The entire viewership of the Golden Globes could easily second-guess Drew Barrymore's decision to go braless during her presenting duties, but JV NY Daily News gossip Lloyd Grove called in a plastic surgeon for his expert opinion on Barrymore's breasts:

When we originally noted that Jared Leto would be playing Mark David Chapman opposite Lindsay Lohan in the upcoming Chapter 27, we figured the chunky Catcher in the Rye-obsessed John Lennon murderer would simply be rewritten as an irresistibly dreamy-eyed, aspiring rock star. But as evidenced in the above set photographs, Leto has clearly taken a cue from George Clooney's bloated and bearded Syriana performance and subsequent Golden Globe win, and has decided to gorge away his gorgeousness into his latest incarnation: Chubby, Oscar-shot Leto. It's admirable that Leto feels his new found flab could add up to industry credibility, though someone should really point out to him that blank-faced, stilted line readings really don't seem any less blank-faced or stilted when delivered from under 30 additional pounds of blubber.

Today's Page Six throws a harsh light on a profound tragedy that struck the Golden Globes, one that had seemingly escaped notice until now:

Brokeback Mountain is still riding high in the saddle since its Golden Globes triumph, but don't expect the accolades to sway Larry H. Miller, the Utah Jazz and movie theater chain owner who caused an international controversy for pulling the movie at the very last minute from his multiplex, no explanation offered. Towleroad notes that when a radio reporter approached him for a comment as he was entering a hotel ballroom to deliver a speech at the (irony alert) local NAACP's annual Martin Luther King luncheon, a pissy Miller slapped the microphone away, saying "I said everything I had to say when I pulled the movie. Okay? Anything else you want to know?" The entire exchange was caught on video. Meanwhile, it's business at usual at Miller's Sandy Megaplex theater, where you can catch six screenings a day of a ball-gagged Jay Hernandez exploring the outer recesses of his pain threshold in Hostel.

Despite our prayers that all Golden Globes coverage had ceased at the close of business yesterday, more HFPA-related fun was still trickling out from other outlets after we signed off yesterday. Over at The Envelope, Richard "Kudos Crasher" Rushfield filed his man-in-the-ballroom report, capped with this fascinating, claustrophobic exchange between handsy red carpet loose cannon Isaac Mizrahi and bite-sized DreamWorks mogul Jeffrey Katzenberg:

· The chain of causality has been firmly established: Sneak a burger during an awards ceremony, get your wife pregnant.
· Despite our best attempts to ignore it, crazy-ass life goes on outside of awards season. For example, PETA is upset about what it considers subpar conditions for Michael Jackson's menagerie at Neverland, yet doesn't seem at all concerned about the abandoned packs of Cub Scouts roaming the grounds in search of food and living in the rusty ferris wheel.
· Still more lingering awards-related business: Army Archerd is stepping down as red carpet greeter at the Oscars. Seacrest obviously has incriminating photos.
· There's no reason why a canceled ESPN show should make us feel better about life, but somehow the death of the ESPN Hollywood abomination does just that.
· Shatner daily double! Big Billy Style sells a kidney stone for charity, will host the Golden Groundhog Awards.

Today's orgy of Golden Globes coverage has left us crumpled in a heap underneath our desk, feeling unsatisfied and more than a little used. (We can almost hear members of the HFPA swapping crude stories about the unflattering noise we make when someone nibbles on our earlobe.) Sure, you're already aware of who took home the prizes, but no awards package worth its weight in garish, gold-plated statuettes would be complete without a round-up of various websites' lists of last night's winners:

The Golden Globes, as it turns out, were pretty good to The Gays, with Brokeback Mountain, Capote and Transamerica taking home the lion's share of the major awards. So welcome have these portrayals of the previously marginalized been and in particular, Brokeback's unflinching gaze upon two (ick!) masculine, sexually active men in love that some are going so far as to call last night's ceremony a "watershed" moment in the history of gay social acceptance:

· Producer Bonnie Bruckheimer (yes, she was once married to The Brand, OK, glad to have that out of the way) sticks around for a Q&A following a Hollywood's Master Storytellers screening extravaganza for Beaches at the ArcLight.
· Tuesday night music: The Editors at Cinespace, American Idol castoff Constantine Maroulis at the Roxy (please, Idol fans, no hate mail, it ain't our fault he didn't win); Golden State at the Troubadour.
· We're going to continue listing Patton Oswalt's shows (tonight at UCB with Andy Kindler, Todd Barry, Aziz Ansari et al) until his manager finally sends us that check for five dollars. But in case you're tired of that kind of thing, there's also this GenArt event at club/aircraft hangar Vanguard or the ongoing Master of American Comics exhibition at the Hammer and MOCA.

Brokeback Mountain director Ang Lee is probably at this moment luxuriating in a bubble bath in his Hilton suite, gleefully using his new best director trophy for a little round of Golden Globe submarine commander. These recent accolades are almost enough to erase the memory of his disastrous last effort, The Hulk, which Lee admits left him "depressed and shaken." But while the production may have been a traumatic one for Lee, and a disappointment at the box office, it still made enough money ($245 million) for Universal to consider a Hulk 2 just don't expect it to be playing anywhere besides a home theater near you:

Tucked inside a bumper you probably fast-forwarded through between Walk the Line's win for best musical or comedy picture and Lost's dramatic TV series triumph was this blink-and-you-missed it shot of Russell Crowe chowing on a burger (shades of Hilary Swank's iconic, celebratory post-Oscar Astroburger immediately came to mind—is there no "I'm just a regular person" awards show moment not tied to Ms. Swank?), a snack apparently delivered to Crowe's table in a telltale, off-the-menu Styrofoam container. We're relieved to see the legendarily roughneck actor enjoying a man-of-the-people nosh; after all—and we're sure Crowe would be the first one to tell you this—the official Globes second course of Chilean sea bass is for the pussies sitting in the TV section.

It's not that the special Golden Globes remix of that Pussycat Dolls song that kicked off the ceremony was too hard to understand to make an accurate transcription. On the contrary, the starving studio musicians (please tell us that the Dolls aren't already starving to death) that NBC forced into this ritualized awards show humiliation were admirably intelligible as they warbled tributes to the arriving stars. Our failure to scribble down the altered lyrics had more to do with the fact that we were so distressed by the odd sensation of the warm trickle of blood that issued forth from our eardrums after realizing they really did sing "Don’t ya dig the bling on the robes tonight?" that we went looking for a towel to stanch the flow, aborting our mission before it even began. Luckily for everyone, blogger Josh Horowitz's auditory canal is made of heartier stuff:

Asked to reveal the secret of what keeps Goldie Hawn frozen in a state of permanent sexpot desirability, even as she quickly approaches her discounted movie ticket-buying years, the actress recently revealed that much of it is due to creative roleplaying in the bedroom with life partner/jockey Kurt Russell:

Anyone who sat through last night's Golden Globes telecast felt crippling, vicarious embarrassment on behalf of presenter Dennis Quaid, whose soon-to-be infamous "chick flick" joke will surely go down in the storied history of awards show misfires. Our transcription of Quaid's doomed introduction of Brokeback Mountain:

Our special Defamer diplomatic envoy to Finland weighs in with a full report on the Conan O'Brienmania currently sweeping the land of smelt and cellphones. As we mentioned yesterday, Conan's delightful sense of the absurd has gotten a bit out of hand of late, with the Late Night host throwing his considerable celebrity influence behind current President and O'Brien lookalike Tarja Halonen's re-election bid.

The single biggest complaint about last night's Golden Globes ceremony seems to revolve around His Dreaminess' jarring absence from the Brokeback lovefest. So let's get your twisted awards seasons priorities straight, Jake: Palm Springs International Film Festival, yes, Golden Globes, no? And don't give us this "I wasn't nominated" crap. Who else could we have counted on to pull a Phillippe if Heath had won? Michelle Williams? She would have trouble tackling a roll of soggy paper towels.

The complicated family dynamic between Miss Golden Globe Dakota Johnson and famous mom Melanie Griffith that first unfolded on stage during the Globes ceremony seemed to further develop in front of the wire service firing squad on the way to the after-parties. Stopping to momentarily bathe in the shower of flashbulbs en route to the Warner Bros/InStyle bash, Griffith seemingly clings both to the daughter growing up too fast and to her own past as the HFPA's designated mannequin. Young Dakota, acutely feeling the maternal drag on the spotlight of her petulant Hollywood coming out party, grants her a mere split-second of embrace, then slips away, leaving the proud/jealous woman through whose birth canal she once so happily passed grasping at fingertips.

· Not so fast, Glory Road! The Weinstein Co.'s Hoodwinked squeezes past Jerry Bruckheimer's uplifting basketball flick at the MLK holiday weekend box office. [Variety]
· David Chase says this is the last season of The Sopranos, no matter how much money HBO throws at him to stretch out the series into "bonus" mini-seasons. No, for real this time! [THR]
· CBS Corp. officially changes the name of its studio arm to CBS Paramount Television. Meanwhile, Brad Grey is considering starting a new TV division over at the real Paramount, which we're sure will be something suitably retaliatory, like Paramount Pictures' Fuck CBS TV. [Variety]
· X-Files creator Chris Carter sues 20th Century Fox TV for breach of contract, contractual interference and other claims over funds he claims to be owed. He alleges that 20th reneged on their deal because the terms were "too favorable" to Carter, i.e., they forgot to include the proper, obscure contract language to thoroughly but legally screw him out of money. [THR]
· Moving the Golden Globes to Monday to avoid the oncoming Nielsen freight train of Desperate Housewives pays off, with NBC winning the night despite a challenge from 24. [Variety]

Like spoiled, scheming daddy's girls with Sweet 16s falling on the same night, the various studios threw out all the stops to lure the popular kids to their Golden Globes bashes. Since all the events took place somewhere in the Beverly Hilton, however, party hopping was as easy as stumbling into an elevator and pressing a button; you just had to be prepared to find a collapsed Paris Hilton with a half-deflated nitrous balloon in her lips when the doors opened. A Golden Globes party round-up:

Backstage at the Golden Globes, Brokeback Mountain's success, George Clooney's early win for Syriana, and an awards show press corp utterly unafraid to ask the most inane of hypothetical questions combined for this well-shaken nonsense cocktail: