Kingdom of Heaven's stumble out of its opening-weekend gate didn't do anything to help shake the box office out of its slump. Why did it fail? Maybe it wasn't the right kind of Jesus-y:

Both Page Six and Rush & Molloy report that Paula Abdul suffered something of a freak out over her planned image-rehabilitation sketch during SNL's Weekend Update on Saturday; crying was involved, and, we imagine, some agitated hand movements as a paper bag was held in front of her face while someone looked for her "relaxation Mentos." Alas, it seems the "magic candy" was never found, and Abdul sat out most of the sketch, forcing Amy Poehler to take over Abdul's role, and the American Idol judge was ultimately unsuccessful at self-consciously lampooning her scandal. Better luck next time—we noticed the way she used to lick her lips every time Scott "The Big, Scary, Talentless Baby" Savol dipped out of key (think of the coaching she could do!), so we bet she'll get another crack at redemption. Horatio Sanz is already preparing his impersonation.

As you may or may not know by now, the LAT has finally freed its art and entertainment coverage (known as Calendarlive in the Times' inscrutable parlance) from the shackles of paid subscription. All citizens of the internets can now freely browse its resplendent offerings, such as this endlessly fascinating entry from a reporter's "web diary" (note: this is not a blog—it's impeccably spell-checked!) from Cannes:

Despite our crushing apathy (picture a decommissioned battleship resting atop of our chest, if you need the visual) regarding the news that Renee Zellweger secretly married a country music personage we'd never even heard of, it's no less annoying to roll over in the morning and nudge a pile of twigs and a black cowboy hat. The rumors are already flying, and one reader pointed out this passage in the NY Post that contains a possible clue to unlocking the secrets of the shock-nuptials:

In a bit of news that you won't be able to avoid without locking yourself in a sensory deprivation chamber outside of a primitive village in the jungles of Papau New Guinea (nearby cannibal tribe optional), Renee Zellweger has secretly married a country music star whom we've never heard of. From what we gather, he looks good in a cowboy hat (if you're into that sort of thing) and is almost certainly not Jack White in a clever disguise designed to fuck with the tabloids.

· "As the minstrel-accented pixie, he kept busting up the crew with his profane ad-libs over footage of Woods attempting a putt. ('Show 'em how n——r you are! Stick your d—k in the hole!')" Newsweek attempts to find out what's wrong with Dave Chappelle (pressure? drugs?), but only succeeds in making us miss his show even more than we already do.
· The LA Weekly's Nikki Finke pens a love note to the Huffington Post...if your idea of a love note involves having the recipient's heart ripped from their body and mailed to them in a box with a note that says, "Fuck you."
· Steven Spielberg weeps at a Star Wars screening, probably because he wished his summer blockbuster had docile actors and CGI characters instead of a star that's trying to convert his crew to Scientology.
· Doing voiceover in The Incredibles: just like fighting apartheid, but with better craft service!
· Angelina Jolie is headed back to Africa. This time, however, she's on a mission of peace, not a mission of noisy sex-making. [second item]

· AFI's Director’s Workshop for Women screens last year's thesis films at the ArcLight, followed by a Q&A session with the budding auteurs. Women directors: They're not all Nora Ephron!
· Steve Callahan signs his book Family Guy: Stewie’s Guide to World Domination at Borders Westwood. Make sure and call ahead; the reading could be delayed, put on hold for a year, and then finally rescheduled at a larger Barnes and Noble up the street.
· The Marijuana Policy Project hosts a 10th anniversary gala at the Sheraton Delfina Hotel, where stoner deity Tommy Chong will accept a Courage Under Fire award. And as far as we know, it's entirely coincidental this event is held the same day as the Huffington Post launch.

Million Dollar Baby writer Paul Haggis is carving himself out a nice little part-time career of whining in the press about how his aspirations to bring his heavy-handed vision to the big screen have been hampered by his sordid past as a (get ready for it) highly paid, successful television writer. [Ed.note—We'd gasp audibly, but we're too busy vomiting in horror!].

In yesterday's LAT*, actor Craig Bierko gives some insight into Cinderella Man co-star Russell Crowe's "process," i.e., never allowing the line between your on-screen nemesis and the person playing him to blur:

Lost in all the excitement over Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's public sex tour through the jungles of Africa and Moroccan bazaars is the psychological effect a single mother's relationship can have on a child, especially one who's been saved from a Cambodian orphanage and transported to the fast-paced world of Hollywood. If young Maddox doesn't one day wind up clutching a sniper rifle atop the Paramount water tower, consider it a miracle.

The Defamer Special Real Estate Correspondent returns from semi-retirement to take our readers on a virtual tour of C-lister Tia Carrere's home in the hills, which was featured in this weekend's LAT "Hot Property" column. The "bachelorette pad" has hit the market with an asking price of $1.5 million, and its amenities include Asian-inspired flourishes (the designer apparently had a flair for the obvious), a "giant" hottub (which undoubtedly has hosted its share of handsy producers), and the inevitable shrine to lost Hollywood semi-glory (Wayne's World figures prominently). Step inside at your own risk:

Thanks to a ubiquitous ad campaign, everyone knows the maxim "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." Less well-known is its corollary, "If you allow Brett Ratner to dry-hump you at the opening of a Vegas club, the world will know."

· Tale of Two Headlines: Kingdom of Heaven's box office take was "far from 'Heaven', but "mighty o'seas." [Variety, Variety]
· Slow news day: Clive Barker does movie-related stuff with horror, video games, and John Woo. [THR]
· Helen Hunt will make her feature directing debut with the drama Then She Found Me; she's also convinced herself to take a chance on a first-time director and will star in the movie. [Variety]
· The 4,000th telling of the Elvis story stood no chance against the Desperate Housewives ratings juggernaut. [THR]
· HBO picks up Louis CK's multi-camera sitcom, American Dream, for 13 episodes (including the pilot), trying to find out if the traditional sitcom genre can be appreciably improved by the addition of swearing. (And breasts, please?)[THR]

As you have no doubt read in countless other outlets, the Huffington Post, pundit/columnist/general-use bon vivant Arianna Huffington's online cocktail party for her fabulous celebrity friends, went live this morning. We haven't had a chance to have a look yet, so join us as we liveblog our first, cursory scan:

Call off the Jennifer Garner WombWatch! While we were rolling on Saturday and hugging tourists on the Third Street Promenade, one kind stranger escaped our chemically-induced love-clinch and asked if we were so happy because Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner announced that they've created another human life deep underneath her Alias-toned abs. So now that we're finally hugged out and back in front of the internets: Huzzah! We're especially elated that the couple's canny PR team observed the Order of Operations for a celebrity knocking-up: engagement first, fertilized eggs second.

Yesterday's Page Six [Ed.note-They do a column on the weekend? Who knew?] lobbed a couple of more grenades at William Morris, reporting a rumor that the agency's elders are planning an "emergency meeting" at Shutters on the Beach this weekend to get their collective shit together after the turmoil of the past few months, and that the WMA braintrust might be considering selling their headquarters to raise some cash. Both rumors were rejected out of hand by Morris' flack in the piece (doesn't everybody know that agents dissolve instantly upon contact with salt water?), which is a great relief for the entire industry. No one wanted to wake up Monday morning and discover that the whole WMA staff was found "asleep" in a Shutters conference room in matching black outfits and Nikes, having hitched a ride in the tail of a comet that would deliver them to a higher plane of existence, one where agents keep 90 percent and the Sarah Michelle Gellar space is suddenly not so meaningful.

Please enjoy the numbers that make your Monday morning seem a like it's something a little less daunting than the first leg of a five-day barefoot run through a cactus patch.

· OC Idiots catches Nick Carter in some drunken Cinco de Mayo antics. A Mexican wrestling mask is involved.
· If these celebrity Scientologist types spent half as much time getting deprogrammed as they do defending Scientology, well, they'd probably be disappeared before any real progress was made. Nevermind.
· Ring-a-ding-ding, a woman accuses Sinatra of being a rapist.
· Paula Abdul drops in on SNL tomorrow night, will probably make out with Fred Armisen in a bad Corey Clark wig.
· Of course, it was only a matter of time before former lovers Abdul and Clark miraculously manifested themselves on food.

Friday
· John Puglisi’s “The Garden State” exhibit shows off the wonders of Northern NJ at the La Luz De Jesus Gallery in Los Feliz. NJ!! WHUT WHUT! Warning: There is no guarantee that Zach Braff will attend. Adjust expectations accordingly.
· Hot Friday night concert action: Thievery Corporation at the Wiltern; Aimee Man at HOB Sunset; The Muffs at Spaceland; Radar Bros. at the Echo; Ben Lee (hit the scalpers) at the Troubadour.
Saturday
· You've heard about the threats of violence, now check out the play: Killing Russell Crowe hits the stage at the Lonny Chapman Group Reperatory Theater.
· David Rambo, CSI staff writer and owner of the coolest name we've heard in a decade, speaks at the Alameda Writers Group meeting at the Glendale Central Library. Bring your CSI spec scripts, as we hear that writers love to get story ideas that way!
· See what happens years after you've sold dozens of songs to ad agencies: Moby plays the Wiltern. Bring steaks. We hear he loves that.
Sunday:
· Mother’s Day. Do something for her (like finally move out of the basement), or hear about it for the rest of her life.
· But what would Mother's Day be without the Oedpial overtones? To wit, Erotic Night Mother's Day at the Hammer Museum.

Picking up where she left off on the sets of Herbie: Fully Loaded and Just My Luck, Lindsay Lohan is once again demonstrating her professionalism and dedication to craft. This time, she's winning friends and influencing people on a video shoot for the Herbie soundtrack. A spy from the set reports: