· Adam Sandler and Kevin James will bravely mine the previously unexplored comic territory of domestic partner insurance benefits in
I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, about two heterosexual firefighters who pretend to be a gay couple Although with a script by Alexander Payne and James Taylor, there's hope it will be more than a processsion of "look at how uncomfortable it is when two straight dudes have to pretend to kiss!" jokes. Bonus callback section: Sandler will take on the project after he wraps 9/11 Reign O'er Me with noted director Mike Binger. [Variety]
· Ethan Hawke Presents An Ethan Hawke Film Starring Ethan Hawke: Taking the concept of vanity project to an exciting new level, Ethan Hawke will direct Mark Webber, Catalina Sandino Moreno, Michelle Williams, Laura Linney, and himself in The Hottest State, the film adaptation of his own novel. We don't even want to think about the casting couch self-abuse he had to endure to land himself a role in the picture. [THR]
· Fox's decline in film division revenue can't stop COO Peter Chernin, who's clearly never tried to sit through Fantastic Four, from "feeling really good about the movie biz." [Variety]
· Rob Corddry lands the lead role in the Fox comedy pilot Becoming Glen; coupled with brother Nathan's recent casting in Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, we may all have to confront the sad reality of a Corddry-less The Daily Show this Fall. [THR]
· The red-hot Terrence Howard seems to be content with taking over Samuel L. Jackson's career, as he's in final negotiations to star in Coach Carter-y feeling Lionsgate drama P.D.R., based on true story of an inner city swim coach. [Variety]

The satellite radio celebrity DJ wars appeared to be Sirius' victory, with both Howard Stern and Martha Stewart safely contracted to their side, free to fill their broadcasts with as much cussing and lesbian frosting-licking contests as their hearts desire. After those impressive signings, it seemed that XM, with its somewhat less impressive roster of mostly frosting-free lesbian Ellen DeGeneres and Snoop Dogg, would have to settle for runner-up status. But just when they seemed down for the count, XM revealed its secret weapon, and it was a biggie:

Wherein we invite our readers to take a seat on humpy E! gossip-carnie Ted Casablanca's weekly blind item roller coaster, the tallest thrill-ride in four counties. This week, Casablanca zigs briefly towards three-ways and blow-monkeys before zagging to the less glamorous topic of balding anorexics. Throw your arms in the air and scream for One Wigged-Out Blind Vice:

Stay-at-home dad Ben Affleck was apparently too busy with diaper-changing responsibilities to make the trip to Santa Barbara for the festival premiere of a film he's in, and Page Six reports that his director realizes that ass-kissing is mandatory only if your fading star actually shows his face at the screening:

Pictured is Teri Hatcher, who in a moment of sheer inspiration, realized the best way to shift the focus of Grammy Awards coverage away from its tedious obsession with "music" and "nominated artists," and over to the far more fascinating subject of herself, was to show up in an outfit sure to be talked about in cramped office kitchens across the country the next day.

The Grammys were, well, the Grammys. Allowing yourself to become frustrated by the absurdity of the event is like bringing your toddler to the doctor every time he fills his diaper, demanding to know why he's broken. And so once you make the unfortunate choice to tune in, there's nothing to do but sink a little deeper into the couch each time brain-damaged Grammy producers facilitate the unholy onstage pairing of Madonna and Gorillaz, Mary J. Blige and U2, and Sir Paul McCartney, The Only Living Beatle, Even Though Ringo Continues To Draw Breath Somewhere, We Think and Linkin. Fucking. Park., suspecting that the music in an eternally stopped elevator in Hell is less insanity-provoking.

· Silly kangaroo! Never take career advice from Meg Ryan!
· Tara Reid: still sweetly trying to convince us of her awesome mental abilities.
· The gang at B&C was hoping for bloodshed at today's Guild protests over product placement; unfortunately, the newly militant WGA chose to go the peaceful, if noisy, route.
· When Paul Walker isn't busy being used a virtual sexual prop, he's fantasizing about hate-fucking Into the Blue co-star Jessica Alba.

Housekeeping thief to the stars Lucyna Turyk-Wawrynowicz pled guilty today to stealing from celebrity clients Robert DeNiro and Candice Bergen. As it turns out, however, this wasn't merely a matter of a sterling silver dessert fork here, a finger or two of single malt scotch there. No, this kleptomaniacal cleaning woman will go down as one of the great criminal domestics of her time:

In his editor's note on Vanity Fair's annual, disappointing Hollywood reacharound, Graydon Carter recounts a testy run-in with this year's lock for Best Actor:

· Just in time for the Grammys, Create:Fixate presents a seminar on Music and Copyright at the Spring Arts Tower downtown, moderated by attorney Henry Self (straight out of Lavely and Singer, currently our favorite Hollywood legal pitbulls) .
· Kim Cooper signs In the Aeroplane Over the Sea at Book Soup, a "lovingly researched oral history" of Neutral Milk Hotel. Afterwards, retreat to the nearby Peet's Coffee for a discussion with fellow NMH fans and perhaps yet another encounter with Katie Holmes.
· Yeah, we know you forgot, but the Grammys are tonight, but whatever. Far more talent will be on display at the 50th show of J. Keith van Straaten's What's My Line? Live On Stage at the Acme Theater.

For those frustrated that Brokeback Mountain's shirtless-wrasslin' gay cowboy action is confined to the big screen of their local theater and not, say, available in some sort of computer simulation form, take heart: Our friend at Towleroad has alerted us that someone's figured out a way to move Jack Twist and Ennis Del Mar into your Sims neighborhood, where the star-crossed cowpokes can finally set up the ranch of their dreams. It would probably be a small matter to give them a pair of wives who willfully ignore their frequent fishing trips for the sake of cinematic verisimilitude, but in your carefully constructed digital utopia, why should they have to bother with such a charade?

It can't be mere coincidence that celebrity break-up reports start piling up in the weeks approaching Valentine's Day. One need only catch a passing glimpse of a calendar violated with a red Sharpie-scrawled heart around the 14th, and the words "Dinner with my sweetie!" taunting menacingly from inside, to convince oneself that the grinning, insufferable creature who has been surfing one's coattails for far too long needs to hit the curb. But there's more than merely passion fatigue at play with the epidemic's latest victims—Ralph Fiennes and his partner of 11 years, Francesca Annis there's also the home-wrecking Romanian chanteuse factor, and the question of just who dumped whom:

It seems like retired Disney CEO Michael Eisner has finally discovered a diverting way to spend some of that newfound free time: taunting reporters with potentially controversial comments about his successor's plans, then sullenly yanking away the possibly interesting remark like a child denying his Labrador another sweet bite of a well-chewed Frisbee. From an interview in Australia's The Bulletin:

Tomorrow's a "big" "dramatic" day in the celebrity weekly wars, as the Post unveils its new 74-page glossy, Page Six: The Magazine. It's OK, go ahead and take a moment to change your underwear.

We've got the city blanketed with operatives ready to keep us up-to-date on Katie Holmes' every coffee-shop visit; we've found these fleeting moments of relative peace in an otherwise hyperscrutinized existence to be valuable opportunities for sympathizing with the plight of the world's most famous prisoner of love. A spy encountered Holmes returning to Peet's on the Sunset Strip this morning, and offered this report:

It's Fashion Week in New York, when armies of skeletal, bored-looking (but secretly loving every minute!) models clomp down runways in every available large, indoor space in Manhattan not already occupied by a class of middle-school math students. With so many companies showing so many lines, it would seem almost impossible to have your young fashion house's designs land on the backs of Hollywood's red carpet elite. That is, unless your company is called Marchesa and you're screwing Harvey Weinstein:

· Tom Freston unveils the new Viacom for investors, which will adhere to a "two-pronged approach" of domestic niches and international expansion. Other prongs left unmentioned: fucking CBS Corp. employees out of everything they can, and laying off enough of their own Paramount workforce to start a studio of their own. [Variety]
· The always resourceful Universal finds a way to turn Curious George into a simian whore, placing products throughout the incorrigible monkey's animated movie. [THR]
· Six Oscar nominations (and a clever in-store display that hisses racial epithets at nearby shoppers) trick unwitting consumers into a Crash DVD purchase, causing video sales of the movie to jump 150%. The Constant Gardener and Cinderella Man DVDs also received boosts from Academy Awards nods. [Variety]
· Director Catherine Hardwicke is in negotiations to direct a movie about the life of the Virgin Mary before the birth of Christ for New Line. Please, God, let them skip the interactive sex games for this one. [THR]
· Affleck's career gets temporary stay of execution: Ben Affleck is finally successful in begging movie-star buddy Matt Damon to do another movie with him, as Touchstone makes a deal for a film starring the pair as real-life lawyers who exonerated a death row inmate. [Variety]

Ain't It Cool News has come across perhaps the greatest promotion in the history of soon-to-be-doomed movies. Visitors to the website of New Line's Running Scared can take part in a highly immersive interactive experience (you must be 17 years old to play—wink wink, horny fifth graders!), becoming a virtual, cunnilingus-craving version of Paul Walker:

There is happy news for the Dino De Laurentiis of inebriated, exhibitionistic, vacationing sorority girl cinema verite, Girls Gone Wild founder Joe Francis. Darnell Riley, Francis' blackmailing assailant, has pled guilty to some of his alleged actual* crimes (by way of review, Riley broke into Francis' home, held him at gunpoint, bound him with duct tape, and forced him to repeat the words
I
m from Boys Gone Wild, and I like it up the ass,
capturing the entire scene on video for the purposes of extortion). And to paraphrase an oft-repeated sentiment borrowed from the files of Mystery, Inc., he might have gotten away with it, too, if it wasn't for that meddling Paris Hilton:

Mining its incredible network of loose-lipped "friends" of America's Most Suspicious Couple, Life & Style Weekly claims to have gotten some insider insight into Tom Cruise's nefarious plans for his heavy-with-improbable-child finacée: