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Not one to be overshadowed by The Da Vinci Code's strong showing at the global box office this weekend, Madonna made sure to remind the world who's boss when it comes to heresy-drenched pop spectacles by mounting herself on a massive, mirror-tiled cross (picture courtesy of Towleroad) at last night's tour kick-off at The Forum. (A venue, interestingly enough, owned by the Faithful Central Bible Church.) A stunned, rapturous crowd of Gays quickly fell silent as her dutiful, Vogueing background dancers drove glowsticks through her palms and into the glittering crucifix with stacks of money. The throng was disappointed, however, when they learned they'd have to wait three days and pay an additional $400 a ticket to see the end of her act, when the dancers will roll away a one-ton sequined boulder, and she will emerge reborn from an onstage tomb at the Staples Center.

• Literary Death Match III brings writers from your favorite elitist literary reviews together for a read-off. The reader who earns the most tears and/or laughs win, unless someone draws blood — obviously, blood is the literary trump card. [flavorpill]
• The Sunset Rubdown show sold out, but we swore we would never pay for that sort of thing anyway. Trading favors on Craigslist, however, is not out of the question. [Prefix]
• Meatpacking District Design Week 2006: because beautiful Eurotrash and their rooftop pools don't do enough self-congratulating. [WUNY]

Friday:
• In the time it takes most people to tie their shoes, Prep author Curtis Sittenfeld wrote a new book. Hear her read from The Man of My Dreams tonight at the Barnes & Noble on Astor Place, 7 PM.
• The Go-Gos play Nokia Theatre; you'll dance and try not to cry at how the years have treated Belinda. [Prefix]

• People Under the Stairs take over S.O.B.'s for some hip-hop and dust bunnies. Maybe a lost sock or two — we don't really know what hides under there. [flavorpill]
• In the enviable position of having a debut novel that everyone liked, Ben Kunkel reads from Indecision tonight at 192 Books. Go and fawn, but remember: had a woman written that book, it would've been chick lit. [Paper]
• London Calling, a Clash tribute band, hops across the pond for the 25th anniversary of the real band's NY invasion. Don your fake vintage t-shirt and join in on the historical hipster fun. [WUNY]

There is no more effective way of catching pesky, flittering celebrities than with the irresistible honey-trap of the gifting suite. With many stars in town for upfronts, shopping magazine Lucky set up "The Lucky Club" at the New York Ritz Carlton, and, not surprisingly, the famous dutifully lined up for their turn at the complimentary luxury goods soup kitchen. A round-up:
· Britney Spears bounced her bobbleheaded baby, Sean "Wrong Way" Preston, on her hip as she stacked up on "$5,000 worth of track jackets and polos - size XXL," items she presumably fantasized would make for a dramatic tumble from a top floor window when she finally kicks Kevin Federline out of the house. [NY Daily News]
· Mischa Barton perused the L.A.M.B. table: "'I like this. I have that,' Offered a pair of size 6 shorts, Barton didn't bother to try them on. 'They'll probably fit. I'm such a lazy shopper.'" There's a certain harmonious, zen comfort to be derived from knowing Barton shops like she acts like she lives. [NY Daily News]
· Notorious germaphobe Howie Mandel, who browsed with one of Deal or No Deal's fembots, commented that one of the best parts of gifting suites is not having "to handle cash." He then spent an hour at the Louis Vuitton display doing what he does best, pointing at various pieces of luggage and asking his companion to open them for him. [NY Post]

• Cameron Jaime makes silent films about suburbia gone wrong (as if it were ever right). Tonight at Symphony Space, the Melvins and Kenji Haino provide a live soundtrack, making the dysfunction all the merrier. [flavorpill]
• Not quite as exciting as John Cusack and a boom box, the band Say Anything performs at Bowery Ballroom. Go and scream "In Your Eyes" between songs; we bet that never happens. [Prefix]
• Russell Crowe takes some time out from his busy schedule of throwing phones to play with his new-ish band The Ordinary Fear of God. Also, Art Brut is playing — you know, if you like real music. [Paper]

In light of the recent disappointing™ and disastrous openings of M:i:III and Poseidon, respectively, LAT columnist Patrick Goldstein examines one of Hollywood's favorite bloodsports, the Monday ritual of flop-tainted executives and producers donning sweaters made of chum and casting themselves into the lunchtime shark tanks at the city's power-eateries:

• As a celebration of The Revolution Will Be Accessorized, a new BlackBook anthology, Meghan Daum and Dirk Wittenborn debate which city is more bourgeois: Los Angeles or New York. Bring your foam fingers revel in the hometown advantage. McNally Robinson Books, 50 Prince Street, 7 PM.
⁊ His Name is Alive hits the Mercury Lounge before embarking on a national tour with Youth Group. Let that little light of thine to shine tonight at 8. [flavorpill]
•Put your week's worth of stubble to use at the NYC Beard and Mustache Championships. Extra points if you can actually find enough scraps in your beard to make yourself dinner. [Paper]

Defamer is committed to bringing together qualified, discreet professionals from the private aviation industry and the frequent-flying superproducers who wouldn't mind having a little something-something to look at while sipping martinis on the flight to Cannes, OK? Via monster.com, an exciting opportunity for anyone looking to spend some quality, pressurized-cabin time with a Hollywood power player:

• Put on your concerned caps and head to Galapagos for the second New York Progressive Reading Series. Williamsburg can drop the irony if it's for the left. [flavorpill]
• Axl Rose still believes he qualifies as Guns n' Roses, despite the lack of Slash. Decide for yourself tonight at Hammerstein. [NYCT]
• Mexican Tap Water brings their show to the Peoples Improv Theater. Pop some Immodium before you go. [Upcoming]

The autograph has endured for centuries as the classic celebrity-fan interaction, a masterpiece of social synthesis in which all that is required of the participants is a writing instrument, a writing surface, and a brief traversal of the vast chasm of status that separates a famous person from his or her plebe admirer. Autograph Collector, the magazine devoted to such pursuits, has released a list of best and worst celebrity signers. Sitting atop is the approachable Johnny Depp, reportedly always at the ready with a smile and a Sharpie with which to personalize your Pirates of the Caribbean lunchbox:

Friday:
• Savalas in Williamsburg hosts The Babymaker, an unfortunately-titled recreation of a high school dance. Recreation for some, wishful thinking for others. 285 Bedford Ave, 11 pm.
• Sundance comes to New York as BAM hosts a sampling of the festival's films. Go, but only after you've seen Just My Luck at least three times. [flavorpill]

• Here and Queer essayist Edmund White gives a reading tonight from My Lives: An Autobiography. Get there in time to hear him talk about his mother — that's guaranteed entertainment. [flavorpill]
• The L magazine celebrates its third birthday tonight at Fontana's. Free beer from 9-10 PM. Did we mention free beer? [WUNY]
• Nothing is better than a ninja. Tonight, Northsix hosts the Chinese Stars, a band whose name is clearly ninja-related and therefore should be worth the trip. [Paper]

• The Film Forum hosts "Cartoons: No Laughing Matter," a film festival discussing the growing consequence of the medium. Thanks, but Denmark could have used the memo a couple months sooner. [flavorpill]
• Jane Fonda discusses her new book, My Life So Far. Be that person who asks about working with Lindsay Lohan tonight at 6:30. [WUNYC]
• Four band members to every groupie: West-coast imports Irving take the stage with Group Sounds, Beirut, and Boulevard at the Knitting Factory. [Upcoming]
• If you're feeling particularly adventurous, venture up to Makor, where journalist Peter Hyman hosts a panel of fools to ruminate on the celebrity media clusterfuck. Deep thoughts guaranteed. [92Y]

• Dr. Katz is resurrected tonight at the Gotham Comedy Club, as Jonathan Katz gives us a live version of the late, squiggly therapist. In real life, we hear he's three-dimensional. [Gotham]
• Al Franken takes a break from talking on the radio to instead talk at the 92nd St Y. We hear that his unreasonably large glasses flash lights and shoot lasers. It's the little things that make his appearances worth it. [92Y]
• What's better than drunken Paula Abdul on Idol? Not much, but Chicago at Radio City Music Hall might do it. Also, you need to stop watching Idol anyhow. [Paper]

Saturday's LAT postulated the imminent obsolescence of the chihuahua as the must-have accessory amongst celebrities who may or may not realize they're toting around a living thing in their purses, noting a high-profile surge in the popularity of pugs:

• In the grand tradition of ABBA and Ace of Base, Scandanavian imports the Concretes bring their "shimmery" pop to Bowery Ballroom. Think Mamma Mia, but tolerable. [flavorpill]
• Patriot Acts celebrates the grand tradition of bitching about America while raising money for a good cause. Bring your stars, your stripes, and your whine to the Civilians Benefit tonight at NYU's Skirball Center. [The Civilians]
• The Other Talent Show showcases the skills of Manhattan's finest semi-unemployed comedians. Expect a lot of tubas, tap dancing, and other attempts at overcompensation. [Paper]

In a story that is sure to shake Hollywood's dog-psychology establishment to its very foundations, a TV producer is suing Cesar Millan, better know to National Geographic Channel viewers as "The Dog Whisperer," for the mistreatment of his beloved Lab:

The only thing we love more than amusing, "only in Hollywood" stories sent in by our readers on Friday afternoon is when they are spooky and secondhand "only in Hollywood" stories that involve famous witch houses and kidnappings. So without further ado, we present "The Case of the Missing Sisters of Angeleno Heights."