God bless the internet. After writing yesterday about Mount Isa mayor John Molony's emotional plea for the less attractive female members of society to move to the small town in order to help the lonely men in town get some romantic relief, I was pleased to read the following comment from a concerned citizen willing to get her hands (and, presumably, other parts) dirty in the name of love.

OK, I'm game!! If there is a man over there that can keep up with me, fine, probably not though. I'm 61 years old, work full time 58 hours a week, (correctional officer in a men's max unit). 5'2" tall, (about) 100 pounds soaking wet, honestly, haven't weight myself, size one and I look darn good.

She continues...

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Well done to all the glamorous folk who attended the 18th Drag Industry Variety Awards! You can find a a small but thoroughly charming article about the evening's festivities online here which will give you a run down of all the big winners, but I did want to point out a particular excerpt from the piece which made me laugh heartily.

But the night belonged to Tora Hymen, who was crowned Sydney's favourite drag queen, as well as bitch of the year.

That there's a drag queen called Tora Hymen and an award for bitch of the year just makes my day, it really does.

After the jump, why not check out a video of self-proclaimed "ex-child star, peace activist and saviour" Glace Chase wreaking havoc at the awards?

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After watching an episode of SeaChange today*, I found myself Google-stalking Alice Garner, the actress who played hippie Carmen on the show. Eventually I learned she once appeared in an INXS video, so I tracked that down on YouTube. I don't really recall ever seeing this clip, which is a shame because it is so nineties, it is almost unbelievable. The clothes, the giant sized video camera, Ben Mendelsohn (looking totally spunky, by the by), and a slutastic Kate Fischer playing the role of home-wrecker.

And woo, the song itself features guest vocals from the marvellous Chrissie Hynde!

You know, for a second there I almost thought Alice Garner was going to join them in the boudoir.

*SeaChange hasn't aged all that well, discuss.

If you've fallen for the Kiwi charms of comedy duo Flight Of the Conchords and spent hours wondering which of the two you'd prefer to marry/just what you'll name your future children/where will you live, Melbourne or NYC/would both of the lads be up for a three-way, you'll be gutted to know that Jemaine Clement, the handsome bespectacled member of the pair, has just gotten hitched.

Clement, 34, took a short break from writing the second series of the Conchords' television show and wed his long-time girlfriend, Wellington actress and theatre director Miranda Manasiadis, in a Los Angeles registry office.

Sure, we were never really in with a chance - he's been with Miranda for a billion years (likewise, Bret McKenzie also has a long term missus). But this makes things so... so final, you know?

A link to a photo of the happy couple (taken at last year's Global Day Of Action For Burma in Wellington) after the jump.

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It's a new media frenzy over at Channel Nine, where - like everyone else including Sonia Kruger - they are breathlessly awaiting the end of the Olympics so they can play their latest ace. No, not Hole In The Wall - their newest bright hope is Scorched, which is so much more than just a 90-minute telemovie. It is also a completely confusing web presence, a number of fake news services, and some not-very-convincing acted-by-actors YouTube tomfoolery! Yes, Nine are stepping into the 21st century:

"What we've created is an integrated story that runs across all the platforms," director and producer Marcus Gillezeau said.

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There's nothing more mind-numbingly dull that the old Melbourne versus Sydney argument. Surely this was settled once and for all when yours truly left the Emerald City and moved south to inflict my particularly irritating personality on the good inhabitants of Melbourne after falling in love with the miserable city in 2005? I jest, I jest.

In any case, a bite-sized brouhaha has started over the Gourmet Traveller's 2009 Restaurant Guide Awards, which apparently looked over Melbourne's culinary brilliance in favour of Sydney-based dining establishments.

Melbourne's long-standing reputation as a food and wine city was once again ignored in Gourmet Traveller's 2009 Restaurant Guide Awards last night.

As was the case last year, Vue de monde was the only Melbourne restaurant to receive the top honors of a three-star rating.

In contrast, nine Sydney restaurants gained the equivalent accolade.

Controversial! As one might expect, Melbourne food critic Bob Hart is spitting gourmet duck fat-fried chips over the snubbing.

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Oh hey, good news! Short skirts are back!

Better news - so are comments, after yesterday's fist-fest!

So there you go.

I'm in the midst of organising a Radiothon special for the RRR show that I host - cult time of midnight on a Wednesday, cult listenership of seven truck drivers! - and I'm attempting to convince some of my favourite musicians to step up to the plate and perform a completely ridiculous cover for next week's SPACKTACULAR show (but more on that a bit later)..

While gently suggesting Dave McCormack perform a spirited rendition of Kylie's touching eighties ballad Je Ne Sais Pas Pourquai, I thought I would helpfully send him a YouTube link to the song in order for him to learn it (despite the fact he's yet to agree to do the bloody cover, but nevertheless...).

I suddenly realised I hadn't actually seen the video clip for the song since I was about eight or nine years old. It is awesome if only for Kylie's amazing acting at the beginning of it (and her thoroughly Charlene accent).

Let's all revel in it's majesty, huh?

While we're the first to stick the boot into our local press' tendency to go crazy when an overseas publication/awards ceremony/religious leader gives mad props to our countrymen and women, there's nothing in Defamer Australia's charter that says we can't get excited in our own time about what our cultural ambassadors are up to overseas, particularly since the sorts of things that excite us are rarely of any interest to anyone else (except YOU, because you complete us). So, you can imagine my giddiness when I saw this photo of expat Aussie starlet Radha Mitchell this morning:

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Briefly in headbanging news, it seems Angus Young has taken time out from drinking milk and painting watercolours in the rolling Dutch meadows to get together with The New Guy and prepare the first AC/DC record in eight years for release. The album, Black Ice, will be out in October - and even though the group are no longer really Australian, it's good to see that News.com.au can remember how to spell the country's biggest rock band's name:

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There's nothing we like better here at Defamer Australia than a faintly idiotic human interest story (Cat stuck in tree! Man carries BBQ on motorcycle! Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are still married!) and today's might just be the best ever: introducing Ivy Bean, the world's oldest member of Generation Facebook, at a sprightly 102! That's right, she might have been born in 1905, but Ivy is going to poke you like there's no tomorrow and hit 'Maybe' on all of your event invites - and just wait until you see how many Slayer points she has!

Although Mrs Bean currently only has nine Facebook friends, she said she 'loves being online' and is hoping for many more.

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When you think about it, there aren't that many things that Amy Winehouse would reasonably consider being below her. Walking around London at 4am in a bra? Easy. Doing vodka slammers up the nose? Where do I sign! Marrying Blake Fielder-Civil? So last year. So when I read that Winegums had taken her 12-year-old goddaughter to a club for a rollicking night on the town, I thought, "Yes, and, your point is?" Because of course Winegums would think that was a suitable night out for a child!

The Kent schoolgirl was left to look on helplessly as Auntie Amy scrapped with fans, chucked pint glasses at people and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

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After being caned for saying the wrong thing (or for not saying the right thing) many, many times at the Beijing Olympics, it seems there might be more to Sonia Kruger's run of gaffes than meets the eye. Could it be possible that the powers that be at Channel Seven had instructed her to play up to the 'dumb blonde' stereotype in order to ensure ratings - or at least talkback - gold? What, from the channel that has brought you the most parochial Olympics coverage since Grandpop Jones sat in the pub in 1956 and whined about the foreigners flooding Melbourne? Never!

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While our comprehensive Dummies' Guide to the Jonas Brothers covered most of what you might need to know about the wholesome sibling trio should you, say, stumble into a chat room affecting the guise of a similarly adorable 14-year-old boy in search of some tweenage cyber-companionship, there are of course more advanced topics in applied Jonasology. Consider the following an appendix to your current course materials:

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Good news! This year has been too full of celebrity ailments and premature passings, so we're pleased to report at least one happy ending: Samantha Who? star Christina Applegate is confirming that she's made a full recovery from her recently announced breast cancer. "I'm clear," she told Robin Roberts for an interview that will air on tomorrow's Good Morning America. "Absolutely 100 percent clear and clean. ... They got everything out so I'm definitely not going to die from breast cancer." Best wishes to Applegate; we're sure Terry will be happy to hear that his beloved "Seeemji" is all right. [ABC]

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By all accounts, Ellen DeGeneres and Portia De Rossi's Saturday wedding was a stunning and intimate affair, the two beautiful brides eliciting audible gasps from the guests as they walked down the aisle, trailed closely behind by Iggy the Flower Dog tossing mouthfuls of white rose petals. Obviously, the world bids these two rapturously-in-love and talented ladies a lifetime of happiness together, though it's interesting to see how those good wishes sometimes play themselves out. For starters, we have CNN's headline on the nuptials, noticed by blogger Chexydecimal, which reads, "Ellen DeGeneres 'marries' Portia Rossi." After complaints were lodged, they pulled the scare quotes—floating there like two chubby, hooked televangelist's fingers—but kept De Rossi's last name wrong.

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We'd heard of some unauthorized twaddle going around focusing on the gay undercurrent of the Summer Olympics, but as far as we're concerned, NBC is doing some of most trailblazing work this year by playing out Beijing's homoerotic currency right in the mainstream. Nowhere is it more evident than the network's Olympics Web site, where after a sleek, soaking stretch of Water Cube drama, a new slideshow today invites readers to guess the rippling abs whose owners made it through the historic week that was.

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As proven by the longevity of G4's spew opus Hurl! (eight weeks yesterday!), television has finally reached that crucial cultural point where America's taste for swampy gastric drama may yet outstrip its taste for... well, taste. To wit, even the Food Network — our Moms' favourite leisure-time destination — is ready to push its programming to levels of guttural extremity unseen since Iron Chef Sakai wore a necklace of calf intestines to a climactic tasting in 1999:

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He speaks! In the midst of fending off the rumors swirling about his job security, NBC head honcho Ben Silverman has taken time out to become a recurring Olympics correspondent for Ryan Seacrest's morning radio show on KIIS-FM. Broadcasting & Cable has the scoop (not to be missed is Silverman's quip about his Chinese tour guide: "Her name is Fun Fun, so you can imagine how much fun-fun Fun Fun is"), but with the help of Molly McAleer, we've assembled some of Silverman's most enthusiastic moments in the video after the jump. Who knew that Silverman and Seacrest were so well-versed about the gay goings-on in West Hollywood? [Broadcasting & Cable]

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Manny Farber, 1917-2008: One of the liveliest, stroppiest and most influential film critics the medium ever knew, Manny Farber died in his sleep Sunday night at the age of 91. Before giving up criticism and teaching for an equally (if not more) accomplished painting career, Farber elevated popular conceptions of B-movies and other forsaken cinema in seminal contributions to The New Republic, Time, The Nation and ArtForum. His prose read almost three-dimensionally — decades' worth of proper nouns and principles, infinitely folding over and burrowing into each other, mimicking those subjects chronicled in his 1962 essay "Termite Art vs. White Elephant Art" (and later gathered in his classic anthology Negative Space): "Good work usually arises when the creators... seem to have no ambitions towards gilt culture but are involved in a kind of squandering-beaverish endeavor that isn't anywhere or anything... It goes always forward eating its own boundaries, and, likely as not, leaves nothing in its path other than the signs of eager, industrious, unkempt activity." Ray Pride's lovingly assembled obit is a must-read today, as is Franklin Bruno's own Farber study from 2004 — no thumbs up or down around here, we're afraid, and no stars, Tomatometers or numbers. Just words, virtually all worth giving thanks for. [GreenCine Daily]

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It's been less than a week since Allison—Intervention's computer-cleaner-inhaling breakout sensation—first huffed her way into our hearts, but you can already feel the profound effect she's had on the social landscape: Wander into a Staples, for example, you'll quickly notice laser-printed signs at the register warning customers "FALCON DUST-OFF NOT FOR RECREATIONAL USE." Why, right here at Defamer HQ, we've been delighting in the cortex-smoothing, color-enhancing effects of the affordable aerosol stimulant sitting under our noses all along. (We apologise for any recent deterioration in the quality of the posts, however, and promise you that gurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr dooooooodle dooooooodle doooooooooo....MAN that's good stuff!) Anyway, because the only thing better than an old fashioned YouTube huffer meme are the inevitable remixes that follow, we're thrilled to present this uplifting, toe-tapping take on Allison's memorable peaking catchphrase—"I feel like I'm walking on sunshine!"—which she delivers with all the head-swiveling pizzazz of The Facts of Life's Cousin Geri.

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While The Hills star Audrina Patridge launched an exciting, product placement-filled blog during her summer vacation, costar Heidi Montag has mostly laid low, content to let boyfriend Spencer Pratt soak up the slings and arrows for a few months. Now, with the season four premiere set to air on MTV tonight, Montag has emerged like a gator from the water, opening her fearsome jaw not to chomp on some unlucky water fowl but to let fly the synthesized tones of her brand-new single, "Overdosin'" (excerpted after the jump!). Says Us Weekly:

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· Voltron: Defender of the Universe, a movie based on the greatest single achievement in Toy-Commercial- Loosely-Dressed -Up-As -Saturday-Morning -Cartoon History, has been put into the dreaded turnaround until a more affordable means of convincingly depicting giant fucking robot lions is devised. [Variety]
· "Plunging sales, recession fears and spiking gasoline prices" are being blamed for GM's decision to pull out of sponsoring this year's Oscars, a polite way of saying, "Look—50-year-old gay men just don't buy heavy-duty trucks." [Variety]
·The Banana Splits—your grandparents' favourite cartoon rock band!—are making a big comeback in a "multiplatform effort" that will put them front and centre on your mobile phone wallpaper or something. [Variety]
·Cowboy Curtis Investigation is official: Lawrence Fishburne has signed on as the lead on CSI! Turn the black light on the Playhouse—there's bound to be some kind of evidence on Chairy's upholstery. [THR]
·Freaks and Geeks/Bones star and screenwriter John Francis Daley and his partner Jonathan Goldstein have been hiring to rewrite Burt Dickenson, Most Powerful Magician on the Planet Earth. Obviously, Judd Apatow was born with a talent-divining rod in his pants. [THR]

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The soul-deadening imposition of commercial brands on your moviegoing experience got even more shameless this morning when the oft-overlooked ring of Hell know as "brandcameo" unveiled the winners of its fourth annual Product Placement Awards. You could probably guess at least most of the heavyweight competitors — your Apples, your Fords, your Manolos — from a glance at the last year's worth of releases, but that doesn't make the year's findings any less remarkable in context: The surveyors counted an average of 22.1 brands in each of the 20 films this year to have a No. 1 weekend at the box office. That number is down from 2007, when an average of nearly 25 brands were counted among the year's 32 top releases.

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Producers for the new 90210 love to release their casting information in teasing increments: Tori's in! No, she's out — but Shannen's back! Also, there are some other actors on the show, maybe (but still no Lucille Bluth)! Now, though, their latest bit of stunt casting has emerged through a source at Nylon, and the idea reeks of hipster verisimilitude and Pabst Blue Ribbon:

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We've been made vaguely aware that there recently existed some sort of romantic entanglement between preternaturally unlucky in love Friends star Jennifer Aniston and female-anatomy-as-human-amusement-park-rhapsodizing troubadour John Mayer—and that it has ended, badly. Our condolences go out to both of them, but particularly to Aniston, about whom we're really starting to believe that one-eyed Gypsy woman who grabbed us on a Melrose sidewalk, wagging a gnarled finger in our face as she warned: "Mark my words—Jennifer Aniston will die alone!" before vanishing into a nearby alleyway.

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Caution: Like an old-school, deep-fried McDonald's cherry pie, contents of this blind item—courtesy of Page Six—are so scaldingly hot, they will likely burn through every layer of the skin on the roof of your mouth until you'll swear you're touching bone. Ah—but the hurt; it hurts so good:

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It's been a rough few months for Harry Potter star Daniel Radcliffe; not only was his sixth Potter film delayed until next year (causing a Time Warner headache), but blame for the hasty move fell on his bare shoulders. Now, though, Radcliffe has played his trump card: a sympathy-inducing medical condition that would make even Voldemort lay off the kid for a while. Says the NY Daily News:

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Big ups to The Dark Knight, which surpassed the first Star Wars film over the weekend to become the second-highest-grossing film ever. Sort of, anyway: That number-two figure on which the industry has had its eye for the last month since TDK's release — $471 million, still a cruise ship shy of Titanic's $600 million — remains quite the impressive number domestically, but isn't really threatening anyone globally. It's a bit of an open, underreported secret, but after the jump, behold the only number that really matters: your 19th-highest-grossing film of all time — only $64 million behind Finding Nemo!

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Congratulations are in order for Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi, who married Saturday night in an intimate ceremony held on the grounds of their California home. The brides both wore Zac Posen and exchanged handwritten vows promising to love each other "in sickness and in health, for as long as no pesky cameramen get in the way." Attendance was capped at 19, all the better to exclude potential wedding crasher Barbara Walters.

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Having paid tribute this weekend to Michael Phelps's historic athletic achievement with a record-shattering of your own in the 200-liter grain-alcohol-medley, your soaring national pride has likely given way to the agony of hangover defeat. Have some box office number; they're full of electrolytes:

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What should have been a festive weekend for Joan Hyler took a gravely downbeat turn late Friday when the veteran talent manager/agent/producer was struck by a car in Malibu while parking her own on the Pacific Coast Highway. Hyler was hospitalized in critical condition the night before her client Portia de Rossi's marriage to Ellen DeGeneres; she remains listed as such in the Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center's intensive-care unit.

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