Realizing, like Survivor, that their own, aging CBS series could use a little free publicity by way of a headline-grabbing controversy, the producers of CSI: Crime Scene Investigation wisely opted out of launching a spinoff entitled CSI: Black People, and instead cast Vanilla Ice-channeling couchhusband Kevin Federline in a guest-starring role. (Plot details are under wraps, though we hear he plays a murder victim ironically strangled to death in his sleep with his own wife-beater by the wealthy dimwit he's been sponging off for years.) Arrangements had been made to give People the exclusive non-story, but a leak occurred, resulting in a stern missive from CBS' publicity department being issued to the entire "CSI Team." A Defamer operative forwarded the e-mail to us:

Not a week after Mark took some time off for a highly controversial gonad resurfacing and scrotal lift (really, Mark, that's a procedure for men twice your age. Has gravity been that unkind?), he's off again today, presumably to take his new, improved self out for a spin. Patrons of the Downtown Standard rooftop pool, this is your lucky day: Simply rap twice quickly on the center waterbed pod, wait for his breathy order to "Enter," and climb into the undulating oasis to get up close and personal with the fruits of his painful self-improvement regime. In the meantime, your associate editor—who plans on allowing his every body part the dignity of growing old naturally, thank you very much—will carry you through this half-day of posting before your Labor Day long weekend.

The above was shamelessly ganked from Gawker, but we were too horrified to discover that we remember all the words not to post it here and marinate in our shame a little longer.
We're struggling to find a way to connect Jennifer Aniston's new Nike endorsement deal to a rebuke of Brad Pitt. Maybe he once told her, "You know what? I'd like you better if you were more of a jogger."
Rosie O'Donnell's bloggerel ode to deceptive celebrity Photoshopping: "i did a movie called beautiful girls/ an ensemble piece/ by teddy demme/uma tim matt mira me/i saw the poster and said aloud/ "i didn't know courtney cox was in this film" / it wasn't courtney - it was me/ i called my agent - laughing/ she called harvey w/ i was on the phone listening/ he said/ so what- she should thank me - she looks a lot better/ and that/ my friends/ is Hollywood"
Which do you find more disturbing: Diddy's videoblog diary about taking a leak, or five minutes of celebrity friends kissing his ass?

Late this afternoon, we are faced with a difficult choice: either stare into the yawning, unblinking void of nothingness that is the pre-Labor Day weekend Hollywood news landscape, or take a moment to soberly contemplate intermittently employed actor Ben Affleck's thoughts on the challenges facing the tabloids-and-paparazzi-plagued practitioners of his craft that he offered at the opening of his latest movie at the Venice Film Festival. Affleck wins the faceoff, if for no other reason than it gives us the opportunity to run this somewhat undermining photo of Affleck applying a punishing headlock to Hollywoodland co-star Bob Hoskins. Transcribes TMZ.com:

New James Bond Daniel Craig has suffered his fair—or unfair—share of critics' taunts, who accuse the actor of being in possession of an insufficient manlihood to adequately fill 007's tuxedo pants. At least the prolific Craig has his former co-stars to vouch for his potency, such as in this anecdote from Toby Jones, who was more than willing to reminisce about his screen kiss with the actor in the Truman Capote biopic, Infamous:

· Talib Kweli at the Roxy; up-and-coming funk-rock outfit Red Hot Chili Peppers at the Forum; The Format and Rainer Maria at Avalon; Controlling the Famous at the Troubadour.
· The Aero presents the only surviving 35mm print of the director's cut of Frank Zappa's Baby Snakes, a film of a 1977 Zappa concertin NY. Gail Zappa, the woman who partnered with him on other projects like Moon Unit, Dweezil, and Ahmet, will be on hand for a Q&A.
· Local authors and UCLA Extension Writers' Program instructors Noel Alumit, Mona Gable, Mark Haskell Smith, and Jerrilyn Farmer, chat about a life toiling in the salt mines of creativity at Vroman's Bookstore.

Having apparently decided that the same absurd levels of secrecy employed in keeping Suri Cruise unseen by the public during the four months since her alleged birth should be applied to preventing the curious from gazing upon the first photographs of the baby a minute before their planned publication, Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter will order security guards to gun down in cold blood any malefactor who would attempt to leak the precious, highly-anticipated, Annie Leibovitz-lensed images. (Our rendering of what the photos might look like is presented here once again for your fresh horror.) Jossip alleges:

When Samuel L. Jackson tried to explain how David R. Ellis came to replace original Snakes on a Plane director Ronny Yu on on The Daily Show before the film's release, he cited Yu's insistence on doing an over-the-top, Hong Kong-inspired version as the reason he left the project. But as it turns out, Yu's ideas on who should be the real star of the movie, its expletive-loving, cobra-strangling hero, or its cabin full of fake-titty-biting reptiles, didn't fly with the studio paying Jackson surviving-to-the-final-credits money. Says The Slug:

We've always thought that the supposed stigma of an early career in porn hurting one's mainstream Hollywood prospects was a little overblown. If Austin Rogers can go from the hardcore Hungarian action of Fuck Factory to family fare like How to Eat Fried Worms, anyone can leave behind their regrettable rent money gigs and make a name in this industry.

[Ed. note—Since The Hollywood Reporter has apparently allowed its website to embark on its Labor Day vacation a little early, today's round-up is an all-Variety one. A helpful THR staffer has informed us that their website has not, in fact, gone on vacation and is already back at work.]
The Venice Film Fest kicked off yesterday with Brian DePalma's The Black Dahlia, which drew some not-so-favorable comparisons to another James Ellroy novel adaptation you may have heard of, L.A. Confidential. [Variety]
Thanks to the CBS/Viacom split, Les Moonves has become the guardian of Andrew Shue and Ian Ziering's finest work, which Moonves will selflessly share with the public by finally releasing Beverly Hills 90210 and Melrose Place on DVD. [Variety]
· Variety memorializes actor Glenn Ford's passing by referring to the actor as "durable." Don't get all choked up at once, guys. [Variety]
A recent pattern of a different CD topping the sales charts nearly every week imperials Danity Kane's chances of repeating as No. 1. Had we ever heard of Danity Kane before, this news might seem more significant to us. [Variety]
· Fox becomes the last major studio to put out a film in the newfangled Blu-Ray DVD format, announcing that bored children of wealthy technophile parents will have the opportunity to watch Ice Age: Meltdown in stunning high-definition in late November. [Variety]

In Tom Cruise's darkest hours, sometime between the agony of being disowned from the Paramount family by noble, couch-protecting Viacom patriarch Sumner Redstone and the ecstasy of having bumper cars filled with amusement park money driven to his doorstep by the Six Flags people, the Church of Scientology was there to cradle its favorite, momentarily cash-strapped son in its bosom—well, at least they would have been if no one else came through to take the job off their hands, according to The Scoop:

Profoundly disappointed that the pressure of being under the 24-hour surveillance of their Celebreality cameras did not induce an onscreen Danny Bonaduce suicide, a desperate VH1 is pinning all of its crazy hopes of capturing a celebrity time-bomb's final, self-annihilating act on Tom Sizemore, an actor whose troubles are so legendary that Nick Nolte's face involuntarily twitches at the very mention of his name. Reports Variety:

The world of reality television shows that the public occasionally watches because of lingering memories of long-exhausted entertainment value was rocked to its deceptively edited core today, as the NY Post reports that Donald Trump has parted ways—we can't quote bring ourselves to use his trademarked "F" word"—with Apprentice co-executioner Carolyn Kepcher. Among the fireable offenses committed by Kepcher, whose outwardly icy onscreen demeanor obscured the fiery sexpot waiting to doff her blonde helmet wig and sensibly restrictive businesswear the moment the cameras stopped rolling, were the excessive enjoyment of her newfound fame, unacceptable recall of the suggested retail price of the five-irons at her pro shop, and her tragic lack of Trump DNA. Reports the Post:

· It was certainly a busy day of celebrity jailhouse photography for The Smoking Gun, who followed up handsy MTV uncle Don Vito with Haley Joel Osment's new headshot. Perhaps most notable is Osment's stated height and weight, which spotlight the growth-stunting consequences of alcohol and marijuana use for a former child actor.
Great art is so much less interesting when the artist forces an interpretation on you.
Adrien Grenier stands accused of wearing a brown shirt to the Emmys.
We're starting to lose track of many publicist-planted gossip items we've recently read mentioning how Lindsay Lohan is "cleaning up her act," so that's probably a signal that Lindsay Sloane Zelnick hasn't left her office since the Morgan Creek Letter Incident.
Seriously, not even one bid on the Defamer toast? We're heartsick.

For at least one moment in our shallow, judgmental, celebrity-obsessed lives, let us not jump to untoward conclusions about what this National Enquirer photograph of John Travolta touching lips with another man on the steps to his private jet might mean about his sexual preference. We see no hint of tongue, no groping fingers fumbling to unclasp a belt, nor even a nearby massage table upon which the star might suddenly flip over, cast a modesty towel aside, and inappropriately request their meeting conclude with a happy ending. There is none of that here, just an innocuous image of a famous, avowedly heterosexual male rising up upon the balls of one foot to offer a platonic, same-sex pal a fond, lip-to-lip greeting before takeoff. Quite frankly, we have no idea why the tabloid even bothered printing it.

Because we here at Defamer know there's nothing better to perk up the late-afternoon-hostage-crisis blahs than an old-fashioned, scratch n' bite Hollywood catfight—even if it's just between co-Barbie anchors of some TV tabloid—we bring you this Star magazine story of trouble in Access Hollywood paradise, with Nancy O'Dell and Maria Menounos reportedly having come to loathe the site of each other's sick-inducing, telegenic faces:

According to local station Fox 11's website (the broadcast network can't seem to make itself interrupt a partiuclarly riveting episode of Cops), there's a hostage crisis in progress over on Wilshire:

· Music round-up: Radio Birdman and the BellRays at the Wiltern; Erik Penny at the Hotel Caf ; Dub Club at the Echo fills all your reggae-related needs, so long as you show up already high.
· Novelist Marisha Pessl, whose relative hotness (i.e., book hot or TV hot?) has lately been the topic of much Gawker obsession, signs her debut effort, Special Topics in Calamity Physics, at Skylight Books.
· KCRW DJ Thomas Golubic re-scores Logan's Run live at Cinespace. We really hope he proves his talents by seamlessly working in the Snakes on a Plane title track, because we think that virtually any movie can benefit from its inclusion. We're told the re-scoring has been rescheduled for next month. Sorry!

• Your American D-List Idol [The Malcontent]

A reader lent a hand with our semi-regular feature in which we assist CBS in casting its trademark, sensational ripped-from-the-headlines Movies of the Week by suggesting quirky character actor Tim Blake Nelson for the part of the fugitive polygamist Warren Steed Jeffs, who stands accused of child rape for arranging marriages between men and underage girls and who may have as many of 40 wives of his own, in what we'll give the working title Bigger Love: The Capture Of Warren Steed Jeffs. A gifted actor and near-perfect physical match, Nelson will quickly secure the role by storming into CBS's casting offices and demonstrating how he's already able to make his carotid artery, which figured prominently in Jeffs' arrest, throb on command. And just to get a head start on filling out the cast so the network can rush into production while the story's still hot, we humbly offer up Dakota Fanning to play all of Jeffs' dozens of underage brides, a challenge worthy of her preternatural acting gifts.