Last night, nestled in an episode of the consistently hilarious 30 Rock starring Carrie Fisher as the ghost of Liz Lemon's schizophrenic, rat-infested future, was a scene of less than two minutes in duration that could easily go down as one the greatest acting triumphs of this or any other generation. In it, Sir Alec Baldwin (is he not a Sir yet? Because he should be) inhabits no less than five figures from Tracy Jordan's formative years, seamlessly traversing age, gender, and ethnic lines with a proficiency that would make a bitterly envious Eddie Murphy storm out of the room faster than he did on Oscar night. Jack Donaghy, we salute you.

PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are submitted by our readers, and are the greatest single contribution you will make in this lifetime, so send them in often! Submit yours to tips[AT]defamer.com (please put "sighting" or "PrivacyWatch" in the subject line so we don't lose them) and tell everyone about the time you saw Vanessa Minnillo dressed exactly as you'd imagine a Vanessa Minnillo might dress.

Just because we paid our sponsors a nickel to bust-up our chiffarobe, doesn't mean we can't take a moment to express our deep gratitude for everything they do. If you too want the love and eyeballs of Defamer readers, everything you need to know is right here. Dynomite!

Natalie Portman, recent screen-nudity cherry-popper and passionate advocate for debt-forgivers' rights, will guest edit an upcoming issue of Scholastic Math. From her editor's letter: "Math was one of my favorite subjects at school. It always gets a bad rap and I'm not sure why... Sure you need to use math daily for knowing how much tip to leave at a restaurant or how much flour you need to make double the amount of cookies in a recipe, but it is the less obvious practical parts of math that are most fun for me - like considering the principles of infinity. It made me excited about life to consider the limitlessness of the mind and what we can do with it." [Starpulse]

· OMGOMG. The strike's, like, totally going to happen. Did you hear about the chair thing?? [Variety]
· John Travolta returns to the action-movie realm as the lead subway-hijacking baddie in The Taking of Pelham 123, a role director Tony Scott "heavily courted" the actor for, and which he took only on the condition that the character meet his wasp-waisted body-type specifications. [Variety]

If you've truly given up all hope of living a productive and meaningful existence, we guide you now to AccessHollywood.com's live feed from the court steps of today's Spears-Federline custody hearing, where you can spend the next hour or so listening in on Tony Potts and Girl with Star-Shaped Microphone submit to an explosive bout of verbal, Britney-speckled diarrhea. Once you've sated yourselves with their insights, you can then continue onto similarly fulfilling activities, such as follicle-by-follicle pubic depilatory sessions and seeing how many canned olives you can eat before puking.

We now bring you another dispatch from the front lines of Hollywood Strikewatch, the ugly showbiz labor dispute making such little headway, at times we simply want to throw up our arms and curse the day God ever gifted us with things like language and producers. For the time-pressed, Deadline Hollywood Daily digests the latest developments into a resounding "not pretty." (Well—not pretty to most of us; scab superstar Alex Perez is sitting prettier by the minute. And we hear he's single!) But if you have a moment, you may want to read their discouraging account of an argument over seating:

You: A fellow contestant with me over three years ago on that Jaywalking ripoff game show Street Smarts. Me: Totally hot for you, but had a girlfriend at the time. We: Totally meant for each other! Remember when we both agreed that 17-year-old chick wouldn't be able to name Bill Clinton's daughter? And we were both right? That was the moment I just knew. [Craigslist]

Back in May, the internet-leaking gods gifted us with some hyperviolent footage from a project then-titled John Rambo, starring sexagenarian superstar Sylvester Stallone, eager to prove that after a nip/tuck here and a human growth hormone injection there, he was more than up to the task of hunting down yet another yellow-skinned army through a reptile-infested jungle using nothing more than his trusted bowie knife, a pocket flamethrower, and his bare hands.

We know Steve Carell came equipped to the Rachael Ray Show with his best "Juliette Binoche and me starring in a romantic comedy—whodathunk it?!" material, but we think the true odd-couple pairing that needs to be spotlighted here is Carell and Ray herself. Nothing quite unsettles us like the shimmering cackles of the easy-meal munchkin—who, we like to imagine, spends her commercial breaks power-smoking Lucky Strikes before gargling a handful of driveway gravel. Sadly, even her interpretive hand-gestures—we think she's mushing Carell and Binoche together like a large wad of pizza dough?—fail to prevent Carell's Funny Soufflé from falling.

It's not for nothing that Transformers should boast grosses on the high-end of 12-figures, as trumpeted by a seemingly endless succession of brushed-titanium zeroes on the pages of today's Variety: The studio has master blowingshitupologist's Michael Bay's passion and perfectionism to thank for that.

Owen Wilson, who in the weeks since his reported late August suicide attempt has communicated updates about his health to the public only through paparazzi photos, friends intimating that he's "doing great," and the occasional lawn mower ride, has granted his first interview to buddy/creative collaborator Wes Anderson. The catch: It's being posted to MySpace at midnight tonight, so you'll probably have to cancel your drinking plans (at least the out-of-home ones) to see if the duo actually address the suicide question or whether they spent they entire session plugging The Darjeeling Limited, knowing that gawkers will be hanging on their every word. [USA Today]

· We haven't watched a single minute of this cycle of ANTM, so we'll need you to answer this question for us: does every episode feature a C-list master-of-ceremonies for a half-assed slut-off? (Before you answer that, Tyra's definitely at least a B.)
· The best time to pass the hat for a political campaign is always when your potential donors' beach houses are burning to the ground.
· So that's what Axl was hiding behind that catcher's chest protector all of those years.
· Our pals at BoingBoing drag an animated skeleton out of The Simpsons Movie director's closet.
· Dumbledore's recent outing is causing other fictional characters to ask themselves uncomfortable questions about their sexuality.

Even if you're not plugged in enough to reach the A-list talent you'd love to attach to your passion project, Craigslist's virtual casting office always offers hope to those who aren't afraid to dream big: after all, you never know when a well-connected agent, manager, or producer will accidentally stumble across your ad while searching for someone to grant their own seemingly crazy wishes. And if you have tens of thousands of dollars to help motivate your potential middlemen to lend a hand, all the better:

Paris's historic journey to Rwanda to break ground on the Kigali Hilton has been delayed, for now, due to a "restructuring" at the Playing for Good Foundation (formerly Totally Rockin' Reality TV Ventures LLC). We're certain her philanthropic efforts will get back on track just as soon as they can find a line producer willing to work for under $5000 a week. [People]

We've forgotten in which direction we were supposed to be spun by the last WGA contract negotiation update, but the AMPTP is again taking a turn at trying to convince the world that all they want is peace, love, and happiness. (And maybe to trick writers into one tiny little concession that seems harmless enough now, but which will haunt the union for all time.) Following today's session, they've announced that they've made a Comprehensive Proposal that "lays the groundwork and provides a framework for an agreement." Also: "The goal is to reach an agreement by Oct. 31." Sounds good enough to us! Team Producers! The strike is off! [Variety]

Paul Croft, a working-class bloke from Nottingham, had a giant tattoo of Hogwarts headmaster Albus Dumbledore etched on his back—a gesture meant to surprise and delight his five Potter-obsessed children. We think it's safe to say that of the many dangers Croft tried to anticipate in subjecting himself to the painful and permanent procedure, the after-the-fact outing of the character by the author at a public lecture in New York City was not one of them:

· Music round-up: Blonde Redhead at the Wiltern; Gogol Bordello at the Mayan; The
Pipettes at Echoplex
· Nick Hornby presents new novel Slam at Book Soup. If the movie rights haven't already been sold, they will be by the time he finishes up his L.A. trip.
· Head downtown to the Santee Village Lofts' Creepy Couture and Horror Flick Fete, where there will be DJs, food, drink, art, and outdoor screenings of Young Frankenstein and Dracula. Your $25 (or a portion thereof) goes to benefit Project Angel Food and the American Cinematheque.

Having survived last week's bloody putsch that stripped her of a position on the Town Council but left five of her most loyal Yellow District adherents dead, deposed Kid Nation pageantator Taylor struggled to make the difficult adjustment to her lowered status within the CBS Bonanza City community during Wednesday night's new episode.

We thought we'd pay a visit to MTV's Pageant Place, which, for the uninitiated, is something like a Meerkat Manor for the Trump pageant queen set. And like their adorable Kalaharian counterparts, this quarrelsome matriarchy also employs complex and highly sectarian sociodynamics: Take Tara Conner, for example, the disgraced Miss USA famously forgiven for her blow-doing indiscretions by Trump the Merciful (and who indirectly caused a small amount of friction between her combforwarded boss and Rosie O'Donnell): Since being welcomed back into the clan and made Mr. Trump's favorite posable Barbie, she continues to be ostracized by her sash-wearing peers, whose fake smiles belie their not-so-secret desire that she too might meet an untimely, Flower-esque fate at the fangs of Trump's own cobra strike.