No sooner had some semblance of normalcy finally returned to the Grey's Anatomy set, with a fully rehabilitated Isaiah Washington using his newly acquired anger-management tools to temper his castigations of line-flubbing co-star T.R. Knight with the far less incendiary, "Nice job, ffffforgetful!" comes news of further dissension among the horny-physician ranks. The recent announcement by ABC of a possible spinoff for Kate Walsh's character, Dr. Addison Montgomery-Shepherd (aka Dr. Ex-Mrs. Dr. McDreamy) has, notes Star magazine, received a chilly reception from the rest of the cast:

Var reports that the Academy has officially demanded the immediate removal of all unauthorized clips from Sunday night's Oscars telecast from the YouTubes, dealing a severe blow to modern-dance fans wishing to experience Pilobolus' kinetic, silhouetted interpretations of popular films over and over again. The purge has already claimed the racy footage of Clint Eastwood's wife's now-infamous crotch-swipe, and we suspect it won't be long before the joint YouTube/AMPAS copyright task force removes the historical record of our new favorite Oscar moment: when triumphant Best Foreign Language Film director Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck taunts vanquished frontrunner Guillermo del Toro by wiping his hindquarters upon the back of the Pan's Labyrinth also-ran's head.

Hollywood event-catering watchdog group TMZ.com is all over the Wolfgang Puck Hepatitis A scare story like yellow on the jaundice-afflicted eyeball of a party guest who unknowingly gobbled down a tainted tuna roll, pledging that they will reveal the list of all 13 Puck-catered events reportedly worked by his infected employee (luckily, not the Governor's Ball at the Oscars) in a selfless quest to inform all potential victims of their possible exposure to the disease.

· Yes, there's a hepatitis A scare related to a Wolfgang Puck event, but it's for the Sports illustrated swimsuit issue party at the Pacific Design Center back on February 14th, not the Puck-catered Governor's Ball following the Oscars. Any Academy member experiencing the symptoms of jaundice, fatigue, fever, abdominal pain, vomiting, or diarrhea since Sunday night probably should just place an angry call to their coke dealer about the poor quality of their celebratory Oscar eightball rather than waste the time of public health officials trying to provide immune globulin shots to the potentially infected.
· Gary Sinise as Bones? Yeah, that kind of makes sense to us. He can probably pull off the "Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a [name of occupation for which the physician is not qualified]" lines with no problem.
· 12-year-olds are always at their most adorable while getting a lapdance.
· Even back in 1970, people still sounded ridiculous trying to take the Oscars seriously.
· Want to fill up with righteous indignation about Children of Men's total Oscar fuckage once again? Go watch this.

For those of you held captive by Sunday evening's Oscars telecast—either by having some financial stake in the proceedings or by simply feeling the inexplicable call to duty to weather every snore-inducing montage ("Here's one for America! Here's one for not-America! Here's one for NAFTA!") the ceremony had to offer—the commercials offered some creative respite. Sure, a 30-second close-up of a Marie Callender chicken pot pie wasn't going to salvage your evening, but you never knew when Wes Anderson might stroll along to confound your expectations of what an AmEx commercial could be, or one of those iPhone "Hello" ads might pop-up, which, while not necessarily groundbreaking, at least remained refreshingly Justin Long-free. According to AdWeek, not just any company willing to shell out the record prices of $1.7 mil per 30-second spot are allowed to advertise on the Oscars; the Academy has some strict guidelines about what is considered appropriate material to immediately precede Ellen DeGeneres's "vacuuming and tossing of a joint into the orchestra" bit:

We are disappointed anew by each firsthand report we receive from readers recounting their run-ins with celebrities they've caught performing the life-perpetuating acts of eating, drinking, or excreting, as we prefer to stubbornly maintain our belief that the Creator frees the famous from these messy, mortal routines, allowing them to be preserved in the pristine state of the exact moment in which He first chose them for eternal greatness. Imagine, then, the letdown we experienced upon reading about how one of this year's Oscar nominees carelessly allowed herself to be seen sullying her physical vessel on the one night that should be dedicated to upholding our possibly delusional ideas about her perfection:

You may have noticed city bus ads rolling around town touting the latest season of America's Next Top Model. On it, host Tyra Banks poses dramatically by a waterfall, surrounded by the latest batch of aspiring models/ catfight - experts/ bi-curious lust-objects vying for the ANTM crown. (The photo is rendered all the more impressive when you consider that just out of camera range were approximately two dozen hungry alligators and a school of piranha hungrily snapping at the models' feet, as Mr. Jay shouted, "I don't care how many toes you have left! Look sexier!") The residents of Santa Monica, however, were none too pleased by the traveling hoochie-show on display:

· Music round-up: Money Mark at Amoeba; Rockstar Supernova at the Long Beach Arena; The "Let's Independent" indie music night at Boardner's has Foreign Born, Hector, and Molecules.
· Caille Millner signs coming-of-age memoir The Golden Road: Notes on My Gentrification at Vroman's.
· The Comedy Central Stage at the Hudson hosts The Richard Simmons Mysteries, an improvised TV drama starring everyone's favorite overtanned, short-shorted, clean-shaven exercise enthusiast sleuthing it up for a live, Deal-a-Meal-craving audience.

This just in from a brave operative who may already be dead by the time you read these words:

Fans of delicate, dreamy-eyed thespian Jake Gyllenhaal may reflexively wince in sympathy as we ask them to recall his harrowing description of the abusive conditions in which Zodiac sadist David Fincher forced his cast to toil, an experience that's left the actor with a paralyzing fear of his MacBook's "delete" key that may require years of intensive psychotherapy (involving the calming, self-negating act of continuously erasing the name "Jake" from an open Word document while discussing a performer's obligation to serve a director's vision) to cure. Curious about how accurate Gyllenhaal's account of his Zodiac ordeal may have been, The Reeler blog asked fellow Fincher plaything Mark Ruffalo about how their cinematic taskmaster ran his set:

PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are submitted by our readers, and are posted several times a week, so send them in immediately: Today might be your last day on Earth, and you don't want to move on to the Next Life with lingering regrets! Submit yours to tips[AT]defamer.com (please put "sighting" or "PrivacyWatch" in the subject line) and let everyone know about the time you saw the Canter's cashier inspecting a taut-faced Tim Allen's possibly counterfeit currency:

· The Departed's freshly minted Oscar-winning duo of Martin Scorsese and William Monahan are already reteaming for another project, the "rock n' roll epic" The Long Play for Paramount. Of course, now that Scorsese's got his statue he can totally mail it in on this one. [Variety]
· More Departed reunions: William Monahan and Leo DiCaprio are getting back together for a remake of the Hong Kong thriller Confessions of Pain for Warner Bros. [THR]
· Paul Haggis' The Black Donnellys underwhelms with its premiere performance in Studio 60's former Monday night timeslot, a result the show's producers can easily blame on Aaron Sorkin's permanent tainting of the 10pm hour. [Variety]
· Pilot casting round-up: Carrie-Anne Moss in ABC drama Suspect; Marisa Janet Winokur in CBS comedy Fugly; William Baldwin in ABC drama Dirty Sexy Money; Christopher Titus in an untitled ABC Jon Feldman project; Swoosie Kurtz in ABC drama Pushing Daisies. [THR]
· Save the date! The Screen Actors Guild stakes out January 27th for next year's installment of its Saggie Awards. [Variety]

It has taken recent international celebrity imports Dave Beckham and his bride, Victoria, practically no time at all to assimilate themselves into our humble artists' community. Likewise, they had only barely begun to unpack their giant moving boxes marked "Dolce & Gabbana Swimsuits" and "Headshots/Misc. Knicknacks" before their doorbell started ringing, alerting them to the presence of friendly neighbors bearing gift baskets brimming with self-improvement literature and vitamins. Not surprisingly, the captivating Victoria—whom close, personal famous friend Tom Cruise has allegedly heralded as a "comic genius"—has instantly found herself the subject of a heated Hollywood bidding war, pitting producer against producer in a feverish attempt to capitalize on her singular talents. The project? Why, a reality show, of course!

It seems fitting that in an Oscars ceremony utterly devoid of surprises, drama, or any moment more compelling than Clint Eastwood's wife offering her nominated husband's dejected manhood a consoling pat-down, the only potential controversy would unfold backstage, and between warring below-the-line factions weary from their unglamorous battle in a hotly contested Best Sound Mixing awards race. THR notes the odd post-victory smackdown directed at Lucciesque Apocalyto also-ran Kevin O'Connell by Dreamgirls winner Michael Minkler, who indicated that The Streak was stealing the spotlight from his team's achievement:

Details continue to trickle from within the gated, seaside facility known as Promise Malibu, inside which Britney Spears battles her impulse-humoring demons (HairRecoveryWatch: .4 inches and counting!). Following Friday's 90-minute visit from ex-husband Kevin Federline, ExtraTV.com is reporting that Spears' shatter-resistant children Sean Preston and Jayden James have also dropped by; their initial distress at seeing their shorn mom was quickly allayed once she handed them a box of color Sharpies and let them go to town on her scalp. The Scoop also notes that Spears has opted to spare no expense during her stay there, booking a whole wing of the recovery center for her rehabilitation needs:

Because an A-list actor's refusal to attend the Academy Awards ceremony in a year in which he appears in a Best Picture candidate is an act of disrespect to the Hollywood Community tantamount to urinating upon one of Wolfgang Puck's chocolate Oscars at the Governors Ball, Page Six launched an investigation into Brad Pitt's Sunday night whereabouts, finally determining that the personally un-nominated performer was busy filming a movie in New Orleans. With that mystery solved, they turn their attention to the Not-So-Curious Case of Eddie Murphy's Post-Loss Disappearance:

Today's LAT momentarily revives us from our Oscar-induced coma with a story about the imminent release of informatively titled Hollywood Super Madam tell-all Secrets of a Hollywood Super Madam (in stores Thursday! Start lining up at The Grove's Barnes and Noble now!), in which onetime industry she-pimp Jody "Babydol" Gibson continues the proud, Flessian literary tradition of revealing the sexual predilections of her alleged clientele, apparently empowered by the once-redacted details of her 2000 prostitution-ring trial being released into the public domain. Among the celebrities already registering official denials: Erstwhile pasta sauce magnate Tommy Lasorda and accused Die Hard satyr Bruce Willis:

· Helen Mirren, distressingly chaste during her Oscar acceptance speech, saved the sexytime talk for Oprah. Oh, to be one of her breast-cupping seraphim!
· You know what might have been the most exciting thing about these brain-smoothingly boring Oscars? This guy.
· Critics are sharply divided over whether Ellen DeGeneres was dull or unfunny.
· We always had it feeling that it would be Titanic director James Cameron who first presented us with physical evidence of the historical Jesus Christ. He never lets us down.
· Travolta's hair stylist sought inspiration in a somewhat unorthodox place, but one really can't argue with the stunning results.
· Breaking: Britney Spears might have a substance abuse problem.

Antonella Barba, the comely Jersey girl who managed to squeak into American Idol's top 12 female finalists, only to torture tens of millions with her ear-punishing rendition of "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing," has sparked a wave of internet controversy (funny how it always happens to the ones America wants to bang the most), involving a series of leaked photographs featuring Barba alternately sitting on a toilet and clutching her own breasts on a beach. A second batch of far more graphic photos then made the rounds (NSFW), this time of someone purported to be Antonella performing oral sex on a faceless recipient. Since then, the world's foremost blowjobologists have been brought in to authenticate the photographs. The verdict: It's not Antonella. Even co-auditioner and best friend Amanda Coluccio, after carefully examining the fellative evidence at hand, has weighed in:

The Defamer Special Correspondent On Oscar Parties Which Began After We Were Already Passed Out And Didn't End By The Time We Regained Consciousness This Morning, after somehow surviving the horrors of a Foxx-Whitaker sandwich, has just filed this report from last night's after-orgy at Soho House's temporary outpost in the Hills, where virtually everyone in Hollywood put in an appearance (Scorsese! Leo! Sober Lohan!) at some time point during the night. The list of names far too numerous to render in boldface follows: