"What's that, Lucifer? You want me to come to your son's surprise party? Oh, hold on, Winnie the Pooh is on line 2!"

· Katie Couric tells Post editor-in-chief Col Allen that she hates his paper; all it takes is one word from America's cheerleader and Allen agrees to do better fact-checking. Which means, should this change occur, the Post will be no fun whatsoever. [R&M (4th item)]
· Morgan Quinn, the trainwreck model featured on Bravo's Project Runway, is fucking things up in real life, too. Her explanation? "I'm not Naomi Campbell, you know." No kidding, because if she were, she'd have eaten the arms off of Runway host Heidi Klum by now. [Page Six]
· Radio station HOT 97 airs a song mocking the tsunami victims...and so, the tsunami slowly heads towards Manhattan. [NYDN]
· The remarkably violent Bijou Philips is at it again, bringing her game to Sundance and spitting on a friend of actress Michelle Rodriguez. [Page Six]
· Meanwhile, when Bijou is terrorizing NYC, she and other celebs seem to be losing personal belongings in the VIP area of nightclub NA. [Lowdown (2nd item)]
· Just to give celebrities more reason to become completely paranoid freaks, Nicole Kidman's Sydney home has been mysteriously bugged. [Scoop (2nd item)]

9:04 - E!'s "news correspondent" Giuliana has nominee Virginia Madsen on the phone, but crisis strikes! She's tangled in her mic wires! She's falling asleep! Virginia Madsen says she "screamed" when she found out that she was nominated for Best Actress; Giuliana is "so happy" for her. Lots of grinning and slow head-shaking. And does Madsen appreciate being called "sweetheart" over and over again?
9:07 - They're already replaying the nominations.
9:10 - Why hasn't anyone mentioned the tsunami?

Dax Shepard as Tom Marshall... Robyn Cohen as Anne-Marie Sakowitz

8:25 - Okay, got E! on. So nervous. So excited. Only five minutes to go — how's my hair?
8:30 - Whoa, E! News Princess Giuliana looks like shit. It's only 5:30 AM out there, but: eye cream. Look into it.
8:32 - What's up with the little countdown clock in the corner? When it hits zero, will Hollywood be born anew?
8:37 - Only a minute and thirty seconds left! Movie expert Ryan Downey is telling us...nothing. Giuliana says this is all "very exciting."
8:38 - Academy darklord Frank Pearson enters, grandiose fanfare music — his mouth is barely moving. Cue obligatory Carson shoutout.
8:40 - Adrian Brody joins Pearson for the reading, does Binaca schtick. They start announcing in hyper-speed:

It's only a day into the official competition, but things are certainly heating up in our 2005 Race From The Altar! After a salty little item appeared in Page Six suggesting that just before his wedding in the Dominican Republic to La Perla heiress Martina Borgomanero, Fabian Basabe had nervously called his lawyers to confirm that he could get a divorce in the United States, Basabe and Borgomanero had a clear advantage in this contest. Now, however, Basabe is issuing denials, firing lawyers who may have been involved in tabloid leaks and, most importantly, has said that he and his new bride would "like to start a family soon enough." Uh-oh. You know what that means: Star Jones and Al Reynolds take the lead in this post-nuptial demolition derby!

From Craigslist, and yes, there are pictures:

An anonymous tipster (ha ha) sends us this piece of public art, spotted on the roof of a parking garage on West 62nd St. between Broadway and Columbus.

Great news, everyone! If you too are wracked with misery and woe over the imprisoned state of sheet-folding goddess Martha Stewart, you needn't feel such despair. To brighten everyone's spirits, the fine folks at Save Martha have purchased space on a man's body to bear a "Save Martha" tattoo. Behold the uplifting power of an eBay transaction:

If 2005 is setting up to be a year brimming with natural disasters, then we think it's in everyone's best interest to prepare for the demise of certain celebrity marriages. As such, we'd like to introduce our Race From The Altar, in which we will closely monitor the tremulous matrimonial state of our favorite glossy unions. For example, deeply entrenched in this weekend's Post, we see hints of discontent:

· Art galleries are sooo 2004: Joy Glidden (founding director of the DUMBO arts center), Shelly Bancroft (founder of Harlem's Triple Candie), and Lia Gangitano (founder of Participant, Inc) discuss the "Next Wave: Alternative Spaces in New York" at the 92nd Street Y tonight. [92Y]
· Colombian harpist progidy Edmar Castaneda, evidently, is some hot shit. He performs at 55 Bar tonight with jazz drummer Ari Hoenig. [55Bar]
· Indie pet causes are the new tsunami aid: Parker Posey, Martha Plimpton, and Sam Rockwell, among others, read childrens stories written by Jonathan Safran Foer, Nick Hornby, Dr. Seuss, and Roald Dahl on behalf of David Eggers' 826NYC writing lab. Actor/writer Eric Bogosian hosts the event. Bring your checkbook with your liberal guilt: tickets are either $50 or $100. [Tonic]

Sightings are sent in by readers; send yours to tips@gawker.com.

· Paris torturing Iraqi prisoners by simply engaging them in conversation.

· Paparazzi sketch: Paris will dress up as a paparazzi photographer (Amy Poehler will be the main photog) and they will shout things at celebrities to get them to take their picture on the red carpet. Hilarity will almost ensue when Paris shouts at her glamorous self and tells her to stop being such a bitchy whore and put some underwear on.

Come on, people. We know that most of the Northeast is under piles and piles of snow, but that's no excuse not to send your Paris Hilton/Saturday Night Live ideas.

At the Friday night opening of the photo exhibit "Pam: An American Icon," featuring the work of Sante D'Orazio (above), there were two things to be seen: large photos of Pam Anderson naked, and celebrities awkwardly studying the "art." Photographer Nikola Tamindzic braved the red carpet and the spastic paparazzi to capture the luminaries such as Debbie Harry, John McEnroe, and Robert Downey, Jr. taking in Pam Anderson's, uh, luminaries. After the jump, Nikola relays the night in pictures (some of which we'd label as not-so-safe for work, but really, what company computer hasn't had Pam's breasts on its screen?).

The celebrity circle of life, as illustrated by two headlines:

· Vogue's Anna Wintour proclaims the Donald Trump-Melania Knauss wedding extravaganza to be one of the best parties she's ever attended, probably because she managed to enjoy the fete without being doused in red paint. Oh, and to reiterate that which has been reported ad nauseum, the entire affair was spectacularly ostenatious. [NYDN]
· Paris Hilton, attending Sundance to collect the free baubles she neither needs nor will ever use, has spent most of the time dodging her mortal enemies, Shannen Doherty and Rick Salomon. Funny, we'd think she'd be indebted to Salomon for timing the leak of their sextape to ensure that The Simple Life was a success. [Page Six]
· Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez, the duo behind Proenza Schouler, have ended their romantic relationship. Fashionistas needn't worry: the boys will still be working together to ensure that Barneys mannequins always have something to wear. [Page Six]
· Not content to merely manage his son's pee-wee football team, rapper Snoop Dogg has made it known that he'd like to coach for the Pittsburgh Steelers. [Lowdown]
· Rumors are flying that music exec Jordan Bratman has (or very soon will) propose to his girlfriend, Christina Aguilera. Reps are issuing the standard denials, and if we've taught you nothing else, it's that "no" always means anything but. [ELK]
· Gold-digging would-be trophy wives take a moment of silence for Chris Heinz, stepson of Senator John Kerry, who is reportedly in posession of Troy actress Diane Kruger. [R&M]

A reader sends us what we believe is a compelling snapshot of first twin Jenna Bush, naturally enjoying her daddy's new mandate:

In a very shallow, sleek, and overpriced sort of way.
Helmut Lang Said to Leave Prada in the Latest Industry Departure [NYT]

The City Department of Health has released the results of a ground-breaking study, from which we can learn only one thing: we love to binge drink. No, no, don't get defensive from atop your moral high horse, you silly alcoholic. If you're a New Yorker, you obviously drink too much, and by "too much" we mean "more than one or two drinks per day for men and one for women." And, if you live in Greenwich Village or Chelsea, you've got a real problem, as 32% of excessive drinkers are slumming on Bleecker or 23rd (don't worry, lower Manhattan still clocks in with a healthy 22.1%). Are you white? Do you have a disposable income? Then you're an excessive drinker, too, buddy. Don't kid yourself: you're just in the early stages of denial.