It occurred to me this morning that I don't share nearly enough of my borderline psychotic pop culture tastes with you, loyal readers. Sure, you probably picked up on the fact I was in the midst of an Icehouse 'Electric Blue' obsession back in February but is that enough? Surely I should be offering you delicious slices of spazztasical idiocy on a more regular basis? After all, I have been officially quoted in a proper grown up paper as saying "I love so much but maybe it is all about shit ... Who knew?" so there's no hiding it now.

Therefore, please breathe deeply, load the following video, and suck up the goodness that is Phil Collins' 'Don't Lose My Number'.

This is not a guilty pleasure, mind you. I genuinely think the song is GENIUS. Melodramatic, totally eighties, and a killer tune to spin when you're DJ-ing (well, anywhere but an Absolut 15 competition where you're catering to the tastes of vodka swilling coolsies who will respond to your selection with an expression that can best be described as a mix of confusion and contempt, as DJ GIN + JUICE can assure you from experience).

All in all, I give it eighty thousand out of ten, and I suspect I will NEVER get over the tune's cheesy brilliance. A live version of it has been my MySpazz profile song for about two months straight, and it's not going anywhere. Is it wrong that I am now actually kind of sad I'll never be able to hear it live in concert? It is? Okay. I can accept that.

PS: The official clip is quite long and ridiculous, but I've lovingly placed it for your perusal over the jump.

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So I vaguely hinted last week (and by "hinted", I obviously mean "hit you over the head with a large block of wood with the words 'ANGIE HART AND DAVE MCCORMACK ARE GOING ON TOUR AND WE HAVE TICKETS TO GIVE AWAY SOON' carved into it") that we had something special to offer the beloved readers of Defamer Australia this week which was somehow connected to the lead singers of Frente and Custard, and by jingoes, we'll be following through on our promise of free passes to the shows.

However, I prefer to bundle these giveaways up with something resembling an interesting online experience, and this booty of gig goodness is no exception.

Thus, I am happy to inform you that I managed to locate my infamous special journalist hunting gear once more, and soon I will be popping online an EXTREMELY EXCLUSIVE (ie: slightly idiotic) interview with Angie Hart - in AUDIO FORM. Yes! Recorded this morning, you can listen to your editor playfully insult Australia's favourite songbird! Hear the amazing asides and dumb jokes that should have been edited out for the sake of both our reputations, but weren't! Because I'm lazy and quite dreadful when it comes to using editing software!

I do need to clean it up a little though, so it won't be up until tomorrow (around midday). Accompanying it will be instructions on how you can win a double pass to a show near you over the next fortnight. And next week - no promises, but I can only try - I'll attempt to get Dave and Angie to do a little something special just for the viewing pleasure of Defamer Australia readers.

"PORNO?" - You

Oh, behave.

"OMG AND WHERE WILL THE SHOWS BE HELD, ANYWAY? MAYBE I WANT TO BUY A TICKET JUST IN CASE I DON'T WIN ONE!" - You

You're a switched on cat, and I respect that.

After the jump, a helpful guide to the tour (and some phone numbers if you'd like to order yerself a couple of tickets).

"BUT WAIT - CAN YOU TELL US ANYTHING ABOUT YOUR BRILLIANT AND PENETRATING (LOL) INTERVIEW WITH ANGIE HART IN ADVANCE?" - You

Okay. IF you have a recorder, and IF you can play the solo in Labour of Love, then Angie has agreed to welcome you on stage at the shows to play along with her and her handsome guitarist Sam Agostino. Top that!

"!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" - You

Dude, I know.

Now jump and check out the tour schedule, for fucks sake.

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Thanks to a video posted on comedian Tom Green's website shows, we can see that he's taking care of himself and in peak physical condition.

And by that, we mean Billy Bob Thornton-esque. As Stereogum so eloquently puts it, "Why is he talking like Sling Blade?"

Much thanks to reader Marcus for the story tip off (send you own tips to, oddly enough, tips at defamer.com.au, why don't you?) - Fred Durst rambling on in a strange accent is an oddly pleasing way to wile away a Tuesday afternoon.

It's Amateur Cock Rock Tuesday!

I believe at this point, I am supposed to do this -

\M/

Thanks for the suggestion, Elmo.

Napoleon Perdis, largely through his association with Australia's Next Top Model, has become one of those "industry" types you either love to hate or hate to love; I find myself in between, except when he is fabulously sparring on the AusNTM final three contestants to slag each other off while in the chair (most memorably clapping his hands and shouting "I LOVE IT!" after getting Alice to lay into Steph in Cycle 3), then I just love to love him.

Anyway, his Napoleon Perdis Cosmetics line has become big news in the States, so it seems he's taken advantage of his growing overlord celebrity status and whipped up an Apprentice-esque reality/doco show.

After an exhaustive search, Perdis has found a protege to run his business in the US - with every step filmed for a documentary reality series.

Get Your Face On has followed the extravagant and entrepreneurial life of the former Parramatta powder prince.

The series will introduce the Aussie dynamo, who waves his magic brush over 59 stand-alone stores and 800 outlets across the country, to US audiences.

Provided it involves making wannabe models up to look like Amsterdam hookers and then having them pose in the front window of your flagship store, I for one am excited to see what Napoleon and his bronzer brush bring to the world of reality television.

Since I've started, you know, actually working during the days, I've long since lost touch with all my "friends" in breakfast television (you know, friends - you turn the TV on and it's just like living with people, oh god, the abysmal loneliness etc etc), but I did always think that Sunrise's weatherman David Brown seemed to have a good deal of authority to him that certain other weather presenters didn't (probably because he's an actual meteorologist).

However, it seems it's no longer raining men at the Sunrise studio: Brown has suddenly disappeared from their broadcasts and website, apparently never to return.

At first explaining Brown's absence as holiday leave, a spokeswoman later confirmed he would not return to the show.

"David was already presenting the 4.30pm national news weather report and also does the weather for Melbourne's 6pm news," she told media writer Marcus Casey.

"The long day has really got to him and he's realised he's got too much on his plate and is feeling burnt out." Style-wise, Brown was chalk to Sunrise's cheese, much more a straight man compared to Wright and her predecessor Grant Denyer.

Is it a personal decision? A Sydney vs Melbourne debate (Brown's a Melbournian)? The most poignant/chilling part of the whole story was this sad little sentence right down the bottom:

Do you know where David Brown has gone?

Well, DO YOU??

David Brown: coming soon to the side of a milk carton near you!

· We're thrilled to see that E! is perfectly prepared to throw their First Family of Reality under the bus if it means getting a pretty inspired sketch on the air. [Chelsea Lately]
· Nicole Kidman delivered a beautiful girl today named Sunday Rose Kidman Urban. Her birthing canal was then swiftly Botoxed back to its original state. [Reuters]
· When we heard the title, "Molly Ringwald on Molly Ringwald," we figured we were in for some brat-packer-themed porn (à la Pretty in the Pink). Sadly, there is no Molly-on-Molly action to be had here, but cheap thrills abound nonetheless. [LAT]
· Speaking of John Hughes heroines: Ever wonder what happened to Curly Sue? Wonder no more! [MySpace via Too Much Awesome]
· Hey, kids! What time is it?! [ffffound.com]

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A grieving flack has emerged from Drew Barrymore and Justin Long's Shiva-House of Love, mascara smeared, lapel torn, and offering a somber, "I can confirm the split but have no other comment," before adding, "And if you'd like to come in to pay your respects and have a nice piece of kugel, you're more than welcome." Our deepest condolences to both families.

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As of today, our fantasy of an exotic lifestyle of TV criticism is officially over — beaten, bloodied and left for dead by Ray Richmond, who compares the debauched good old days of the Television Critics Association press tours to the nearly irrelevant confab starting tomorrow in Beverly Hills. It's the first such event since July 2007, back before last winter's conference was scuttled by the writers strike and mainstream media had begun shearing critics and culture writers from their ranks like slabs of fat.

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In a summer that's been largely bereft of tantalising television moments (The Two Coreys notwithstanding), the premiere of Vh1's I Love Money has been shining like a beacon of bad taste on our horizons for some time. Conceived as the network's version of the now stagnant Real World / Road Rules Challenge franchise, I Love Money puts some of our favourite former contestants of dating shows like Flavor Of Love and I Love New York together in a villa to find out what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real ... real drunk, that is. The show's first episode aired as a 90-minute special last night and, as expected, it blew our collective minds in the way it unabashedly celebrates the lowest of lowbrow culture.

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Australia's womens' magazine-reading population today issues a collective sigh of relief after holding their breath all the way through Nicole Kidman's pregnancy - Nicole and husband Keith Urban have welcomed little Sunday Rose Kidman Urban into the world!

In brief, Nicole's father did not deliver the baby, and Tom Cruise is currently compiling a thoughtful 'Baby's First E-Meter Test' gift basket for the new arrival.

Urban's publicist Paul Freundlich announced the birth just after midnight Australian eastern standard time today.

Sunday weighed a healthy 6 pounds, 7 ounces (3.04 kilograms).

"Nicole and Keith Urban are delighted to announce that Nicole Kidman gave birth to a baby girl on Monday morning, July 7, 2008, in the United States," Freundlich announced in a statement.

"Husband Keith was by Nicole's side and mother and baby are very well."

Urban let the world know Kidman's birth was imminent when he performed a concert in the couple's adopted new hometown of Nashville on Saturday night.

Kidman was backstage at the concert.

"I'm going to dedicate a song to my very, very, very, very, VERY pregnant wife!" Urban told the crowd of 50,000 before launching into his hit song, Better Half.

Aww! [Insert gag about Sunday Rose wanting to get out quick smart so she could turn down the volume on Dad's saccharine country-crossover power balladry.]

Defamer Australia sends its warmest congratulations to Nicole and Keith and little Sunday Rose!

The American adaptation of Kath & Kim has been a source of great consternation both amongst the Defamer Australia crew and, well, pretty much every Australian with a brain and a sense of humour.

But, as Selma "Kim" Blair was quick to suggest, a whole bunch of pissed off Colonials isn't going to stop NBC from going ahead and ruining making it - and neither has it. The network have started airing commercials promoting the show, and, well, here they are:

Your thoughts, members of the jury?

Perhaps it says something about my personal tastes, but Molly Shannon as Kath looks a bit too... good? And if they've re-pitched Kim as some sort of demented "kidult" with a penchant for sorbet-toned childrenswear, then I guess Patricia Field has done a bang-up job of Kim, too.

After more than four months of hype, it's getting to feel like there's increasingly less to discover about The Dark Knight except whether or not it's good. Variety pretty much took care of that on Sunday, overriding David Letterman's early, spoilerrific review with a bit more textural rave. That was preceded in the LA Times by more Heath Ledger superlatives and requisite bleakness reinforcement from director Chris Nolan. But Anne Thompson has an even better showing at her blog, featuring expansive Nolan quotes from a recent screening/discussion and, far more impressively, a look at Michael Bay's little-known original stab at the Dark Knight screenplay:

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Following on from June's revelation that she'd gone on a holiday with UK comedian Russell Brand, we must say well done to Adelaide actress Teresa Palmer, who has - according to the Daily Mail - managed to tie down one of Britain's most famous shaggers for more than a month now!

Could it be that the infamous swordsman Russell Brand has finally decided to settle down - even to the point of wanting to become a daddy? The hirsute comedian, 33, had a broody moment backstage at the O2 Wireless Festival in London's Hyde Park when he held a pal's baby.

As he lovingly cradled the tot, he told his new girlfriend: "Ooh I think I want one of these."

Breaking thousands of hearts across the land, he continued: "Shall we get started?"

Aussie actress Teresa Palmer, 22, has succeeded where thousands of other women have failed in taming legendary lothario Russell. We hear the couple have been together for a month - which must be something of a record for the yo-yo-trousered Russell - and met each other on the set of Disney movie Bedtime Stories.

Although I haven't seen Forgetting Sarah Marshall, the film that has made Russell a bit famous in the States, I did just witness him on David Letterman last night, and quite enjoyed him.

PS: I'd ask someone to update your IMDB bio though, love.

Teresa is currently based in Adelaide, where she lives with her current boyfriend, retired Port Adelaide Football Club star Stuart Dew.

What sets Andrew G apart from most other men on the planet though was the fact he actually managed to pull it off... and then, after his teen years were over, marry a real live model!

"I had a dream when I was eight about a woman who looked like Noa," G tells today's OK! Magazine.

"I had an overwhelming feeling about it and when I met her on the beach in Bondi I thought, 'I know you. You're the girl in my dream'."

Awwwww. Melts. Then vomits. Then cries, alone.

I thought yesterday's family-in-crocs photo of the Garth-Facinelli clan would be the only snap we could ever show you in our ridiculously named (alleged) ongoing series of posts - but sadly, I was wrong.

For your Tuesday consumption, have a geezer at Dean Cain and his son wearing crocs.

Nothing says father-son bonding than matching footwear.

Here's a link to a whole lot of celebrities wearing crocs. I can't believe someone actually compiled a selection of photos featuring well-known croc enthusiasts, but then again, I never expected to be the type of idiot to Google "celebrity crocs" during work hours.

After last week's harrowing episode of The Two Coreys, in which fallen teen angel Corey Haim was led to the Defamer comments section like a sacrificial, desperately-seeking-series-regular-work lamb, we stumbled upon a comment of interest. (Yes, this was a commenter commenting upon a clip of Haim reading our comments: sort of the post-cultural equivalent of staring into one of those fabulous '70s infinity mirrors.)

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It's time to break out your SAG vs AFTRA Celebrity Turf War Map™ for an update, albeit a bit of a confusing one: Robert De Niro is the latest star to come out in opposition of a SAG strike, asserting during a press conference Saturday at the Karlovy Vary Film Festival that Hollywood has suffered enough bloodshed this year in the bargaining trenches to implode once more over residuals:

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Did you stuff your face with enough beef over the holiday weekend? If not, Matthew McConaughey is gonna be mighty pissed off. Check out the new radio spot he recorded for the National Cattleman's Beef Association. You know, the dudes who came up with that "Beef, it's what's for dinner" slogan? Well, they got themselves a brand new golden-haired, A-list pitchman and the results have become a bit of an obsession here in the Defamer offices. Why does it fascinate so? Maybe it's because McConaughey plays up his every vocal tic for maximum effect, like he's trying to lure a small child into a windowless van with some candy. Or maybe it's because their new tagline, "Discover the power of protein in the land of lean beef," is so impossibly vomit inducing (and also a little homoerotic). Or perhaps it's because at the end of the day, Matthew delivers his most convincing performance since A Time To Kill. Whatever the reason, it totally works. I ate like 15 burgers this weekend and couldn't be happier. Listen to the ad after the jump.

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When it comes to interviewing the most despicable, deplorable and disingenuous Z-listers, there is no better (or worse) rag than Britain's News Of The World. After all, this is the publication that has paid the likes of Riley Giles (best known for being LiLo's post-hab snowboarding BF) and Blake "Incarcerated" Fielder-Civil (Amy Winehouse's jailed husband) to spill the most sordid details of the times they did drugs with famous people, had sex with famous people and did drugs while having sex with famous people. So, it came as no surprise to us when we saw that Ranae Shrider, aka the girl in the Mini-Me Sex Tape, had decided to grant the shame of Fleet Street an interview over the weekend to discuss her on-camera (and sans jimmy hat) romps with Verne Troyer:

"It wasn't quite as passionate as sex with a normal-sized man but he did his best. He didn't wear a condom. There was no point, they're all too big."

No condoms? Really? If you can stomach more (and really, we don't blame you if you can't), follow along as we rank the top four bizarre details that the Hollywood newcomer (and current Troyer roommate!) gave to the News Of The Worst World.

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If you're falling increasingly behind at the office because your assistant mysteriously disappeared after lunch, you might consider checking the bathroom: It appears that the Newsroom Cafe is now dishing up its glamorous vegetarian treats in C-rated style after a city health inspection discovered a fridge storing food at a less-than-optimal temperature. One report places the cost of squaring it away at around $40,000, but we're with the intrepid critic at Yelp who recently saluted the starry-eyed mecca's sense of germological adventure:

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At long last, The Bachelorette—that epic, six-week-long search for eternal love in which inarticulate Mediterranean beauty DeAnna Pappas is made to choose a suitable lifemate from a man-harem of 25—reaches its chilling conclusion tonight on ABC. Stopping by the GMA studios to show off her sparkly new hardware for a visibly envious Chris Cuomo, Pappas explained the difficult-to-grasp concept of having to choose between "two totally different people. You got one guy on one hand, and another guy on another hand, and I'm two totally different people with each guy." This suggests that Pappas is the relationship equivalent of tofu, her spongy personality absorbing the flavors of any man with which she comes in contact. Somewhere, Brad Womack is breathing a sigh of relief that he ditched this chick at the Fantasy Proposal Gazebo, and chose instead to hold out for some hot, Serbian supermodel ass like his tire-fortune-heir predecessor.

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For the first time in our country's history, the epicenter of America's commemorative period of fireworks and independence appears to have shifted to Miami. There, we've learned, the intercoital clusterfuck of Madonna, Alex Rodriguez, Lenny Kravitz and Guy Ritchie has reached its nadir with a Rodriguez divorce now officially on the way — freeing the Yankees slugger to (allegedly) pursue whatever pop paramour his heart desires. Except Madonna and Ritchie are still in matrimonial business — literally — and apparently will be for a while.

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Can't wait until May 15, 2009 to learn what Sacha Baron Cohen has cooked up for Bruno, only the latest swarthy foreigner from the comedian's repertoire to star in a feature-length film? The internet is teeming with sightings detailing the fictional Austrian TV personality's exploiten and vëreabouts. Some you may have spotted in our very own PrivacyWatch; but the latest comes to us via The Jewish Daily Forward, where recent dupee Yossi Alpher—an Israeli political blogger—describes his run in with Eurofashion greatness in Jerusalem:

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While visitors to NBC/Universal can still smell the singed flesh from Jeff Zucker's recent experiment in self-immolating sitcom introductions, the bloom of Tom Rothman's ongoing cable-hosting gig apparently has yet to wear off for viewers of the Fox Movie Channel. Or so notes today's New York Times, which positions the Fox co-chairman's introductions somewhere on the viability spectrum between Rod Serling and Milton Berle:

[A]fter 16 episodes of Fox Legacy, the Fox Movie Channel show that Mr. Rothman hosts, [Fox scion Richard] Zanuck and other naysayers are backtracking. The jocular Mr. Rothman has developed a cult following for his historical monologues and self-deprecating style. He gets fan mail — no less a viewer than Steven Spielberg recently dropped him a note — and more episodes are on order.

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Has clicking your mouse become something of a chore ever since you lost your thumb and forefinger in a spectacular illegal-fireworks demonstration on your front lawn? Fret not: Thanks to TetraMouse—the "lowest priced mouth-operated mouse on the market," access to your weekend box office numbers is just a glottal stop away:

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We're happy to see today that the winged gatekeeper budget-monkeys on the set of Michael Mann's Public Enemies — who so scandalously sought to exclude scores of part-timers from the film's recent wrap party in Chicago — ultimately came around to relaxing their admission standards to the point where even Stephen Dorff was welcome. That would have been a good enough concession for the justice crusaders over here at Defamer HQ — but for Dorff's infamous urinal-queue archnemesis Jeremy Piven to show up as well? Jesus Christ, will they just let anybody into this place?

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