· Reel Talk with Stephen Farber at ArcLight Cinemas Hollywood screens Run, Fat Boy, Run, followed by discussion with director David "Ross" Schwimmer.
· Get into the groove with The Chapin Sisters at the Echo, Bell X1 and the Submarines at the Troubadour, AJ McLean (of Backstreet Boys fame, obvs) at the Roxy or Voxhaul Broadcast at Spaceland.
· Tex Avery and Michael Maltese, creators of iconic cartoon characters like Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck and Elmer Fudd, are subjects of a tribute at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. The evening includes a screening of some their most popular cartoons, along with some rare recorded audio interviews with the two men. [Via Flavorpill]

And another thing about these fuckin' kids today is that they don't know how to wear a pair of pants. How do you fuck that up? Whatever happened going down to Brooks Brothers and having some tailor taking your measurements and coming back with a pair of pants that fits? And what's with all the typing on the phone? Whatsamatta with everyone? Suddenly, we've all become Mr. Greenjeans and we can't pick up a phone and talk to somebody? I gotta e-mail my own son in order to ask him how he's doing. Mr. Big Shot never has the time to pick up the phone.

Chace Crawford, the Gossip Girl star so pretty that one bat of his lashes is enough to instantly knock crowds of his tweenage fanbase clear unconscious, has been linked quite a bit lately to former NSYNC member JC Chasez. Not even a suspiciously timed and worded Page Six item describing the actor as being "surrounded by women" seemed to quell the rumors regarding these frequent bunk buddies. Now, via cameraphone-equipped operative, we bring you this latest addition to the Defamer Citizen Paparazzi files. It's an eyewitness account of what Chase and J.C. (can we just give them a celebrity couple's name already? Chésee it is!) were up to over this unseasonably warm L.A. weekend:

In these politically charged times, we are hard pressed to think of four more qualified individuals to address the delicate issue of race and religion than three comediennes and a former reality show contestant. That said, we don't cast The View, we just watch it. And this morning's show featured a real humdinger of a Hot Topic, as the conversation between the ladies of The View turned once again towards the controversial subject of the Reverend Jeremiah Wright. As Whoopi and Joy attempted to bring Elisabeth to the realization that she may have unfairly slighted Obama by equating his views on race in America with his Reverend's, the backed-into-a-corner Liz broke out one of the more ridiculous analogies we have ever heard air on public television. Expect a lawsuit from the good people at JIF and Smucker's to be filed within the hour. [The View]

After passing along word of the new CureConnieAndPatrick.com Web site devoted to getting the word out about a possible "cure" for pancreatic cancer — and the site's unauthorized use of the disease's most famous afflictee — Defamer heard from Patrick Swayze's publicist Annett Wolf. The news didn't sound terribly good: "Patrick is not aware of this Web site, and he has no association with it or the medication it advertises," she told us. "He is not affiliated with the woman from the site; Patrick had no knowledge of her." So even if it's a good cause, would Swayze align himself with what essentially amounts to a campaign against a pharmaceutical manufacturer?

One time "cute" child actor but now just "creepy" actor Frankie Muniz struck up an instant friendship with fellow cute kid/awkward adult Alfonso Ribeiro while out in Las Vegas. The pair shouted numerous times over the music that they had so much in common being former child stars and all, yet their conversation never gained much momentum beyond that. At one point Alfonso quickly muttered something about knowing what it must feel like when doves cry which got a blank stare from Frankie. Alfonso shook his head and quickly said that he asked if Frankie had used a fake ID to get into the club.

In case you thought there were too few 6-year-olds refining their perfect suplexes, piledrivers and generally beating the shit out of each other in the schoolyards of America, World Wrestling Entertainment has stepped up with a new program just for the little 'rassler in your life: WWE Kids, a magazine, Web site and eventual TV program finally bridging the gap between the sophisticated staged violence of adult WWE (with its males age 12-24 demographic) and the tender, smaller youth who need it dumbed down just a smidge for maximum enjoyment. "A large percentage of children in America get introduced to our brand from 6 to 10 years old," WWE marketing VP Geof Rochester told Variety. "We said, 'We have a strong kids audience; let's embrace that.' We want to have a lifelong relationship with these kids." Alas, with their mommies fitting them for costumes and hauling an unlucky minority off to the emergency room, "these kids" were unavailable for comment at press time. [Variety]

Mono-polared rock legend Courtney Love recently fought back against TMZ, who, working in collusion with the Anaheim Police Department, attempted to paint the singer as being a few babydoll-dresses short of a full wardrobe when she claimed white-collar criminals had bilked the Cobain estate of nearly $70 million. (The fighting-back consisted of several angry MySpace blog posts, in which she notably dropped the trademarked pidgin English that made every visit such an indecipherable good time.) Now, reports the Daily Mail, Love has decided to quit America's quick-to-diagnose shores for England's far more tolerant, let's-wait-until-she- kills-someone- before-we-really- start-throwing -around-words-like-"crazy" embrace:

While the direct effects of the WGA Strike have been well-documented ($3.2 billion in economic impact, the cancellation of the Golden Globes, the greenlighting of Quarterlife), it's harder to quantify some of the strike's more indirect effects. For example, if the Writer's Strike had never happened, Heroes probably would not have gone on hiatus until the summer, which means that the world would likely never have been subjected to the latest nonsensical video ravings of Milo Ventimiglia's Divide Social Club. The group, which consists of the aforementioned Mr. Ventimiglia and two of his meathead buddies, was founded in March of 2006, but it wasn't until Milo found himself without steady employment a few months back that the group's work began to take off. And by take off, we really mean devolve to a level of inanity that makes Chris Crocker look like Daniel Webster. Take, for instance, the video clip above, which documents Milo and his pursuit to eat poolside nachos ... with sour cream.

Speaking as someone who once had his own life threatened by a fairly powerful, decidedly unhappy source, I particularly empathize today with Anita Busch, the former star trade reporter whose receipt of a dead fish, a rose and a note screaming "STOP" foisted the Anthony Pellicano investigation horror on an unwitting Hollywood nearly six years ago. Rapidly approaching her testimony date in the Pellicano trial, Busch granted a rare interview in a NY Times profile that is about the biggest bummer we've read since, well, maybe ever:

· David O. Russell's next movie, a romantic comedy called Nailed, adds James Marsden, Catherine Keener and Tracy Morgan to an all-star cast that already includes Jake Gyllenhaal and Jessica Biel. As thrilled as we are to see Morgan's movie career graduate to the level of a Russell production, we fear what mayhem might arise from combining the highly combustible auteur and the manically unhinged actor. [THR]
· Overseas audiences love 10,000 B.C.! So much so that Warner Bros. has ordered 9999 more sequels, at which point they'll have Roland Emmerich take a stab at the Nativity Story, in which the baby Savior will fend off bloodthirsty sabre-toothed manger goats. [Variety]
· Steven Spielberg and Peter Jackson are close to signing Nanny McPhee's Thomas Sangster to play the lead role in their motion-capture Tintin trilogy. Do they really have to make it motion-capture? Nothing good ever comes from motion-capture. Let's just leave it in the early '00s, like we left sundried tomatoes in the '80s. [THR]

The news of Patrick Swayze's cancer woes have drawn support from virtually every corner of the Web. Few have organized the type of outreach conjured by the family of Connie Loughman, however, whose press release hit Defamer HQ this morning with the curious subject line: "CURE POSSIBLE FOR PATRICK SWAYZE & INDIANA FAN SUFFERING FROM PANCREATIC CANCER":

On last Wednesday's The Tonight Show, Towleroad notes, Ryan Phillippe popped by to promote Stop-Loss. Host Jay Leno—a man being courted aggressively by studios and networks, with promises of eight-figure contracts and brand new theaters bearing his name—opened the interview with questions about Phillippe's first paying job on One Life To Live.

Up and coming actress Amanda Bynes politely posed with 'celebrity' blogger Perez Hilton at his 30th birthday party over the weekend. In exchange for the photo opp, Bynes asked Hilton in the future if he could reframe refrain from drawing 'wee-wees' and 'the stuff that comes out of them' on photos of her.

The Washington Post's Peeps Show II, possibly the greatest Peep diorama competition in history, has posted photos of this year's 37 semi-finalists, culled from over 800 entries featuring the brightly colored, recoiling Easter treats. There's way too many gems here—from the plumber crack to the Olympic diving competition to Marion Barry's bust—to single out just one, but if you were to hold a marshmellow gun to our heads, none brought us more delight than the one above: A slavish, all-Peep recreation of 2007's biggest viral video sensation, the Filipino prison "Thriller" showstopper. We've included one more below the jump—it's a fierce tranny hot Peep mess.

While we're mildly impressed by the $1 million take in limited release for the bourgeoisie torture-snuff opus Funny Games (especially considering the overwhelmingly negative reviews), no story speaks higher of director Michael Haneke's success than that of one Kate Johnson, who recently gave new meaning to "box-office gross" following her trip to the movies:

While Kate Hudson may commit the most heinous of all fashion crimes by making her son Ryder wear Crocs, she still takes her son to all the hip playgrounds while keeping it green. Hudson also let her son eat ice cream whenever he wants and stay up as late as he wants as long as he listens to "IV" by Led Zeppelin twice a day and watch one episode of "Go, Diego, Go".

Still reeling from the shock of close friend and colleague Anthony Minghella's sudden death last Tuesday, Harvey Weinstein's hope for a quiet week around the office was vanquished late Friday as resistance mounted for two of his company's upcoming projects. And you have to know that when you've made enemies of groups as diverse as Bob Marley's family and Star Wars fanboys, things really aren't going your way.

You wake up cold and confused, naked except for the half-singed bonnet on your head, and surrounded by hundreds of empty Peeps boxes and decapitated chocolate bunnies. Damn it: You've surrendered to another Easter weekend bender. Enjoy the last pulses of glucose shooting through your veins as you peruse the box office numbers:

In an environment as volatile and prone to bullshit as the film business is, we tip our caps to the guileless souls who keep it real when things are looking down. Particularly people like MPAA president Dan Glickman, who, when asked by Time Magazine how the industry's '08 crop of retreads, sequels and adaptations might weather the sluggish economy, steadfastly refused to toe the company line: