Not even the chaos of the Golden Globes after-parties can stop our spies from keeping an eye on that most elusive piece of celebrity anatomy, Jennifer Garner's womb. A report from the HBO party keeps us up to the minute on the comings and goings of the starlet's reproductive system:

We love it when God writes the captions for us.

The Golden Globes after-parties at the Beverly Hills Hilton were overcrowded like a Tokyo subway car, but that didn't stop the crack security staff at the Miramax party from preventing an incursion by an evil impostor:

We know that we just got through saying that hugging is the new fucking, but we might've been wrong about that. Clearly, "coquettishly nestling your head against Brad Pitt's shoulder" is the new fucking.

Newsweek has an "exit interview" with outgoing, trailblazing Paramount head Sherry Lansing, and after Lansing assures us that she's leaving to open a new chapter in her life, not forced out by her Viacom overlords, interviewer Sean Smith gets right down to some dirty business:

· Fox entertainment president Gail Berman knows that her network is really taking it on the chin with its year-round programming schedule, but pledges that they're still committed to having their ass kicked in the name of being revolutionary. Luckily, American Idol is right around the corner to cover up some of the Nielsen bruises. [THR]
· Peter Jackson and Fran Walsh pony up some of their precious Lord of the Rings coin to buy the rights to Alice Sebold's The Lovely Bones, which will keep the studio development monkeys from flinging their feces on the project at least until the script is finished.[Variety]
· Universal outbids several studios for a chance to produce The Break Up (plot top secret!), shelling out $2.25 million for the script written by Jeremy Garelick and Jay Lavender with a story by Vince Vaughn. Since no one's buying Vaughn's brain, he's attached to star in the film. [THR]
· Disney plans to go ahead with an idea for the Pixar-less Toy Story 3 idea pitched by a writer in their animation story development program. The studio has yet to decide whether to let the precocious kid write the script or crush his dreams by bringing in some high-priced talent. [THR]
· Though the Housewives themselves were at the Golden Globes, America much preferred seeing them in character on another channel, as ABC's powerhouse Sunday night demolished the awards show's ratings. [Variety]

The LAT reports that Disney president Robert Iger has the inside track to succeed CEO Michael Eisner as Rat King of the Magic Kingdom. (Assuming, of course, that Eisner doesn't decide to fill his pockets with C-4 and take his management team for "one last ride" on Space Mountain.) Iger seems to have the support of Wall Street, but some are worried that he's spent too much time servicing Eisner:

As we present this addition to our Lindsay Lohan photo essay, which put the viewer right in the shit during her night out in New Orleans last week, we're reminded of her publicist's mantra in Page Six: "She was just there with some castmates checking out the local scene. There was no 'partying.' She had one cranberry and soda." Our photographer (a different one this time) informs us that it was fifty-cent drink night, which means that Lohan's paycheck for Just My Luck would buy 14 million drinks (not including tip). Economics practically demanded that she buy at least half that many. More photos after the jump.

When you hear that Teri Polo posed for the February issue of Playboy, you might wonder to yourself, Now why would she do something like that? Meet the Fockers is a huge hit! She's written her ticket to the A-list! But then perhaps you navigate over to her IMDb page and look at the projects that came in the four years between blockbuster Meet the Parents and its sequel: a handful of TV movies, Beyond Borders, the short-lived sitcom I'm With Her. She's been to enough casting sessions where she was mistaken for some other peroxide It-Girl to know exactly how disposable the "pretty, long-suffering blonde significant other" role is in this town. A gal's gotta set herself apart. And that's when Hef rolls out of bed to make his pitch, three hours into a priapic Viagra session with seven women who thought they'd do Playboy *before* the acting career. No one will ever mistake you for Gretchen Mol again.

Some might say that the internet exists solely to streamline the distribution of porn and t-shirts that capitalize on the celebrity scandal du jour. Submitted for your approval: The "I Stole Brad" t-shirt, available for purchase before Jennifer Aniston has even unpacked a box at her hairdresser's house, and soon to appear by the dozens at a nightclub near you. The line also includes "The New Mrs. Pitt" and the wordier, far less effective "Brad Left Jen For Me." We won't be happy until the corresponding male shirt is availaible: "Of COURSE I fucked Angelina!"

Such was the outpouring of Hollywood's compassion at Saturday night's telethon Tsunami Aid: A Concert of Hope that host Jay Leno assumed that even dead celebrities would rise from the grave to man the phones. A viewer recounts Leno's boner:

The size-queens at the Datalounge get down to the dirty business of examining the contents of Owen Wilson's Speedo. Here's a sampling of the careful forensic investigation:

We tried to blog the Golden Globes last night. Really, we did. We plopped down on the sofa with laptop in hand, stiff drink at the ready, and drugs no more than an arm's length away, but then a strange thing happened. About three minutes in, we got bored. Not your run-of-the-mill, syndicated-Friends-rerun-on-in-the-background bored. This was a boredom that burrowed deep into the DNA, completely paralyzing the brain's pleasure centers and erasing memories of what is was ever like to be entertained. We upped the doses of the drugs and booze, trying to self-medicate our way out of this awards show anhedonia. Aren't the Globes where everyone's supposed to get lit up and say all kinds of outrageous stuff?

As you sit at home, enjoying your day off, take a stroll with the box office numbers.

·Natchiliagniaqtuguk Aapagalu and other movies from Sundance you're never going to pronounce correctly.
· Can't get enough of Owen Wilson Life Aquatic dick talk? Then the Datalounge has just the discussion thread for you.
· Even the make-up artist that J. Lo canned for leaking gossip cares about tsunami disaster relief.
· The Jennifer Aniston MySpace blog responds to our earlier link by pulling down "Jennifer Aniston's" statement about the break-up. That kind of authentic hissyfit totally makes us think the blog is real!

We promise that this is the last thing you'll hear about Cameron Diaz's new reality show, the insouciantly titled Trippin', until Monday at the earliest. As much as we hate to see a report like this disappear into the late Friday afternoon ether, this update deserves a posting before we disappear for the long weekend.

Friday
· The Starbucks Hear Music Store at the Santa Monica Promenade hosts the CD release party for KCRW’s third Sounds Eclectic album. DJs Nic Harcourt, Gary Calamar, Tom Schnabel, Raul Campos, Anne Litt, Garth Trinidad and others will be there to prove that they are real people, not just tiny little people living in your car stereo.
· The LA Social Club is throwing a party for "LA's sexy professionals" at the Wyndham Bel Age. While that certainly disqualifies us from attending, we know that nearly every single one of our readers is a sexy, sexy bitch (sexy-bitchitude knows no gender). You sexy bitches you.
Saturday
· Love football, but not enough to watch it without making new contacts? Then the NFL Divisional Playoffs Party & Industry Mixer at Brasserie Les Voyous is for you.
· Arcade Fire start their first of 3 shows over 2 days, all of which are sold out, at the Troubadour. Good luck trying to find tickets. Surely some hipster is going to need rent money and will have to sacrifice seeing the AF's much-hyped live show.
Sunday
· It's your last chance to check out the LA Auto Show and get a sneak peek at the cars you'll one day be trapped in gridlock with.
· Oh, are the Golden Globes on? It totally slipped our mind. Maybe we'll be liveblogging them, maybe we won't. But one thing is certain: We will be as drunk as the crowd at the awards.

While some were busy downing cocktails at the Friars Club on Wednesday night, others with access to a slightly more glamorous crowd were being entertained at the Variety V Life party at ne plus ultra hack director Brett Ratner's newly-renovated home. (Ratner, you may or may not remember, "guest edited" a recent V Life issue.) While our correspondent doesn't mention if things in the house explode for no reason, the place is equipped with a nifty photo booth—but thinking about acts that the booth has probably captured on its strip-film makes us instantly queasy.

The least dangerous rumble in the history of the world may be brewing in front of the E! building. A reader informs us about some potentially nasty red carpet-related shenigans:

Thanks to this week's advertisers, who never split up and destroy our faith in the sacrament of marriage. If you'd like to join the sexy cult of of Defamer advertisers, see our ad info page.