Congratulations this morning to Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, the latter of whose womb has reportedly yielded its blobby, twinsy bounty at last. We think. It's official, isn't it? The Chosen Two are here? After InTouch called it Saturday afternoon, Extra overrode it an hour later and the rest of the world simply hedged somewhere in between until Jolie's exhausted doctor fled the delivery room craving a stiff drink, we can finally, confidently move on to the postgame show. Select reactions, including an overjoyed grandfather, and a French bureaucrat with paperwork, after the jump:

School Reunion: We're learning more today about the tearduct-tweaking, franchise-ready School of Rock "reboot" that Mike White teased us with at the LA Film Festival; Variety has word about School of Rock 2: America Rocks, which Scott Rudin will produce and to which Paramount has attached Jack Black and director Richard Linklater. And as opposed to White's cruel stonewalling last month, the plot is apparently now safe for public dissemination: Black returns as teacher Dewey Finn, who leads "a group of summer school students on a cross-country field trip that delves into the history of rock 'n' roll and explores the roots of blues, rap, country and other genres." No word yet as to whether or not Black will exercise his newfound clout to add in an autobiographical narcotics-dabbling interlude, or if he and White will save that for the inevitable School of Rock 3: Rehab High. [Variety]

· Sacha Baron Cohen's Bruno exploits took him from Israel to Arkansas; his Sherlock Holmes adventures to come may or may not include the missus.
· AFTRA ratified its new contract, but SAG didn't let that spoil its appetite for destruction.
· Harvey Weinstein is now officially going door-to-door to finance his films. Psst! Buddy! Wanna buy a Tarantino?
· The TV Critics Association Press Tour is dead. Long live the TCA Press Tour!
· Lest major Dark Knight spoilers aren't up your alley, there's always Michael Bay's unproduced Awesome Knight screenplay to hold you over another week.
· After a long string of compatibility issues, Drew Barrymore is on the market for a Mac huckster upgrade.
· This Week In Magazine Cover Hell: Blake Lively gets the blown-out Skeletor treatment, while the pasty youths of Twilight make EW safe for chest hair.
· Here's the story of a lovely lady, who was bringing up three very lovely RRRAAALLLLPPPHHHHH
· Defamer's readers joined Matthew McConaughey in welcoming a bouncing Bongo Romcom to the world.
· Meanwhile in France, stinky, salmon-devouring, "high-maintenance beetch" Angelina Jolie prepared her post-twinbirth conditioning regimen. Two words: Hula hoop.
· Pick your reality TV poison for 2009: America's Greatest Dog or The Ashley Dupre Governor Boink Variety Hour.
· We wished a healthy recovery (literally) to the rat-friendly Newsroom Cafe, and bid a fond farewell to J-Lo's slice of Pasadena paradise, Madre's.
· Have you yet greeted Tricia Romano, Defamer newcomer and social observer extraordinaire? Well? That's more like it.
· Molls ate spinach. That is all.

· Sorry to ladle on the Kathy Griffin today, but did she just tell Jay Leno she wants to shoot the cast of The Hills dead? So, basically, if any John Hinckley-type admirers out there are looking for some spectacular gesture of devotion, you've just received your marching orders. [Tonight Show]
· Lede of the Day: "Ronnie Wood has walked out on his wife and four children to live with a teenage cocktail waitress he met in an escort bar." [Daily Mail]
· The real Jaws town of Amity had two beaches shut down after an unconfirmed Great White sighting. Then George Lucas appeared in a Speedo to ruin a beloved memory for everyone. [AP]
· Brett Ratner is bringing together the hottest Jewesses on Earth to pose in your 5769 Hebraic Hotties swimsuit calendar. [Page Six]
· Bleepers, start your engines: Joan Rivers will be competing in the second season of Celebrity Apprentice. [HuffPo]
· Hey: Unicorn-Aids! (Not what you're thinking, sickies.) [Perpetualkid.com]

While you're celebrating another Friday with Irish car bombs, smokes, and An Actor's Guide to Manorexia (or tequila, for those of you who aren't Colin Farrell), perhaps you don't realize we all have a much bigger reason to celebrate today – it's Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson's four month anniversary! As with all immature 15-year-olds, these two lovebirds are professing their love via text message. But words alone will never portray true love (suck it, Shakespeare), they need the stuff! So kick back with a bottle of Cuervo, and allow us to present our Top 10 Gift Ideas for this adorably new couple!

As an ex-New Yorker who is brand spanking new to L.A., the concept of downtown being a dead zone is quite strange. And having only driven through late at night (going the wrong way, on a one-way street, natch) I was curious to see what an L.A. downtown art walk would be like (held every second Thursday of the month from 12 to 9). Art Walks in Seattle’s Pioneer Square were fun, but were too often filled with "Look ma, I has knitted you a rainbow hat!"—a/k/a bad hippie art. And the Chelsea Art Walks in NYC were impenetrable and thick with snobbery and unintentional comedy: rich people wearing all black, posing seriously in front of pictures with their heads cocked just so to the sides. L.A.’s version proved to be far more pleasant and interesting—exhilarating even. Won't you join along as I take you on a photographic tour?

The ongoing mutual loathfest between notoriously stroppy film and TV star Katherine Heigl and the producers of Grey's Anatomy reaches a hateration crescendo with rumors that her character will have the plot equivalent of a soft hospital pillow (or maybe an actual one) pressed onto her face by showrunner Shonda Rhimes until all of her limbs stop flailing, at which point her lifeless corpse will be free to pursue whatever big screen pursuits it so pleases. From EOnline.com:

At the tender age of 15, Miley Cyrus has already amassed more money in her ING savings account than most of us will ever see in our lifetimes. It seems that she's also beginning to amass a bit of what we in the business like to call an a-t-t-i-t-u-d-e, too. Just ask gossip maven (and burgeoning longhaired hippie) Harvey Levin, who nearly spits out an entire mouthful of whatever he slurps out of that beloved plastic sippy-cup of his when one of his young, muscular and totally single lieutenants informs him that Hannah Montana herself no longer uses the first grammatical person in her speech. Moments of levity like these, dear readers, are brought to each and every week as part of Defamer's Dirt Sandwich, which is back after a one week holiday hiatus. As always, the piece is packed with nothing but the freshest clips and is crafted with tender loving care by our own Molly McAleer. Take a bite, won't you?

Occasionally, I take a post-work nap before waking up to film the next night's To Do list. And on those occasions when I wake up from said naps, I am usually greeted with some sort of surprise. Typically, it's a pile of dog crap on the floor of my closet (Thanks, Wagandstuff!), but last night it was a spirited email from my partner in hate-crime, one Miss Edward Gottomesmerize Jolie Hyphen Pitt. In true EGJHP form, the email could only be described as "on point", and therefore I felt it would be selfish of me not to share it with you in its entirety. Check out the email and your weekend To Dos after the jump...

You really have to pity the career caricaturist. If your drawing hand isn't already trembling at the thought of successfully capturing a USC legend/Saints Messiah, you always run the risk of making him look like the mascot for some racist snack packaging from the 1920s.

We hoped you liked the clip "test footage" of Spike Jonze's troubled adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are, which made the rounds in February amid rumors of the $75 million film's slow demise at Warner Bros. We're reading now that that may be all you see for at least a few more years while Jonze tinkers and tweaks on Warners' watch, prompting Alan Horn to offer an update today to his bloggy BFF Patrick Goldstein.

What fun it must be to have a baby, get married, or turn one year older if you’re lucky enough to be chummy with Village People Fan Club president Tom Cruise. As a card-carrying member of Tom’s inner circle of disco-dancing Xenu-fearing tribe of pals, new mom Nicole Kidman had the joy of receiving one of Cruise’s trademark lavish gifts — as People reports, the birth of little Sunday Urban prompted Nicole’s ex-partner in bearded crime to send over a huge “high-end” gift basket filled to the brim with fancy baby must-haves. But after reviewing Tom’s history of gifting his nearest and dearest with incredibly bizarre and, at times, inappropriate items, we suspect his inclusion of “Giraffe baby blankets” might actually be a subtle swipe at Kidman’s tendency to resemble the long-necked drowsy animal. Cruise’s unnerving presents of the past to fellow Tom-ophiles like Dakota Fanning and Katie Holmes, after the jump.

Ah, the three trimesters of Hollywood child birth: 1. pretend to love pregnancy, 2. schedule a c-section in order to sidestep any labor or stretching of siren vag, and 3. whore out your newborn's picture to the highest bidder. It's such a magical time! And while there are critics, it's a natural response to choose to splash your baby's face across the tabloids, especially when you constantly publicly reminisce about the good ol' days when you could buy panty liners in private. And why participate in the Hollywood Baby Bonanza? It's not like the early publicity will morph your kid into some kind of poorly mannered fauxhawked skunk. However, it will get you paid.

In one of the crasser—and we mean that in the most splendid sense of the word—attempts at pandering to one's target audience we've seen, Kathy Griffin posed with a sloth of bear supermodels (just trust us, these three are the Cindy, Linda, and Naomi of their respective niche) for the cover of A Bear's Life magazine, a photoshoot captured for her reality show cameras. "Fine," you're thinking. "Kathy Griffin, a room full of mostly naked, middle-aged gay men draped on and around her. What's the big whoop?" Well, the big deal is that Steve "The Woz" Wozniak, the most bearish of all billionaire PC revolutionaries and Griffin's former boyfriend (who apparently never made it made to first base, even with the help of a speedcap-hacked Segway), was on hand to take in the proceedings. Not surprisingly, he was cajoled by the comedian into posing with his body-type teammates, who pestered him with questions about whether or not the iPhone 3G would be better equipped to handle the thousands of high-bandwidth images being traded daily on ChubbyFeeders.com.

A Foot Locker referee assisted Robert Downey Jr. in finding a pair of running shoes on Thursday. While the Iron Man star was browsing a section of more affordable pairs of shoes, the referee insisted that Downey check out another section of running shoes. The ref added, "Come on, you're Iron Man. Live a little. Let's take a look at the executive line. It's like you're running on fluffy bags of cotton candy when you go with the executive line."

Act like a Sideways snob for two days during the Third Annual LA Wine Fest with a smattering of other oenophiles. You can taste over 500 wines during the festival (there’s booze, too, for those of you who don’t know the difference between cabernet or chardonnay). By then end of it, you might be giving speeches about how “wine is alive,” and how you root for pinot because it’s “thin-skinned and temperamental.” Merlot fans can rejoice—the varietal has bounced back after the initial smack-down in the movie where Paul Giamatti's character whines, "No, if anyone orders Merlot, I’m leaving. I am not drinking any fucking Merlot!”

Hearty Defamer congratulations go out to the estimated 40,000 immigrants acquiring their American citizenship today in Los Angeles. And even bigger kudos for making it the kind of party those Liberty Island underachievers in New York only dream of:

In a leaked internal memo that Deadline Hollywood Daily's Nikki Finke has designated in her characteristically restrained style as a "bombshell" (let's just say it's about as close to a legitimate bombshell as Tara Reid ), ABC Studios executive vice president Howard Davine listed the procedure for developers to obtain foreign formats rights. He suggests in the opening paragraph that in light of the "complexities of negotiating" these sorts of deals, what might ultimately serve the studio best is to just borrow the basic "underlying premise."

This is the true story of twelve competitors, picked to live a house, compete in elimination challenges and have their lives taped, to find out what happens, when dogs stop being polite and start getting real. Yes, canines are the newest craze in reality television, and frankly, it's about time. Who wants to watch overly-tanned, underly-informed humans panting and smelling competitors asses, when you have the opportunity – no, privilege – to watch dogs do it? For a full 30 minutes! Allow CBS to present Greatest American Dog.

Like it or not, it's time to let go of any qualms you may have about welcoming a successor to Harry Potter's tween-bewitching throne and embrace what will surely become the zeitgeisty-est franchise of the decade. Twilight is here, it's a little bit queer, and don't even try ignoring it. The dewy, sexy, hickey-adorned film version of the hugely successful books centered around hot teenage vampires has begun garnering its first feature stories in the glossies, and the millions of "fan girls" obsessed with the tales are mad as hell and not gonna take it anymore. The new issue of EW features the film's two newbie stars on its cover, and the odd photo is setting message boards and fan sites ablaze with criticism from the series' longtime devotees. And angry fans aren't the only obstacle Twilight faces — too-cool-for-school Alan Ball has a vampire show premiering on HBO later this year and, unlike "powdered donut" Edward and "plain" Bella, his blood-suckers sit at the cool kids' table...