New York's polling places have been like Bungalow 8, but more egalitarian! The reports:

A reader notices a potential problem for Lily Tomlin's publicity team while voting in the Valley:

While we stepped out to renew our supply of cheap whiskey in plastic bottle with cartoon hobos on them, some celebrity voting sightings rolled in. No A-list whales have been spotted yet, so we'll just have to make due with the likes of Blair Underwood and Henry Rollins for now.

Manhattan's voting elite continues to storm the ballot boxes! Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter votes for, um, we don't know who (snicker):

Our celebrity voter-spotting campaign is up and running, as a report from the eastside starts us off with some Lynchian flavor:

Well, we made it. The babies have all been eaten and The Most Important Election In The History Of Elections is finally here. Even though anybody who's anybody has exercised their right to vote early, some socially-conscious A-land B-list stragglers are bound to show up at your local polling places. So when you sneak out of the office to participate in the democratic process, keep those eagle-eyes scanning the voting line and let us know who you saw casting their knee-jerk Hollywood liberal ballots, and we'll keep a running report on democracy in action. Happy voting!

My frigid heart is warmed by the display of celebrity civic duty:

Stalk early and often:

Blogger A Fly On The Wall emerges from a long hiatus to reveal that George Clooney has joined the ranks of celebrity bloggers. Clooney's not blogging to tattle about who he saw doing lines off a tranny stripper in David Geffen's bathroom; with the election looming, he's gone the poli-blogging route. We can't quite get a lock on his politics, though, as entries with noncommittal titles like "How Dick Cheney Helped Saddam
Gas Thousands of Women and Children" and "Let's Not Forget George Bush's Terrorist Friend" leave only cryptic clues to the actor's ideological leanings. If the blog is indeed Clooney's work, someone ought to tell him that if he wants to cultivate a readership, he's really got to develop a point of view.

1. McSweeney's-endorsed author Merrill Feitell reads from her collection of short stories Here Beneath Low-Flying Planes at Dutton's Brentwood Bookstore. Would an intellectual wasteland allow such an event to take place on its soil? Probably not, so the event might be a secret. Shhh. We wouldn't want the city's book burning department to show up.
2. Q and Not U and Erase Errata play the Troubadour, but if you're short on cash or would rather direct those ticket funds into alcohol consumption, the Frasudots start their free November Monday night residency at Spaceland.
3. Did you know today is World Vegan Day? We didn't. We also didn't know that anyone actually lives in Tarzana, where the WVD celebration is taking place. Please excuse our ignorance of both matters by checking it out.

If you were worried that Ashlee Simpson was so distraught over her lip-syncing cataclysm that the next time we heard about her would involve reports of grief-stricken hari kiri on the needle atop the Capitol Records building, worry no more: a reader saw her taking in a movie in Sherman Oaks last night.

"Old and decrepit" Los Angeles resident Adam Levine learns that fans of the teeny-bopper lust object/Maroon 5 singer that shares his name don't know that celebrities generally aren't listed in the phone book. The "wrong" Levine is sharing his frustration with the world by posting the misdirected fan phone messages on his website, most of which devolve into cries of Tiger Beat generational disbelief or sexual overtures. Some of our favorites:

Friday's courtroom action in The Hollywood Trial of the Century saw a cross-examination weary Michael Ovitz get cranky with plaintiff's attorney Steven Schulman. An embattled Ovitz had no choice but to reflexively resort to the kind of Jedi mind tricks that once had made him "the most powerful man in Hollywood" when repeatedly questioned about his sale of a private jet to Disney during his tenure as president. Unforunately for Ovitz, it seems that his mind-clouding powers have been dulled by his years away from the agenting trenches:

Sightings are sent in by readers; send yours to tips@gawker.com.

Cellphones are everywhere now, so clichés about their ubiquity among L.A.'s constantly-yammering citizens are pretty stale. But Blogging.la's Sean Bonner notices something that may boost our city back to the top of the annoying mobile-obsessed heap. Check it out, even our homeless guys have Nokias!

If you thought we were going to use the occasion of George Lucas' tossing of this latest fan-kibble to bash nerds for their inevitable slobbering over the next to Star Wars movie, you'd be wrong. We just wanted to congratulate Lucas on resisting the impulse to cover pouty Hayden Christensen in retro-futuristic Snuggle detergent mascots and Rastafarian caricatures. Way to go, George! You're finally listening.

We'd like to take a moment to thank this week's sponsors, whose support keeps everything west of Highland Avenue from breaking off and floating into the ocean. If you'd like to advertise on Defamer, see this page.

It's time for another edition of Ask Choire, in which our soiled Editorial Director Choire Sicha returns from his moldy cave and takes a moment off from managing Gawker Media's indentured servants just to help our readers in need. This week, Choire deals with the pertinent Halloween issues: looking original and getting laid. Not in that order.

Film Stew's Andy Jones returns to his "See Where Andy Goes" column after a craving for Pioneer Chicken goes terribly awry. (We think that God was just trying to save him from the far worse damage that eating there surely would have caused.) He spots Scientology's First Couple in the midst of some oddly conspicuous PDA at the Hollywood Film Festival:

Just one week ago, New York was mourning the fall of its beloved Yankees to the Red Sox in a David-and-Goliath fashion that had sports writers wetting themselves with repetitive metaphors. Not that we watch baseball, but we realized at about 11:45 last night that the Sox had gone on to win the World Series in a 4-game sweep. In fact, we knew immediately from the insane howling and screaming in the streets. For hours. What the fuck? Blow a celebratory rail or something, it's more quiet.