No, Conan O'Brien isn't scheduled to take over the festering pustule of unfunniness that The Tonight Show has become under Jay Leno's whine of terror until 2009, but he's making it abundantly clear that there will be no lingering goodbyes for the Chin by buying a big ol' mess of real estate right in his backyard. Yes, this is how multimillionaire nerds thumb their noses at each other, with 8.5 bathrooms and 10-foot ceilings, so take that, Leno! But ginormous ceilings are only the half of it...

"Honey, you won't believe the dream I just had." Sadly, this news is no dream: Suzanne Pleshette, besting even Brenda Vaccaro for the title of TV's Most Beloved Hoarse-Voiced Female, has died after a long battle with lung cancer. Of course, we'll always associate her with Emily Hartley, the better-half of The Bob Newhart Show, but check out how hot she was back in the day! [USA Today, IMDB]

That deafening cheer you heard last night, so loud it blew the Ye Rustic Inn's front door right off its hinges and into an adjacent stripmall's parking lot, had nothing to do with Brett Favre's crushing defeat, but rather a triumph of the highest order involving one of Silver Lake's favorite sons. For Kiefer Sutherland, you see, had emerged from the Glendale City Jail a free man at precisely 12:05 a.m., having served the entirety of his 48-day sentence, where he passed the long hours "cleaning sheets, pillowcases and blankets on laundry duty." John Balian, a jail spokesman always forthcoming with kindly soundbites and incremental Kiefer updates, offered that the 24 star was wearing "a shirt and jeans," and "looked like he was glad to be out." Why was the beloved Christmas tree assassin forced to serve out his entire sentence, where lesser shock-starlets have been released early for far more serious, traffic-flow-flouting crimes? The AP report explains:

Former bonafide heartthrob and current VH1 plaything Scott Baio has resorted to trash-talking every blonde he ever dated in the opening segments of his new preggers show. Whether he's outing meth addicts or calling Denise Richards's feet "flippers," Scotty is sounding less like a 45 year-old daddy-to-be and more like a 4 or 5 year-old rapist-to-be. This week's victim? Nicolette Sheridan, currently engaged to a balding crooner and seemingly happy in her role as one of America's Most Desperate Housewives. But in this video, Scott just can't erase the traumatic memory of an incident involving Nicolette, a nail file and a potential arrest for domestic violence out of his empty head.

Because no one is really going to be happy until the newly rehabbed, destined for morgue gore-mopping Lindsay Lohan falls off the wagon in a Jeff Conaway-style drooling-screaming fit, The Razzies have taken it on themselves to give her a good, hard shove. I Know Who Killed Me was "recognized" with a whopping nine nominations, including worst picture and worst actress. Razzie founder and starlet-kicker John Wilson gushed about the sheer awfulness of the film to the Associated Press, eager to explain how it managed to rise above (below?) in a field crowded with bottom-dwelling crap like The Number 23 and Daddy Day Camp.

E! News watchers over the weekend were likely stunned and saddened to learn of Brad Redfro's untimely death: While host Giuliana Rancic deserves credit for giving the tragedy the solemnity it deserved, we can't help but feel their moving tribute to the talented young actor might have been slightly compromised by their inability to get his fucking name right.

Far be it from us to suggest that maybe, yet again, Sundance has pooped out another slate of so-so indie films, but the media is now buzzing (buzzing!) over the lack of buzz at Hollywood's premiere ski vacation one-stop shop for films shot on credit cards without craft services or finished scripts. But rest assured that the ice-encrusted Finger Of Blame has been pointed at the culprits guilty of inciting this great big yawnfest, and even the long-suffering Paris Hilton is not immune. All this hate, when Goliath is still missing!

You know, Hollywood has a dream, too: Seeing summer box office numbers in the dead of January. This weekend, that dream has finally come to pass, bringing movie executives of all stripes and luxury-car-driving-categories out of their offices and into the streets, to stand together and toss bushels of warm money into the air in a stirring showing of producerly love. The numbers:

A few administrative things to note on this Monday, the 21st day of January. First off, we'd like to welcome Molly Friedman into our illustrious fold, where she'll be taking on the role of Associate Editor. She comes to us with stints at Video Hits One, Allure and the now-defunct glossy Absolute Magazine under her belt. Her likes include vanity (the concept, not the former Prince backup singer), Groucho Marx and whatever Mischa Barton is currently smoking, while her list of dislikes is limited to Next Big Things™, people who tell her to "smile more!" and celebrity blogs. Please give her a warm round of virtual applause and follow along for our second announcement of the day...

· The Secret Tom Cruise Scientology Tape They Didn't Want You To See That You Ended Up Seeing A Lot Of Anyway
· The Non-Globes: If you liveblog a non-event, does it make a sound? "Sooo...I understand you worked at Hooters. How humiliated are you by that?" The Piv cements his place in catchphrase-coining history. Kicking it, Borgnine style. Stanko ratings. Night of 1000 hotel room viewing parties. Blonskysplosion!
· Katie Holmes MarathonGate: Breathing not a word of it on GMA. Feeding Letterman the party line. Things get juicy: Who is runner #6074? And who is Paul Vincent? Probably not the final word on the matter.
· The rumors of a DGA deal were right on the money. The industry reacts.
· Breaking down the Sundance buzz. And a lost cat for good measure.
· Katherine Heigl refreshingly candid about how shitty the newlywed life can be.
· Following the Axium embezzlement paper trail.
· OMG! Diane Keaton said "fucking" on GMA!
· NodorO™: Manly, yes, but Simon Cowell likes it too!
· Wesley Snipes Rorschachian court papers.
· Goodbye, Brad.
· Nothing can cancel Oscar Christmas. Look at the sparkly lights!
· A ho-hum, heavy-on-the-freak season of Idol begins: Hairkinis, father/son love lockets.
· Defamer attends the Cloverfield premiere, sees a headless Lady Liberty and a headed Lady Lohan.

From one Queer comic to another, Ellen, Margaret Cho wants you to know that she loves you. Adores you. She just refuses to do your show: "[B]ecause of the way that I was raised, because my political views are they way they are, because I believe that workers should have the power and the ability to make their lives better, because many of my close friends are the ones picketing, I cannot cross the picket line." Fine, Margaret. Take a stand—see if Ellen cares. No dancing for you! [HuffPo]

With a whole new generation of TV watchers transfixed by such bread-and-Circus Maximus entertainments as Dancing with the Bespangled D-Listers and U.S. Gladiators, it really seemed a matter of time before networks would be falling all over themselves to remount Circus of the Stars. As we mentioned in today's trade round-up, several iterations of the late-70s primetime mainstay are currently being rushed into production, incorporating the basic Circus premise of showcasing celebrities hungry enough for screen time to take on death-defying big tent stunts, but not quite so beloved or famous that the showbiz world would stop spinning should they happen to perish in a tragic contorting accident.

Friday
· Chromeo at the El Rey, KRS One at the Roxy, Care Bares on Fire at Safari Sams.
· David Lynch documentary titled Lynch screens at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.
Saturday
· The Cool Kids at the Echoplex, Th' Legendary Shack Shakers at Safari Sams, Oliver Future at Spaceland.
· An opening reception for Steve Gullick: Tenebrous exhibition at the Found Gallery.
· Some history: Bomp! Records, which claims to be the oldest independent label in the U.S., had a fanzine with original writings by the likes of heavyweights Lester Bangs and Greil Marcus. Now: A new book has been written called Bomp!: Saving the World One Record at a Time featuring reproductions of the zine's pieces and more. Tonight Bomp founder Suzy Shaw, editor Mick Farren will be at La Luz de Jesus to celebrate with a live performance by Joe and Mike Nolte. [via LA Citybeat]

On last night's episode of NBC's newest pulse-pounding series, Sorta-Celebrity Apprentice, Team Hydra and The Other Team found themselves suddenly plunged into the high stakes world of inkjet cartridge sales. Ask anyone who works at Staples, that shit is NO! JOKE! For real. Anyway, as we've learned through the course of the first three episodes, the real competition on this show has nothing to do with who wins a given challenge, it's all about which Not-Really-That-Famous-Anymore Celebrity has the most number of famous digits in their cellphone and is not afraid to use 'em. And last night, Stephen Baldwin raised the ante somethin' fierce by putting in a call to the most famous person that he knows. And no, it wasn't Billy Baldwin.

Citing no sources, Liz Smith is reporting in Variety today that Quentin Tarantino is planning to remake Russ Meyer's graduate thesis on the complex and intertwined relationship between heaving bosoms and ultraviolence, Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill! For all we know, Liz might have forgotten to take her meds and made the whole thing up but, just this once, let's pretend that her sources aren't make-believe. Keeping that squarely in mind, the rumoured leads of the rumoured movie that QT is rumoured to be making "even raunchier" than the original are Eva Mendes, pride of the E! network Kim Kardashian and, gulp, Crossroads' Britney Spears. Hmmmm. That sounds positively terrible. We would've done it differently.

We realize we left many of you hanging since noting Tuesday of the shocking hospitalization of Gwyneth Paltrow for a mystery ailment, which some were hypothesizing resulted from the actress's experimenting with a strict, raw-foods-only intestinal-purging regimen. Well, none other than celebrity chef Mario Batali [Ed. note: Pause to rhapsodize about Mozza's fresh ricotta and egg raviolo with browned butterrrargghlerrrarrh...] has confirmed to usmagazine.com that the troubles were indeed isolated to her digestive tract:

Is NBC betting on the Writers Strike continuing indefinitely? A recent press release that might have nothing to do with anything could be construed as to suggest 'yes'! "SELECT ITEMS FROM NBC'S HOTTEST SHOWS TO BE FEATURED IN SECOND LIVE AUCTION" they announce. Starting Monday the 21st, head over to nbc.com to buy up unused "select items" from "Heroes," "The Office," "Friday Night Lights," "30 Rock" and (best of all!) "Las Vegas." Items getting auctioned listed below.

As part of our ongoing quest to guide you to some of the buzziest and most intriguing offerings at this year's Sundance Film Festival, we share with you now the trailer for official selection Goliath. (First screening: Monday night, 8:30 p.m.) We don't know much about it beyond the fact that it's about a missing cat, with a score inspired by non-missing-cat-movie Stomp The Yard. There's some more background about it here, and over at their official site, but we're confident once you watch the trailer, you won't need much more to be sold. 2008 is all about missing cats.

To watch an actual doctor actually do something towards curing non-actual celebrities with actual drug problems, we refer you to the goings on over at VH1's Celebrity Rehab, with board-accredited, medical-degree-holding Dr. Drew and his ragtag gang of Z-list addicts. (And a constantly-moaning-in- withdrawal-symptom-agony Jeff Conaway. Seriously—shit's fucked up. We don't think the I Love New York 2 people really realized what they were getting into.) For all your other TV quack needs, we refer you instead to Mr. Phil, who apparently now regrets breaching Fake-Doctor/Someone-Else's-Patient confidentiality laws by blabbing all about Britney Spears to those guys over at Entertainment Tonight:

We'd like to express our appreciation for this week's sponsors, all of whom we'd trust never to abandon us even in the face of a terrifying, city-levelling attack by a creature of unknown provenance. If you'd like to advertise on Defamer and offer us the comfort of your big, strong embrace, see this page.