News that the Golden Globes ceremony had been permanently and irrevocably canceled, replaced instead by a sickly televised press conference wheeled out in an iron lung to wheeze through this year's winners, did little to raise Hollywood's spirits last night as they solemnly death-marched up the Critics' Choice Awards red carpet. Not surprisingly, The Envelope now reports that the fall of Hollywood's booziest, A-listiest party is taking down all of its satellite clusterfêtes with it, in what could well go down in Hollywood history books as The Great Tinseltown Party Famine of Oh-Eight:

While Stewart lamented his program's inability to get the kind of side-deal the WGA made with Worldwide Pants (the Guild, it seems, isn't really embracing the idea of giving corporate monolith Viacom a break), he still dedicated most of the show to the strike; in the above segment—one probably not as improvised as the WGA would like, but given the pro-cause subject matter, the union probably won't be sending anyone over to Stewart's office to have a testy sit-down about strike rules—the host details the dispute over internet compensation, explaining how the $1.99 fees charged for iTunes downloads of his show are purely a shipping and handling charge, the proposed "Shut The Fuck Up" formula for new-media residuals, and how the viewing of written content on iPods clearly falls under the "Hickory Farms promotional cheese" principle.

Yesterday we showed you our strike beard and asked you for yours. You responded with a pouring out of hair both touching and in a way disgusting. Our inbox was clogged with wiry black hairs that weren't ours. I'm sure the writers, however, appreciate it. After the jump our special bonus Strike Beard gallery. Send your beard to tips@gawker.com.

Drunk on power after slaying the HD-DVD dragon, Sony rolled into CES `08 with more confidence than Colin Farrell after a couple of key bumps. Eager to gloat but unwilling to pay huge appearance fees, they trotted out Leonard Maltin (the poor man's Roger Ebert) and Dean Devlin (the homeless man's Jerry Bruckheimer) to shill discuss the impact that Blu-Ray will have on the filmmaking process. The two spent a few minutes lamenting the demise of the in-theater viewing experience before launching into orgiastic praise of all things Blu-Ray. After explaining that "home video is no longer an ancillary market, now it's a PRIMARY market", Dean Devlin dropped a radioactive bomb on us.

The other Christian Louboutin has finally dropped in the Jessica Seinfeld affair, as Missy Chase Lapine, the cookbook author whose book The Sneaky Chef bore an extremely uncomfortable resemblance to the one Mrs. Jerry Seinfeld was plugging on Oprah, is suing the couple. Not only does she claim copyright infringement, but also defamation against the Bee Movie star, who, among the observations he made about the complainant on The Late Show with David Letterman, compared Lapine to "wackos who wait in the woodwork to inject a little adrenaline in your life experience," and noted that "many three-named women do become assassins." THR, ESQ. predicts that the trial should be "entertaining," unless of course the couple decides to settle behind closed doors, offering Lapine an undisclosed but substantial settlement paid off entirely in designer footwear.

Whether or not you believe the U.K.'s News of the World's highly dubious but insanely entertaining account of the events that led up to her 5150 Straightjacket Meltdown, one specific detail particularly resonated: The one where Britney calls up Jamie Lynn, says, "You're not going to be the only fucking Spears on the front cover of a magazine next week," then abruptly hangs up on her.

OK, now we can consider the Golden Globes ceremony officially killed, as organizers have abandoned the bizarre , clusterfucky news-special-and-party-report scheme floated earlier today in favor of a one-hour press conference (televised by NBC) that will replace the boozy dinner-and-statuettes orgy we've all come to know and tolerate as we impatiently await the Oscars. (For the moment at least, let's not further darken our moods by speculating about What This Means for the Academy Awards. Fine—count to ten before commencing the doomsaying.) HFPA president Jorge Camara offers this heartwrenching obituary for his beloved event: "We are all very disappointed that our traditional awards ceremony will not take place this year and that millions of viewers worldwide will be deprived of seeing many of their favorite stars celebrating 2007's outstanding achievements in motion pictures and television. We take some comfort, however, in knowing that this year's Golden Globe Award recipients will be announced on the date originally scheduled." [Variety]

Whoooop! Whoooop! All hands on tabloid deck, the sirens are sounding, we have confirmation! Nicole Kidman and New Zealandish country singer husband Keith Urban have finally addressed what many in the baby-bump-scrutinizing trade have long suspected—that contrary to what her rep Linda McBigfatliarface said just a few weeks ago, Kidman is indeed pregnant! Yay! [People, Extra, OK!, Morning Herald, E Online, UsMagazine.com]

· Music round-up: Radar Bros. at The Echo; The Parson Red Heads at Spaceland; The Deadly Syndrome at the Viper Room.
· The ArcLight screens Fritz Lang's Metropolis, with a Q&A featuring Variety's John Burlingame to follow the film.
· Justine Bateman and Melanie Chartoff (Rugrats, Fridays) join tonight's Very Special STRIKE! Edition of The Armando Show at ioWest , kicking off a month of Monday night WGA/SAG solidarity performances that will benefit the Industry Strike Fund.

Decked out head-to-toe in the official, patriotically colored, star-spangled spandex unitard (with, of course, the optional "Milita's Howitzer" crotch-pad) and clutching the bludgeon-at-home Joust cudgel we'd purchased from NBC's online store months ago in anticipation of the network's relaunch of American Gladiators, we took in every last minute of last night's two-hour premiere in gape-mouthed awe. Imagine our delight, then, that it took merely a handful of minutes for the ravenous new Arena to gobble up its first contestant: the plucky Jessie, who was hobbled by Stealth's knee-decimating Power Ball hit (click the thumbnail to watch the shocking—just shocking!—footage).

America's Next Top Model Cycle One contestant Elyse Sewell and Marty Crandall, her boyfriend and keyboardist for The Shins, both wound up in Sacramento jail accusing the other of domestic abuse. Sewell blogged about the incident on LiveJournal (it's since been switched to private pending the investigation), explaining among other things that the bite mark on Crandall's arm was inflicted in self-defense. If you're having trouble remembering which one she was, we've included some YouTube of her facing off in a nude challenge with eventual winner Adrianne Curry, who, as far as we know, hasn't bitten Peter Brady against his own wishes. [Reality Blurred, YouTube]

Her Rwandan mission of peace still in a holding pattern, reformed God-locator Paris Hilton has been biding her time lately with an appearance at The L Word premiere party. Sporting the dykiest brunette bob wig she could get her hands on at such short notice, she reportedly cozied up all night with star Katherine Moennig, the two downing shots and popping up later at a Hollywood restaurant "holding hands." It was a daring display that some rubyfruit mafia watchers are calling the boldest fake-lesbian-dabbling in pursuit of a part that they've seen in quite some time. [Planet Gossip]

According to The Envelope, NBC and the Hollywood Foreign Press Association are about to announce their desperation-inspired plans to salvage something broadcast-worthy from the strike-induced wreckage of the Golden Globes ceremony, hoping that the Writers Guild, motivated by pity, might agree not to picket the unrecognizable telecast-abomination stitched together from mismatching news special, clip show, and party-coverage parts:

While on the ground in Vegas with the Gizmodo crew at the 2008 CES, in-house, camcorder-brandishing Gawker Media troublemaker Richard Blakeley unexpectedly found himself face-to-face with embattled™ Last Call host Carson Daly, the late-night canary NBC sent down its talk-show coal mine long before it dared to force his better-leveraged peers Jay Leno and Conan O'Brien back in front of the cameras.

Positively glowing and sporting a matching set of milk-engorged bosoms, Elisabeth Hasselbeck made her much-hooplah'd return to The View today with new baby Taylor Thomas in tow, the adorable newborn hoisting a tiny I Heart Huckabee placard that owed a major debt to the infant campaigning techniques trailblazed by The Incredible Picketing Baby. While a cautious Joy Behar noted that perhaps the hot lights, a studio audience, and the Viewmaster piping instruction into the baby's earpiece to "coo a segue into Hot Topics" might have all been a little overwhelming for a seven-week-old, a positively gushy Sherri Shepherd couldn't get enough of the new addition to their lineup, insisting Elisabeth fill her in on every last detail about the birth, including the name of her stork delivery service.

While we've previously offered our own (admittedly uninformed) speculation about what Britney Spears might have ingested to earn some chill-out time at Cedars Sinai and sources have since insisted that Spears is clean, we still feel that the analysis of one Courtney Love, perhaps the leading celebrity expert on chemical overindulgence and 5150-ward detentions, is noteworthy: "man was that truly neccessary? Poor thing, i didnt need to see all that fecal matter on the walls but Thaliens at Cedars is obviously loads nicer than Bellevue- shes takingt far too much adderol, thats what ive heard and what appears to be the issue to me wich is by the way none of my fucking business.or ours. I hope she gets a smoke soon, they dont let you smoke for 72 hours on a 5150, its blows for her, and i feel bad for her , really really bad for her- i came in as an outsiderso i didnt come in as a sweetheart, its slightly easier for me, i was never a good girl,l its still sucks ass, but oh whatever....nevermind.bless i hope people stop hurting on her."
xxc [MySpace]

· What's up with the Golden Globes? The industry's collector sphincter is still uncomfortably contracted as it awaits official word from the HFPA and NBC about whether or not they'll try to put on some version of Hollywood's Drunkest Night without striking writers and sympathetically no-showing actors, though whispers are already indicating that the whole thing will be flushed. [Variety, THR]
· James Bond has a love interest! Ukrainian actress Olga Kurylenko is officially reporting for Bond 22 sexual-conquest duty, ready to deliver a coquettish line about how great the superspy's tuxedo will look crumpled up on the floor of her bedroom the morning after she's been ravaged by Daniel Craig. [Variety]

The WGA's displeasure with The Tonight Show host Jay Leno's self-penned monologues only continues to grow—while Conan O'Brien seems to get a pass, exempt under the "Actually Funny" clause—to the point where NBC has felt the need to issue a statement on the matter. Meanwhile, with SAG boycotting decrees making it increasing difficult to get even B-list asses on non-Worldwide Pants couches, the comedian has found an unlikely ally in another late night rival:

While his lawyer was fighting "sick and twisted" baby-fabrication stories this weekend, the fledgling mogul and longtime enforcer/righthand woman Paula Wagner were busy trying to reach a side-deal with the WGA that could be announced later today, one which would allow his United Artists studio to avail itself of the services of union scribes during the strike.