie) and continued all night as she fielded gracious, gushing lies from her guests about how much they loved the movie. Page Six, however, claims they overheard an audience member (i.e. they probably mumbled this to themselves at one point) saying, "The only thing worse than the dialogue were Sharon's implants."

· Arrested Development's studio, 20th Century Fox TV, finally announces that the series isn't coming back, but still insists on torturing diehard fans by trotting out the Family Guy example and winking, "We'll always be a little hopeful that this is not quite the end for this amazing show." [Variety]
· Pilotmania, Part The Twelfth: The CW picks up the Wayne Brady comedy Flirt, Kelsey Grammer
will direct the pilot for the CBS comedy My Ex-Life, and Bo Derek provides barely convincing proof that she's still alive by signing to star in My Network TV's drama Secret Obsessions. [THR]
· Breaking! Other cultures sometimes prefer their own movies to the crap that Hollywood forces on them. [Variety]
· YouTube makes a deal with E! to spin a The Soup segment into an online channel called Cybersmack, which will feature user-generated video clips that satirize pop-culture. The best clip gets $25,000, while the others get the satisfaction of knowing they've contributed to the TV network that wouldn't allow The Simple Life to die. [THR]
· You might think that a movie about "a man wrongly accused of murder who goes undercover as a mail-order bride in an attempt to prove his innocence" writes itself, but you'd be wrong. It requires the subtle touch of the Are We There Yet? team. [Variety]

LA Observed passed along this press release from the Mayor's office announcing the transformation of the city of Los Angeles into a publicity instrument for the release of Crash's director's cut DVD:

Natural bearskin birthing spokesmodel Britney Spears can always be relied upon to be at the center of multiple ridiculous lawsuits and brushes with the law. To keep you up to date with the latest on the Spears legal docket, a Britney Justice round-up:
· Britney's songwriters (wait—she doesn't write them herself?) are accusing a South Korean singer named Lee Hyo-lee of having "partially plagiarized" a song called "Do Something." (We've never heard of it, but we'll assume it's an empowering disco track a la "I Will Survive" in which a fed up Britney confronts Kevin Federline once and for all).

We knew that the Jolie-instigated trend of very public celebrity adoptions of foreign orphans was on the steep decline to tragic unfashionability when fading actress/recreational cosmetic surgery enthusiast Meg Ryan picked up her Chinese daughter and decided that it was OK to rename her any time a more suitably adorable moniker crossed her mind, further establishing the accessorization of rescued babies all over Hollywood. But nothing should kill the craze more completely than the public admission by Jessica Simpson's flack that his client is "exploring options," perhaps in Mexico, for her own quickie-family-building needs. We expect that the first Life & Style photo spreads featuring Simpson spray painting her new baby pink to match her favorite pair of Ugg boots is no more than six months away.

Early this morning, a panicked reader e-mailed to ask us what happened to the Hottest Hollywood Assistants site, which has been replaced by a splash page announcing that their web account has been suspended, worried that her ability to assign comically low numerical ratings to the industry's indentured chore whores might have been compromised by a conspiracy of high-level agents. Fret not, children, as the site's evil masterminds have assured us they've merely blown through their monthly bandwidth allowance, are currently "changing servers," and should be back online later today. There's no foul play involved, unless you want to count the fake profile of the harness-adorned "assistant" fucking a tailpipe that recently appeared on the site.

In fairness to Whitney Houston, if our sister-in-law had sold a picture to the National Enquirer of our bathroom before we had a chance to tidy up the freebasing paraphernalia, celebrity glossies, screwdrivers, empty Budweiser cans and Newport packs, you might well jump to the conclusion that we're a bunch of bottomed-out crack whores, too. (You'd be right, but one can never assume.) Tina Brown, Bobby's sister, tells the Enquirer she was Whitney's "drug buddy" for months, but their Thelma & Louise-on-crack adventures started to wear thin once Whitney started spending "days locked in her bathroom amidst piles of garbage, using sex toys to satisfy herself and ignoring personal hygiene." Poor Bobby: Everything we saw of him in Being Bobby Brown indicated the guy's just trying his hardest to be a good dad, a task not made any easier when you're required to explain to your kids that mommy missed their birthday dinner because she had an "important appointment with Dr. Spoon and Prof. Needles."

We know what you'll be discussing around the watercooler this morning: how shitfaced you got at some bar last night in close proximity to a handful of underage starlets. Eventually, though, there will be a lull in that topic, and the guy who's been a little too quiet about the previous evening's escapades will sheepishly ask, "Hey, you catch Michael Eisner's new talk show last night?" There will be an awkward silence—a long one, the kind where you start to notice a spot in the carpet that's wearing thin, or your cubicle neighbor's razor bumps, and if you listen closely enough, you can almost hear the sound of your conversation dying. Luckily, Gawker Media jack-of-all-recaps Henry the Intern endured the maiden broadcast of Conversations with Michael Eisner on CNBC (an actual basic cable network, we're told) so that you can revive the flagging discussion with "Holy crap, Bran Ferren's paranoid futurism totally freaked my shit out!" instead of the usual, "And then he puked on my shoes once we were done making out in the bathroom line." His blow-by-blow follows after the jump:

The Arquettes are sort of our generation's answer to the Barrymores—had Lionel risen to prominence for marrying a more successful sitcom actress and John decided to have his sex change documented on national television—and they are being recognized for their collective contribution to TV, movies, and annoying AT&T campaigns with the AFI's Platinum Circle Award. It's an award so family-friendly, even the in-laws are cut in on the action:

We nearly forgot to wish a happy birthday to celebrated director Brett Ratner, born 37 years ago on this very day. We spent some quality time on the birthday boy's new website trying to select the image that best commemorates this special occasion, and while a nice shot of him and mentor/waterbed wingman Robert Evans or one of a teenage Ratner chewing the scenery in a high school play seemed festive, the above behind-the-scenes photo (actual caption: "Brett shooting some ass on the set of "Money Talks") says the most about the man and his work in a single, utterly efficient frame.

Much like Eskimos have multiple words for snow, a single term like "crazy" in relation to Sharon Stone doesn't seem to come close to doing the woman justice. In honor of last night's Basic Instinct 2 premiere in New York, we thought we'd do a round-up of the latest on the actress who made severe chemical imbalances in women over 40 sexy again:

· Stone told USA Today at last night's premiere that she is simply stunned that her on-screen nudity—the one no one really cares about but that she keeps bringing up in every interview anyway—should have caused so much (imaginary) controversy: "I think it's hilarious. One never imagines anyone is going to actually care or be at all excited to see you naked."

· Rainy night music round-up: Stereolab at the Henry Fonda; Kieran Hebden (of Four Tet fame) and Steve Reid at Spaceland; Thursday and Minus the Bear at the El Rey.
· Legendary (is it too soon for that?) cartoonist Tom Tomorrow, the guy behind This Modern World, signs Hell in a Handbasket: Dispatches from the Country Formerly Known as America, at Book Soup.
· Because it is much easier to describe a comedian's physical attributes (see also: nattily attired Paul F. Tompkins and intimidatingly bearded Zach Galifianakis) than his comedy, reliably bespectacled funnyperson Greg Proops once again stages The Greg Proops Chat Show at Largo. Tonight's formidable lineup: Sarah Silverman, John "C." Reilly, and musical genius-type Jon Brion.

Though Rasputin-turned-teddy-bear Santino Rice had a nice run and his eerily accurate impersonations were the most memorable thing in the show's second season, this year's breakout Project Runway personality was clearly Tim Gunn, Heidi Klum's whip-cracking lieutenant. A reader tips us that the network's corporate powers-that-be seem to have taken note of Gunn's budding, basic cable stardom: