This is, frankly, fascinating.

A neuroanatomist suffered a stroke, and retells what happened in amazing detail. It gets quite deep and philosophical toward the end, too.

It seems every few months whispers begin circulating that Kylie Minogue has reunited with 'love rat' former boyfriend Olivier Martinez. And, every few months, we learn the reason behind their reconciliation is that Martinez has eaten some humble pie, and - most importantly - agreed to give Kylie the babies she so desires.

And it's that time again, folks!

Kylie Minogue has reportedly rekindled her romance with ex-lover Olivier Martinez again. The 'Wow' singer - who is currently on her European tour - and the French actor enjoyed a meal with her parents and stylist and the smitten pair couldn't keep their hands off each other on Tuesday.

Stylist, eh? That wouldn't happen to be bloody Will "Gay Husband" Baker, would it? Eventually Olivier and Will are going to have to indulge in an It's A Knockout style battle for Kylie's heart, I suspect.

A friend of Kylie's said: "Olivier has agreed to try for a baby. That was always the stumbling block in their relationship. "Olivier has told her he is ready to start a family, to marry her and to settle down." The pair dated for four years and Olivier supported Kylie throughout her breast cancer battle. On the opening night of her 'KylieX2008' tour in May, Olivier was in the audience and watched on proudly as she wowed fans.

We eagerly await a denial from the Kylie camp.

You know, normally it's Channel Nine that we can count on for doing totally sad and pathetic things in the name of the ratings fight, but I think they may have a new rival in the "total network saddo" stakes: step right up, Channel Seven!

It seems Seven is so desperate for a slice of the Gordon Ramsay ratings pie, they've gone and bought themselves Ramsay's Boiling Point. Sounds good, huh? Well, it would be - if the series wasn't over a decade old.

Rubbing salt into Seven's wound, a Nine spokesman told Confidential "Seven has had to comb the Granada (Productions) vault to find something with Ramsay's name on it. This from the same mob who relinquished its licence on Kitchen Nightmares at the end of 2006 ... and the rest is history."

The "new" Seven acquisition consists of five half-hour episodes which will air at 10pm.

Even its own press release acknowledged the "aged" quality of the material, stating the fly-on-the-wall series was filmed "long before Ramsay was a superstar".

"Gordon Ramsay is a huge name in any field at the moment and Boiling Point is a fascinating look at how it all began," so sold Angus Ross, Seven's head of scheduling and acquisitions.

"There's never any shortage of drama when Gordon's involved but I think people love him because he can back up his words with his actions. He's a rare treat."

Oh no, it's almost too much! To hear Seven's acquisitions dude describing these leftovers as a "rare treat", it's like country mouse trying to cheer her children up because they only have cherry stones and dust to eat! FOR GOD'S SAKE, STOP THE EMOTIONAL BLACKMAIL, SEVEN!

There's nothing more delicious than a model/journalist (the rarer subgenre of the model/actress, model/musician, model/fashion designer, or my personal favourite, the MAW - model/actress/whatever), so I was thrilled to see Jennifer Hawkins had been given a guest's desk at the Daily Telegraph to write an Bronte-esque missive about her date with Chris "Mr Big" Noth.

Here's what Australia's latest poet laureate has to say:

Before the party started I got to chat with him about the movie, his visit to Sydney and travelling the world.

He'd heard I was going to Paris on Saturday, for the Dior fashion shows, and he suggested a few restaurants to go to.

He'd been there filming scenes for Sex And The City and knew all the right places to eat.

He tried to change my mind about eating escargot (snails).

I've tried them and know they're a delicacy, but as I told him, I just didn't like them.

Mmm... dark. "I just didn't like them" - you can imagine thunder crashing and dark, ominous clouds rolling in over the moors of, er, Bondi Beach, can't you?

And just when you think you can't take any more, she brings it all home with this stunning closing couplet:

He seems really free-spirited and told me he wished he hadn't been so jet-lagged the last time he was in Australia for the Logies.

Still, watching him meet-and-greet everyone last night I'm pretty sure he'll make the most of his time in this city.

"In this city"! Geddit? It sounds a bit like "Sex And The City"!

Can we sort out a column for J-Hawk now that Bec Hewitt has flown the 'My Pregnancy/Marriage/Baby/Drug/Lawnmowing/Three-Piece Lounge Suite Hell' coop? See to it, there's a good man.

While the actors, writers and sportspeople Australia spits out and sends overseas might not always end up kicking goals, if there's one area in which we are leading the field (well, right behind, say, the entire Eastern Europe region) it's fashion modelling.

As Confidential notes today, Catherine McNeil is the latest expat to wow the modelling world - except, they're sort of a bit behind the eight ball. McNeil has been going gangbusters for the past twelve-plus-months, shooting numerous campaigns and covers (including a handful of Vogues) and walking for pretty much everyone. Here's what Models.com (the "NASDAQ of modelling") has to say about our Cath in their Top 50 Models death match, where she has been at #9 for the past few weeks:

She has the height, the body, the skin, the hair and the presence of a major new star in the business.

Now Catherine McNeil is poised to have a landmark campaign and editorial season and we can't wait to see the first burst of blue chip imagery.

Translated for non-fashionistas, that means "She's heaps good and she's going to make a stack of mad cash and we're looking forward to perving on her new pics".

Or words to that effect. Er, Aussie! Aussie! Aussie!

We've already heard enough stars insisting that those sex scenes we find either major turn-ons (Mickey Rourke force-feeding Kim Basinger strawberries on the kitchen floor in 9 1/2 Weeks) or majorly eye-scarring (Heather Graham faking her way through grainy limo thrusts in Boogie Nights) are totally perfunctory while filming. With the massive crew surrounding them, the sudden lighting checks, and simple fact that they've gotta feign spontaneous heat take after take, we've leaned towards taking their word for it. And as it turns out, no matter how big the star or legendary their prowess in the bedroom, even simple kissing scenes with the most gorgeous A-listers around range from "awkward and sweaty" to "slightly icky and sort of wet." Where Tom Cruise, Angelina Jolie, Harrison Ford, Leonardo DiCaprio and more rank on the list of Worst On-Screen Kissers after the jump.

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You know when you're little, and you get into a massive fight with your sibling, or maybe the kid next door, over Barbie dolls or who gets to be Batman, or whatever, and then you get in trouble from Mum or Dad or Mr Jones, and then they say "You better apologise" and you sook for about an hour before yelling out "SORRY BEN!!" before storming off crying?

That's sort of the vibe I'm getting from Sam Newman's rather lacklustre 'apology' for his most recent Footy Show antics:

"I'm sorry, I have obviously offended people, and for that I'm sorry," Newman said on Channel 9 news last night.

The sincerity is astounding, isn't it? Is he now going to apologise to the female members of the AFL boards who he branded "liars"? Is he going to stop making fun of the destitute and mentally ill on Street Talk? Is he going to jump up and down with his fists balled and shout "SORRY FOR LIVING!!"?

Personally I'm gunning for the latter.

A vague and incredibly mysterious blind item in today's NY Daily News initially gave us a headache because not a single "groovy"-like hint was included:

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Sex tapes. We've all seen them. Hell, by this point, we've probably all made them (and that includes Molls)! But even on your loneliest of lonely nights, when you dial up RedTube in search of the dirtiest, kinkiest porn that the Internets have to offer, we'd bet you dollars to donuts that none of you ever typed the words "Mini-Me Sex Tape" into Google looking to get off. That is, until now. According to our friends at TMZed:

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Jessica Simpson has officially perfected the art of turning every opportunity to promote whatever is currently going on in her "career" into a public display of desperation. Ever since that gruesome Chicken Or Fish fiasco, we cannot think of a single time the game day curse has appeared on television without making a complete arse of herself. And Jessica managed to continue the pity parade on The View today. Dodging all questions related to her shockingly successful new country single, Simpson instead spun the interview into an embarrassingly blatant attempt to announce to the world how totally in love she and long-suffering QB Tony Romo still are. See Simpson hard at work, and tell us if we're the only ones noticing a very eerie resemblance between the new Jessica and the bleached, gum-chewing, tear-drenched Britney Spears circa her "We're just country, y'all!" era.

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Having already identified the source of the famous scruff from Guess the Celebrity Nape!, we now invite you to browse further sumptuous set stills from Steven Soderbergh's The Informant—where star Matt Damon can be found undertaking a harrowing physical transformation into paunchy, Mai Tai-loving, real-world whistleblower Mark Whitacre. Wait one second: agricultural price-fixing scams? Boooring. We have a better idea: What ever happened to that Summer School remake? We've got our perfect Mr. Shoop right here!

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Loose-lipped Jack Black has recently decided to abandon his pre-married man habits like staying up too late with "beer" and "dudes," but by far the most impressive habit Black claims to have kicked is smoking. Though we don't really immediately picture a carton of cigarettes when thinking of the Brangelina baby blabber, there are more than a few stars who we see smoking so often we automatically reach for a cancer stick whenever we see them on-screen. So who are the smokiest chimneys in Hollywood these days? We put together a list of the newbies and their predecessors, all of whom we feel should be notified that Joshua Kelley, no matter what Heigl has told them, is not, in fact, an ashtray:

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When she's not involved in ex-presidential dalliances (allegedly!) and lobbing litigious bombs at the journalists who write about them, Gina Gershon is something of a Broadway dreamer. To wit, the sultry star's more authorised revelation that she's considered adapting Showgirls for the stage. But just throwing a bitchy NC-17 melodrama on the boards wouldn't be enough, naturally, so behold Showgirls: The Broadway Musical: "Originally I had an idea to do that, and I was talking to a couple of people to write it with me," she told Broadway.com. "If it's my version, it would be great. If it's a dumb version, it would be dumb." We really don't see how a smart version of Showgirls is logically possible, and unless it features a showstopping Joe Eszterhas/Paul Verhoeven duet simply called "Tits," we're probably not even interested. Nevertheless, best of luck to Gershon, and may her Vanity Fair score-settling yield the leverage she needs to make Tony-ready magic. [Broadway.com via Film Experience]

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Katherine Heigl's constant bids to control her husband Josh "Call Me Joshua" Kelley's A.D.D. addled life is truly the gift that keeps on giving. Whether it's explaining to David Letterman that the house that the newlyweds live in is most certainly hers or confiding to Oprah that she's not even really sure if she'll like Joshua once she gets to know him, we are firmly settled into Month Six of what's come to be known as "The Emasculation Of Joshua" tour. However, just when you thought that she would tone things down a smidge, Heigl's controlling ways took new life when her not-at-all-whipped "rocker" husband took to the stage at Hollywood's Hotel Café on Friday night. According to a tipster for People:

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Everywhere we've been around the LA Film Festival this week, the chatter du jour is either oversexed studio minions or how folks plan to spend their off-days during the increasingly inevitable-looking SAG strike. The latter conflict came into even sharper relief today in Variety, which published a SAG-AFTRA Bullshit Scorecard (hardly an improvement over our SAG Strike Mad Libs™, but whatever) breaking down the lies, celebrity endorsees and various other spin the unions are wielding in their steel-cage labour war:

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All it really takes to loosen up David Letterman is a blonde (though he's been known to make exceptions) in a cleavage-enhancing dress—and bam!—the curmudgeonly late night king instantly morphs into a goofy-grinned, homeroom study partner, showering the object of his affection with a variety of softball questions and a generous selection of tinned meats. Take Charlize Theron's appearance last night, the first third of which covered how nice she looks in her dress, before segueing into the weightier topic of what she wants for her birthday. Letterman reassured the actress that he was "sending you something right now," suggesting he was stowing a Pick-Me-Up Bouquet right under his desk all along! Get it? It's his engorged penis! "Every single holiday Dave's dick in a box/Over at your parent's house Dave's dick in a box/Mid day at the grocery store Dave's dick in a box /Backstage at the CMA's Dave's dick in a box (yeah-wow-wow-wow-wow-wow)..."

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The state of American game-show relations achieved a dizzying new high Tuesday night when Ice-T, Joan Rivers and their respective broods faced off in a very special episode of Celebrity Family Feud. It hardly seemed a sure thing at first; we doubted Ice and host Al Roker could outdo their tasteful wife-for-hire exchange at the top of the show, or that Rivers could overcome the tremulous, post-Russell Crowe Fucking SlutGate gunshyness in time to produce for a national audience. But the rapper more than picked up the slack in the very first feud, wringing potty-mouthed ignominy from Roker's loaded solicitation, "Name something that's slippery and hard to hold on to." And while we may never know the true degree of Ice's ensuing, bleeped filth or his earlier, "Watch it, Al" threat to Richard Dawson's debauched spiritual heir, the possibility that we could love again after The Moment of Truth was never clearer or more reassuring. [NBC via RedLasso]

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100 years from now, history buffs will return to the Paradise Cove beachhead decked in period-appropriate costume, thrilled to recreate that region's legendary battle between the Paps and the Serfs. It was a war that began, like so many others, over the honour of an object of astonishing beauty: In this case, that would be Matthew McConaughey—their flip-flop-misplacing Helen of Troy. The surfing battle wages, having migrated online:

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Corey Feldman's brave hike back from the post-confessional, gofer-sex-abuse wilderness began Tuesday night in Westwood, where he dropped by the LA Film Festival to introduce a screening of The Lost Boys and suffer a clip from the vampire classic's forthcoming straight-to-DVD sequel, Lost Boys: The Tribe. We use the term "classic" loosely; the 1987 original doesn't age that well, but for its cast alone remains one of its era's more interesting (and better-looking) time capsules. And in relation to what we saw of its follow-up's kind of embarrassing exploitation effort, it's just about perfect.

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