Tara Reid's current attempt at repairing her image by finally opening up to Us Weekly about her misplaced trust in unskilled body-sculptors and her struggles to be seen as something else besides Hollywood's unofficial Cuervo Girl (wandering the Sunset Strip in a sombrero and carrying two bottles of tequila in low-slung holsters definitely isn't helping on that count) may be undermined by today's Radar report of Reid's antics at a recent Santa Barbara wedding:

While it was previously believed that Aaron Sorkin's much-discussed, edgy reworking of Gilbert and Sullivan's "The Major-General's Song" in the cold open of the fictional Studio 60's first episode under the Albee/Tripp regime owed a creative debt to David Hyde Pierce's performance of the same musical number on SNL some years ago, we think we've now found the true source of Sorkin's inspiration. Given his recently observed love of animated slapstick and his demonstrated unfamiliarity with material one might actually see on sketch comedy shows (at least as evidenced by the "Science, Schmience," "Commedia Dell'Arte," and "The Curious Case Of The Not-So-Stolen Hot Pockets and Bombs Monologue On What Is Wrong With America" incidents), it seems much more likely that he was influenced by the song-and-dance talents of Yakko, Wakko, and Dot* rather than a long-forgotten SNL bit.

· The trailer for Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino's Grindhouse is circulating around the internets. And Rose McGowan has a machine gun for a leg. Not to get too reeled in by half a minute or so of teaser footage, but we might have to see this movie nine or ten times.
If looking at paparazzi photos of two Lost co-stars dry-humping (well, not-so-dry-humping) on the beach is something you've been waiting for, today is your lucky day,
This has always been one of our favorite New Pornographers songs, but now it has an even more special place in our hearts. And Bob Barker's too, we imagine. [via Fleshbot]
· Paris Hilton can't even get any respect on dirty, abandoned furniture.
· The Olsen twins move into the next phase of their corporate empire building, launching an e-commerce site where 'tweens can buy the same huge sunglasses and baglady-inspired fashions they themselves model on a daily basis.

It's a relief to everyone involved that Debbie Rowe, the mother of the two of Michael Jackson's children not named after bed linens, has finally settled the protracted legal dispute that threatened to remove the youngsters from his custody. Who knows how many heartwarming moments may have never come to pass, such as these recent photos of father and daughter vacationing in the South of France, and dressed in matching floppy hats and sweater sets? No high heels or handbags for little Paris however—until the young lady is a little bit older, those accessories are just for daddies.

We've been straining to find an angle into this whole Cory Lidle plane crash madness, which has provided a smorgasbord of material for our East Coast-ian sister site Gawker and sports-obsessed cousin Deadspin, though offered little by way of the "But how does this affect people making their sitcom-starring debuts tonight?" approach to human tragedy we usually can count on. So while it may take a few days before we get new mom Maggie Gyllenhaal's thoughts on baby safety in a post Lidle-crash America, we'll have to settle for this Reuters photograph of star of stage and screens-of-varying-size Alec Baldwin, plying his twinkly-eyed charms on an NYPD officer in an attempt to maneuver his way past a cordon to get to what we can only assume was the alluring waft of freshly reheated knishes beckoning to him from across the street.

A high-level Defamer operative submitted this report about Monday night's Sufjan Stevens show, where lustily booed, but blithely indifferent, cinematic monarch Kirsten Dunst suffered the twin indignities of being obsessively observed by one of our spies while drunkenly pricing sizzling meat products, and of having her stardom go unrecognized by scalpers, even after a gentle reminder about one of her more notable roles:

"Sultan of Sleaze" David Hans Schmidt appeared on Howard Stern's radio show this morning to plug Dustin Diamond's own entry into an already crowded field of celebrity sex tapes featuring furry, squeaky-voiced children's television stars. Apparently, Diamond's previous boasts to Stern about his megalithic manhood were not exaggerated:

· Music round-up: Kasabian and Mew at the Henry Fonda; Cold War Kids at Spaceland; Merle Haggard at UCLA's Royce Hall.
· HuffPo head-blogger-in-charge, occasional longshot political candidate, and Friend of Ari Emanuel Arianna Huffington signs her new book, On Becoming Fearless... in Love, Work and Life at the Borders in Westwood.
· The Aero is holding a sneak preview screening of Running with Scissors, the star-studded Hollywood interpretation of writer Augusten Burrough's psychically turbulent childhood. Mystery guests will introduce the screening. Cross your fingers for Gwynnie and Annette!

In an astonishing turn of events that should upend everything you thought about you knew about celebrities' lawyers and the ease with which they can find a way to stomach their clients' reprehensible behavior once the check clears, one of Anna Nicole Smith's many attorneys has quit: Not fake-husband-lawyer Howard K. Stern, and not lawyer-lawyer Ron Rale, but a third counsel named Michael Scott, who, besides sharing a name with a character in a popular TV sitcom, now can also lay claim to another unique biographical footnote: "Told drug-addled, crackpot celebrity client to 'take a long walk off a short catamaran.'"

Defamer is committed to bringing together entertainment industry professionals looking for a little midday relief from both the pressures of their jobs and of maintaining deception-free heterosexual relationships with the discreet, same-sex activity partners located nearby their place of work. Over at Sony's Culver City lot, an employee is looking for someone to help him make better use of his smoke breaks:

Perhaps fearing that reports about Monday's McDreamy Vs. McChokey smackdown on the Grey's Anatomy set might spiral into sensationalistic gossip about Isaiah Washington grabbing a prop scalpel and threatening to "go all Nip/Tuck" on Patrick Dempsey's "pretty, pretty little bitch face" before being felled by a shock from a fully functional defibrillator, ABC's damage control technicians already have their hunky combatants downplaying the fight:

Premieres are meant to be the most festive and friendly byproduct of the Hollywood publicity machine, a benign formality wherein stars are slathered with red carpet media attention, and in return the celebrities oblige their probing and frivolous inquiries. But not every exchange goes smoothly, as evidenced when Sandra Bullock recently lost her shit when a reporter dared to turn to the subject of baby bumps:

Record companies, TV networks and studios still can't decide if they should view YouTube as a copyright-infringing agent of evil or as an ally that could potentially make them boatloads of money. In the meantime, Google has its army of lawyers ready to fight claims against its shiniest new toy. [Variety]
Roger Daltrey will guest star on an episode of CSI, hoping to live up to the proud stunt-casting tradition of the series established by Kevin Federline's bravura, largely improvised performance. [THR]
Nip/Tuck's Ryan Murphy will adapt and direct the memoir Eat, Pray, Love, about a dissatisfied woman who chucked away her comfortable life to "set off on a journey of self-discovery around the world," as a vehicle for Julia Roberts. Later today, Brad Pitt will read this news, remark, "I'd love for us to do something with Julia one day. Can we make that happen?" then be gently reminded by a Plan B staffer that he's producing the film. [Variety]
The public once again proves that its appetite for watching washed-up celebrities get yanked around by professional dancers is still voracious, as Dancing With the Stars pulls in about 22 million viewers at its Tuesday night peak. [THR]
Leslee Dart's PR firm passes up a second chance to take our helpful suggestion to call their flack collective The Fuck Pat Kingsley Group, instead opting to rename itself 42West, a blander, tragically diplomatic choice. We don't know how many more opportunities Dart can squander before another disgruntled Kingsley staffer comes along and snaps up the name for her own venture. [Variety]

[Warning: The above video may be NSFW; please check your employer's policy on viewing sexually explicit material starring plush children's toys before viewing.]

Finding that exploring the effect of new wealth on interpersonal relationships through the lens of an up-and-coming Hollywood star with a net worth in the mere seven figures was ultimately insufficient for realizing his lofty sociological mission, Entourage creator Doug Ellin will turn his attention to a more "mature" group of friends who make real, Wall Street money for an HBO pilot. Reports Variety:

Despite initial denials from Madonna's publicist, various Malawian relatives of the alleged newest addition to the Ciccone-Ritchie household claim that the adoption of one-year-old David Banda is proceeding apace. Madonna's publicist, Liz Rosenberg, earlier tried to finesse the adoption thing as Madonna's metaphorical adoption of Malawi in general. But Banda's father says his son will be "very well looked after in America," though he will make "regular" trips back to Malawi so as to "know his roots." (Apparently the little tyke won't be welcome in Madonna and Guy Ritchie's London home.) In response to the Bandas' joy, Rosenberg robotically intoned, "I am unable to make any official statement at this time," before self-destructing in a shower of sparks. Expect wee David and family to manifest a well-financed public silence very, very shortly.

When first seeing the words "TARA REID EXCLUSIVE: MY PLASTIC SURGERY NIGHTMARE" stretched across Us Weekly's cover, one's overactive imagination might instantly jump to a disturbing vision of a particularly hard night of partying in Vegas, the day after which Reid groggily awakened in a bathtub full of ice water to discover that she had been forcibly supplied with a pair of shockingly over-enhanced breasts and a poorly contoured stomach, then screamed in horror as she noticed the words CALL A BOARD-LICENSED COSMETIC SURGEON NOW scrawled in lipstick on the wall next to her. Fortunately, the "nightmare" she describes to Us is far less chilling, but apparently still sensational enough to land an actress whose latest project is of straight-to-download quality the cover story over the shocking—shocking!—tale of Katie Holmes' wedding dress selection.

Rush & Molloy have independently confirmed a National Enquirer report (stories this utterly explosive require such a level of tabloid journalistic rigor) that "long-simmering" hunky-TV-doctor tensions between Grey's Anatomy co-stars Patrick Dempsey and Isaiah Washington finally erupted in a physical confrontation on-set this Monday, when Washington decided that he'd had enough of this Dr. McDreamy nonsense and that it was time to choke a bitch. R & M pass along the Enquirer report:

Just days after his big, stage-managed break-up with Jennifer Aniston, Vince Vaughn's publicist is already hard at work coordinating new canoodling opportunities with chicks he may later pretend to date.
· If you'd like to actually view a clip of Mel Gibson talking about his struggle against his inner, drunken monster, ABCNews.com has finally posted one, as well as some other quotable bits from his Diane Sawyer interrogation.
And in the interest of piling on, it turns out that one of Gibson's drinking buddies might be L.A.'s favorite local cruise ship child molestor.
Possibly nuclear-powered North Korea strongman Kim Jong-Il might be a huge Friday the 13th fan. Comforting.
We don't know how Dr. Phil or his producers possibly could've foreseen how much filling up a mid-Wilshire house with noisy addicts and misfits desperate to be on TV might piss off some neighbors. Maybe they should've put the house in Hollywood, where it would've gone completely unnoticed.

The mystery of whether or not late-to-the-party Third World do-gooder Madonna has in fact adopted a Malawian orphan continues to deepen. Initially, Reuters reported that she had called ahead and requested that officials ready a selection of orphaned boys from the AIDS-ravaged African state, one of whom she'd take home with her. Dutiful flack Liz Rosenberg quickly discounted the story, claiming Madonna's trip was purely a charity mission and that she had no plans to adopt. Now, a Malawi father tells the AP that his semi-orphaned son was in fact the lucky one-year-old plucked from a destitute existence of famine and disease to lead a life of almost inconceivable privilege, albeit tempered with the regular humilation of having a mom who insists on picking them up from soccer practice wearing nothing but cameltoe-baring leotards: