As everyone who's been around me at all for the past month knows, Swingtown grosses me the hell out. Which is why I'm happy to report that, due to its ridiculously superior ratings (a whole million more people!), the cop show Flashpoint will be swapping time slots with the soft porniest show of the summer. If you want to get your fill of whiny wives and totally hilarious (and totally dated) Deep Throat jokes, you're going to have to start tuning in at 10 PM on Fridays. For the rest of us who prefer Keith Mars in Kevlar to Grant Show in a pornstache, it'll be Thursdays at 10 PM from now on. Cops: 1, Sluts: 0! And it feels so good!

Yes, if you were into taking all the joy out of everything, it'd be pretty easy to spoil all of the (non)action that takes place on the upcoming season of The Hills merely by paying marginal attention to the tabloids. Because god knows not a week goes by that we aren't informed of Speidi's latest exploits or LC's latest frenemy. The truth is that this is a show on which nothing much really ever happens. But that's why the show so successfully captures the zeitgeist: the beauty lies not in the substance of what happens or doesn't happen, but in the style in which the nothing-happening is couched.

If only I weren't so lazy, I would so enter this competition. You can win a chance to be on Season 3 of Mad Men. How awesome would that be? I envision myself drinking and smoking with Roger Sterling, or verbally sparring with Joan Holloway. You can pick from the scripts of existing monologues, film yourself and then send it in so people can vote on it. If they like you -- really, really like you -- you can win a walk-on role. In-freakin'-credible. That's better than the $1000 I could earn making myself sick on Hurl!. Way better. If you are more motivated than I am -- and if anything would motivate me to put myself on the screen, it would be this show -- go ahead an enter at the official Mad Men site. If you email me, I'll even vote for you. I can do that without leaving my desk. Just remember to thank me when you are lighting up with Don Draper. OK?

My Diddy-centric loathing and resentment has been mounting for some time now. First there was that whole breaking J. Lo's heart thing. (For shame, Diddy!) Then there was the incessant name-changing PR bull-poop which was pointless and infuriating. More recently, the artist formerly known as Puff Daddy appeared as a caricature of himself in a new Burger King ad the premise of which is that he is so important and influential that Burger King need only let people know that "Diddy says BK is open late" before droves of people start flocking to their local meat patty purveyor. I resent that. Diddy is a hack. He might've been a somewhat astute businessman at one point, but from what I can tell, for the last six years or so, he's been living off the interest from capital he accrued as Notorious B.I.G.'s wingman. He claims he's a mogul. Just because you once had a PUH and like to hang out on yachts doesn't make you a scion, dude. Don't get it twisted.

The new Spaced DVD comes out today, and director Edgar Wright and writers/stars Simon Pegg and Jessica Hynes are signing in New York as I write this, but they actually hit the Big Apple last night to host a screening and Q&A, and the event was a resounding success. There was a line of hopeful attendees stretching from 2nd Avenue all the way to 3rd Avenue (that's far, for you non-New Yorkers), and while not everyone in line was able to make it into the event (which was held at the small but pretty Village East Cinemas), Hynes, Pegg and Wright walked the length of the queue, shaking hands and posing for pictures with everyone who was waiting.

Golden Girls star and TV legend Estelle Getty passed away this morning at the age of 84, making this one of the saddest days in history for fans of great television. Estelle's portrayal of Sophia Petrillo was my favorite part of The Golden Girls, and her dry delivery of whore insults directed at Blanche Devereaux will live on forever. Let's all go out on the lanai, dole out some cheesecake and swap fake stories about Sicily in her honor. She will be missed.

Last night was the finale of Legally Blonde: The Musical: The Search for the Next Elle Woods: In Which We Find Some Girl Who Can Sort of Sing and Sort of Dance But is Definitely Blonde (or at Least She Can Be With Dye and A Wig) and the second half of the debut of High School Musical: Get in the Picture: At Least As An Extra In the Background Somewhere, But Nowhere Near Our Actual Precious Stars and while I realize that I kind of bashed Legally Blonde, it was infinitely better than High School Musical. This is surprising to me because I sort of love High School Musical (the movies) in that I'm still obsessed with teen programming even though I'm in my mid-30's [Ed's note: Early thirties! -- LG], but really didn't care much when I saw Legally Blonde on Broadway.

The Dancing With the Stars producers have gone from being absolutely nowhere on my radar to the very top of my shit list all in the span of one gossip item. You see, these no-taste-having bastards have rejected the incomparable Dick Smothers from participating in their dog and pony show not once, not twice, but three times! Three times! They obviously don't know talent when it rings thrice.

I want you all to bear with me while I suffer a mini flip-out. Ohmygod! P-Run wunderkind Christian Siriano is designing costumes for the big screen adaptation of Eloise in Paris! Prettiness and joy! Happy frilly darling cute lovely smiles and puppies and sunshine and cupcakes! Ok I'm done. Wanna make something of it?

NBC might actually have some interesting new shows this fall. Operative word there being "might." Because critics haven't seen them yet. During the network's two fall-preview days closing out this summer's Television Critics Association press tour, we did see:
A Scene It?-styled DVD game built around clips from The Office. A two-sided Heroes bobblehead doll with present-day Hiro on the front of its head and future Hiro on the back. A Battlestar Galactica toaster that imprints Cylon centurion helmets on your white bread. ("Toaster." Slang for Cylons. Get it?)