At Monday night's premiere of Notes on a Scandal, the stars came out in droves. And by "stars," we mean "people in the movie," of course. And, um, Dave Zinczenko.

The legendary Lauren Bacall swooped in for a photo op with the cast – who were as surprised to see her as we – and Love Actually star Bill Nighy confessed his most "scandalous" act: "dropping [his] trousers in Picadilly Circus". Ewwsville.

Seventeen-year old Andrew Simpson proved to be a bona fide underage hottie (soon to be seen on Dateline: To Catch a Predator), and Amy Smart went incognito, sporting a mousy-brown haircut to avoid being seen with a mousy-brown haircut.

Cate Blanchett, however, became the evening's highlight when she finally arrived — very fashionable, and very late. Just a full 90 minutes after her expected arrival time, the Aussie star shunned the press-line, stayed for nearly four minutes, and turned around to flee in her gigantic "don't-look-at-me-I'm-famous!" black SUV.

Natch, Blanchett skipped out on the movie entirely, but resurfaced for the swanky after-party at the Metropolitan Club. True to form, we hear Cate continued making Star Jones look like a pleaser at the movie's official press junket yesterday. Someone unlucky enough to attend tells us she was somewhat "friendlier" than she was Monday night, but that had something to do with her "method acting."

To help welcome incoming editor-in-chief Andy Sewer and honor "The Fortune 25: Portraits of Power," Fortune magazine and Time Inc. chief John Huey rounded up the business media elite, a couple of guys who started a little video sharing site, a handsome fella who runs a stock exchange, and plenty of Grey Goose for an evening of staring at black and white photos projected onto blank walls at the Chelsea Art Museum. After the jump, the fun continues with a whole lot of photos of people staring at the black and white photos projected onto blank walls for you to stare at.

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The fagalas at Queerty hit Out magazine's Out 100 party at Capitale on Friday night, capturing all the glam you'd expect from the gayest event of the season: Iman, Michael Kors, Anne Hathaway, Claire Danes, Kelis, and the well-cheekboned Aaron Hicklin, editor of the magazine. Yes, we were there too, but only to stuff our face in Kelis' crotch. She volunteered. (To be sure, it didn't hurt that we were among those listed in the Out 100.)

Rather than lug a photog around last night's Spy: The Funny Years book party – it seems everyone (#) is (#) doing (#) that these days – we instead hit Grayon and Kurt's event the way we would a friend's small get together: casual dress code, drink in hand, and taking notes on our BlackBerry.

• We scored exactly 8.66 seconds of face time with Vogue's Anna Wintour. She had to make a phone call .. and a quick exit.

• There was one Donald Trump look-a-like, one real Graydon Carter, and one Graydon Carter look-a-like.

• It was difficult to tell who most deserved the superlative "effervescent": Women's Wear media scribe Stephanie Smith or Metro dating columnist and Candace Bushnell wannabe Julia Allison.

• Ex-Daily News gossip Lloyd Grove appears to enjoy these parties so much more now that he's not reporting on them. Guess that goes hand in hand with unemployment.

• Meanwhile, current Daily News gossip George Rush impressed us by going the entire night without mentioning Britney Spears' divorce. Kudos.

• Radar's photographer reminded us of our high school yearbook lensman who roamed the hallways trying to get you to pose. A snappily dressed Jeff Bercovici was not in the mood to wrangle photo subjects.

• Ex-Jossip editor Corynne Steindler arrived with new boss Richard Johnson. Guess who was more excited to see us.

• Dealbreaker Liz Spiers got off at the wrong stop: The 6 train gets closer to Wall Street than this.

• Time Inc.'s Jim Kelly was overheard vowing not to throw another beer bash at his house.

• Harvey Weinstein came in from the rain with his own umbrella carrier. That was the highlight of our fat rich Jew observations.

• Mediabistro's Dylan Stableford may have had one too many. Or we had one too many. One of us was slurring.

• AdAge's Nat Ives revealed his new game plan: Quantity, not quality.

When Bonnie Fuller told us last night that she polygraphs some of her sources for Star to ensure they're telling the truth, we nearly shit ourselves. And so did at least a dozen other media reporter types in the audience who we talked to at last night's Reuters panel "Public Figures, Private Lives." (That was after the audible gasp from the audience.)

Polygraphing sources? Does American Media Inc. even have the budget for that? (And if they do, doesn't David Pecker pad his own pockets with it?) We've heard murmurs about this before, but we've also heard murmurs about Mel Gibson not hating Jews. Do the tabloids operate on a Hollywood-level of mysticism we don't know about?

Apparently so. We touched base with a number of chief editors at the celebrity rags and, it turns out, polygraphing sources is not entirely uncommon. National Enquirer editor David Perel tells us: "We have polygraphed sources in the past and in fact made mention of it in the article we published, showing the result. Some sources do sign contracts, in particular when we are buying something exclusive, such as photographs." (The Enquirer, it's worth noting, is also a AMI title.)

That's "sign contracts," as in paperwork binding sources to their story and agreeing to testify in court should the magazine come under legal assault (read: accusations of libel). Fuller also said that's regular practice at Star.

But the meat (pun intended) of last night's panel – with Fuller flanked by Slate's Jacob Weisberg, Reuters' Paul Holmes, First Amendment attorney Floyd Abrams, former RIAA prez and media/GLBT issues consultant Hilary Rosen, and Splash News chief Gary Morgan – was devoted to the gays. Mark Foley this, House pages that. But what about Lance Bass and Reichen Lehmkuhl, yo? Forget closeted Congressman. How does Fuller handle covering gay celebs who aren't out?

Well, she doesn't. As most panel members agreed, sexual orientation remains a part of someone's private life, off limits to even tabloid scrawl. So yes, two gay (but not out) celebrities sleeping with each other will be kept under wraps, while two straight celebs are fair game. And besides, Fuller claims Star didn't even know about Lance and Reichen until the former *Nsync-er came out in People — which is less a debate over outing gay celebs than it is for finding new reporters. Seriously. There were photos of those two. Everywhere.

Update: While some editors didn't have much to say on the record, we did just hear from In Touch executive editor Dan Wakeford, who says: "We’ve never polygraphed a source in our four years of existence. Polygraphs are not accepted as court evidence. We make our stories accurate by avoiding single sourced stories and investigating them thoroughly." So booyah.

Always one to self-congratulate, Fox News tossed "fair," "balanced," and "and" to the wayside last night to throw itself a 10th anniversary bash. The red carpet was rolled out in front of headquarters at 1211 Sixth, and underneath a glammed-up tent Rupert Murdoch held court over minions Roger Ailes, Bill O'Reilly, Shep Smith, Bill Hemmer, Greta Van Susteren, Brit Hume, and Laurie Dhue. But there was more star wattage inside: Donald Trump, Mayor Michael Bloomberg, Governor George Pataki, Ann Coulter, Tiki Barber, and NYPD Commissioner Raymond Kelly all showed up to pay their respects. And so did we: Jossip loves a party that celebrates raping the competition into submission, so we grabbed photog Matthew Krautheim and hit the soiree. (Meanwhile, if there's a missing Fox News pillow, don't blame us.)

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We don't have a fucking clue what Brian Grazer is doing in New York, either.

With the launch of Culture + Travel from former Conde Nasty James Truman comes the requisite launch party for Culture + Travel — hosted by the Canadian billionaire publisher Louise T. Blouin MacBain (the LTB in LTB Holding), the dollar signs behind such indie titles like Art + Auction and, until just recently, Spoon. Last night's soiree at MacBain's swanky Richard Meier penthouse pad was a collision of media, Hollywood, architecture, PR, and fashion ego: David Carr, Michael Wolff, Lloyd Grove, Calvin Klein, Anthony Hayden-Guest, Brian Grazer, Deborah Schoeneman, Ben Widdicombe, Keith Kelly, Catherine Malandrino .. oh, and Nadine Johnson, the publicess who put all this together. To be sure, however, at least half the guests showed up just to scope the view. (Including, we think, our photog Matthew Krautheim.)

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It's not everyday former Daily News, Esquire, New York, and Newsweek editor Ed Kosner throws a book party. Well, actually, last night wast technically his second party for It's News to Me: The Making and Unmaking of an Editor — the first one was earlier this month in the Hamptons, next door to Mort Zuckerman. But this was his first and only party on the island (a fact we're basing on the "I'm only writing one book" comment he made to us), so of course we accepted an uber-exclusive invite to toast Kosner's editorial effort at the Adam Baumgold Gallery (read: small space, even smaller artworks) on the Upper East Side. What follows is our pictorial tale where Kosner's precocious daughter Lily pretends the event was more family reunion than book party.

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Yesterday we had the fortunate – or, depending on which members of the press you asked, unfortunate – pleasure to hit the 2006 MTV VMA red carpet. We've been through this routine before: Paris, Beyonce, Christina, and Jessica all strut by the entire press line after doing their official MTV segments. Brooke Hogan and her entire over-muscled family, meanwhile, arrive early and leave late, hoping any random media outlet will at least agree to record a soundbite. Aside from that last sentence, even we (bottom of the barrel when you figure we were standing next to InStyle, Billboard, Rolling Stone, and Wire Image) aren't so desperate we'll give them coverage.

But that's not to say we didn't court the attention of other B-listers, like Jesse McCartney, Three 6 Mafia, Tyrese, Ashley Parker Angel, Andy Milonakis, and a Real Worlder. But these aren't your regular celebrity interviews. Perhaps because they're barely celebrities? Watch the clips, after the jump.

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Last night IFC and BlackBook magazine threw a swanky soiree at the Soho Grand in honor of their October cover subject, Maggie Gyllenhaal. As you know, we already saw Maggie's new indy flick Sherrybaby at the Hearst building with Marie Claire (something BlackBook's PR gal was not very happy about), so we skipped the screening and went straight to the boozey schmoozy, with our photog Matthew Krautheim in tow.

Due to the freezing, raining weather, the party was upstairs instead of in the garden, but there was still plenty of smoking room … and smokin' film industry types.

Maggie Gyllenhaal showed, looking super pregnant and like she was about ready to fall down. No Peter Sarsgaard … or Jake (which is, like, the only reason we even went) … but lots of infused Vodka and plenty of magazines to keep us entertained. Michael Musto even said hello to us before rushing straight to the back of the room.

After the jump, a bunch of people you probably don't care about … but they're sexier than your cubemate so you'll look at them anyways.

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British import Joanna Coles is already doing a fine job making Marie Claire a title worth talking about. When it comes to Hearst, we usually dedicate our energy to chronicling Atoosa Rubenstein's MySpace friend requests — but suddenly Coles influence has given the staid (though healthy, circulation-wise) Marie Claire an injection of sexy. To be sure, it helps to "jump into" Cathie Black's car.

But around the new MC, there is one type of injection that doesn't seem to have a home: Botox. Joanna told us so herself last night – pointing to the wrinkles in her forehead – amid apple martinis and a live band at a private screening for Sherrybaby at Hearst's new glass tower. And that sort of thing makes sense, given Joanna's feelings toward nose jobber Ashlee Simpson and her kin.

Last night's event, however, was not just a chance for the former More editor to shake hands with other Hearsties while proving she can pull off an all-white ensemble. The editor was also hosting September covergirl Maggie Gyllenhaal (who arrived flanked with soon-to-be baby daddy Peter Sarsgaard) — Joanna's first issue for the magazine (it helped that she learned how to pronounce Maggie's last name).

Though reluctant to say much about where she's moving (she and Peter living in the West Village, though plenty of rumors suggest a move to Park Slope is imminent) and whether brother Jake will be playing Lance Armstrong (and here we though that bit of news was already confirmed be PR types), Maggie did let on that the paparazzi scene in Los Angeles is, to our surprise, much more bareable than it is here in New York. "We were at breakfast yesterday with my brother and all of a sudden these 12 photographers appeared and started taking our picture," she says. In L.A., the paps leave her alone. Who knew?

But it was during the post-screening Q&A that Maggie let on a more incriminating detail of her movie career. After her success with Secretary, where the director allowed her to control much of her character's portrayal, she actually thought Hollywood types would solicit her input about the characters she played. Not so, she found out while filming a movie she wouldn't name (though our guess is Mona Lisa Smile). It was "horrible" and they made her cry.

And crying she did plenty of last night — though only on screen, and only in between exposing her breasts and having sex with every other male character in the film. And that, apparently, is just the type of Hollywood Joanna Coles wants in her magazine. By which we mean, of course, natural breasts.

Exclusive

There we were yesterday afternoon. It was around 5:20pm. We were just trying to mosey our way to the Angelika to catch Ryan Gosling in his underwear (and an awkwardly sexless relationship with his character's student) when, right outside the Prada store in Soho, we spot a crowd gathering a shouting. Luckily we had Jossip HQ's high-budget (read: piece-of-crap) camera with us (which explains the choppy footage), so we're gonna take you for a wild ride of high fashion security cartel. It's a 7-minute ride, baby, so grab your snacks and watch Prada's goons hold down the perp — who allegedly ran out of the store with an $850 jacket, the pricetag of which we only learned because, it turns out, Prada's security are just as interested in showing off luxury goods as its customers. You'll also be treated to the walkie-talkie types telling us to turn the camera off, curse and berate the suspect ("Don't fuckin' move!"), wave around the fashion-mistake-of-a-jacket while they wait for the cops to arrive — and the suspect telling the fuzz that we've got it all on video. In the end, we're just doing our duty to ensure the accused's rights weren't violated by NYPD dropouts — and hoping you'll hang around the site during the entire seven minutes so it makes our advertisers think our readership is "sticky."

Having just became the latest Jew family to own a New York newspaper, the next step in media bubble entree is showing your face around town. And that's what the new New York Observer owner is doing. Jared Kusher suddenly became the main event at last night's premiere of Factotum – well, Details coverboy Matt Dillon was there too – so we grabbed photog Matthew Krautheim and stalked Kush from red carpet to after party.

After two hours of watching Dillon drink himself half to death, the media posse (which included AMI chief David Pecker) were inspired to open a bottle of scotch and drink till the booze was gone — which may explain why Lloyd Grove went home to get drunk in peace, while the rest of us flocked across town to the after party at BLVD.

It was only a 19 hour wait for the free booze before we could bathe ourselves in copies of last week's Observer. Fishbowler Dylan Stableford stopped by but lost interest once he realized there were no drunken gossips to videotape. Once inside, we realized our encounters with Marisa Tomei and Matt Dillon were destined to be limited to snapping paparazzi-like photos — though we did manage to back Kushner in a corner.

He asked us what blogging was like ("Do you sit on your couch in your underwear? No, I'm not trying to picture it or anything.") and we asked him if his real estate ties were going to impact the Observer's gossipy coverage of his fellow moguls ("I'm not going to have much of a hand in the editorial aspects of the paper."). We would've delved further, but he had to duck out. (Something about a new job and needing to get some sleep … we couldn't really follow.)

Alas, like good writers, celebs, and New Yorkers, everyone was hammered by midnight — surely depressed over the reminder that scribes' lives are pathetic and a 25-year-old can buy and sell them for fun. Ah, well, like we said, the booze was free.

Our photo tale begins, after the jump.

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Last night we hit up Pravda for an hour or so of white wine chatter hosted by Best Life EIC Stephen Perrine. It never takes more than three sips of pinot to forget what party you're at and why you're celebrating, so we were sure to write it down ahead of time: we were mingling among a sea of PR types to honor Why Do Men Fall Asleep After Sex?, the new tome by Mark Leyner and BIll Goldberg. Sure, they weren't giving the the book gratis to any partygoers – you had to buy it! for $14! and it was only in paperback! – but who cares? Men's Health's David Zinczenko was there letting his pecs burst through a white button down, which is about all we need to hear to RSVP.

There was Zinczenko's comparing Men's Health to Cosmopolitan – they're both "horny" magazines, which is why he and Kate White are BFFs – New York's press denizen Serena Torrey showering the bar with glitter (or perhaps it just looked that way; her beauty is blinding), Best Life publisher Mary Murcko ensuring your hand was never without a cocktail (and, should have you two hands free .. well, you get the idea), and authors Mark Leyner and Bill Goldberg hanging on each other's well-sculpted shoulders. Though it was Arianna Huffington's arrival – on the arm of Eat The Press chaperone Rachel Sklar – that caused a stir. (Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Arianna's dressing like a 24-year-old? And pulling it off?)

Though we expected a room brimming with male model types (or at least industry vets who could pass as former abdominal display cases), we weren't entirely let down: Pravda's strawberry martini proved worth the trek into a below-ground lair of air conditioning heaven. Even if we never even caught a glance at the book's cover.

Last night we hit Stereo for MTV veejay Damien Fahey's 26th birthday. Damien and his band Here's Johnny rocked out while promoters, party gossips, and lots of blondes roamed free. Since all the real celebs were jamming themselves into the Entertainment Weekly party and the media gossips were clusterfucking at Slate's event, we figured we'd try to hit something … oh, we don't know … fun?

The event, hosted by Stereo's owner Mike Satsky (who kept us from taking his photo by distracting us with liquor), was jam packed with pseudo-celebs, tons of photographers, and at least four girls that looked like they were on Laguna Beach. A complete tour of the party, minus the bouncing tan people, after the jump.

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When we hit last night's Entertainment Weekly Must List party at Buddha Bar, we expected to see the likes of Christina Aguilera (and did we!), Neil Patrick Harris, Nelly Furtado, Vanessa Carlton, and Oxana Baiul. (Actually, we had no idea what the hell Oxana was doing there. Or anywhere, for that matter.) But we never imagined we'd have the pleasure of meeting one of the famed TMZ.com paparazzi — their dedication which brings us endless footage of Paris Hilton crashing her car, Paris Hilton singing to her own music, and Paris Hilton hating on Lindsay Lohan with Brandon Davis. So meet Willem DeVries, who's much better suited to be in front of the camera instead of behind.

And who else did we have the pleasure of meeting? That'd be Rush & Molloy's brand new intern: Columbia-educated Debbie Newman (pictured here with her friend Lee, who may or may not be stalking us), who told us she just started the gig this week. She was there getting the field experience every new gossip needs — and because R&M minions Jo Piazza and Chris Rovzar took all the "Kayne West at Cipriani" RSVPs.

MollyGood does EW: The Gaspacho Edition [Mollygood]

When the former vice president asks for your presence at the Museum of Natural History to celebrate his book's release, you go — if only to excuse yourself from hanging out with a bunch of Internerds. So last night we hit up Al Gore's An Inconvenient Truth book party, where publisher Rodale had gathered a who's who list of industry powerhouses. None of which we recognized or cared to talk to, but we're certain they were among us.

Without a single bottle of bubbly available, we settled on white wine as we listened to Gore, standing beneath the precariously positioned giant blue whale, wax environmental for 10 minutes. No mention of inventing the Internet, which automatically bumped his speech up to a B- at least. Though his closing comments – "It's a spiritual crisis [...] I'm an optimist because I believe that we are capable of rising to solve this crisis and making a better world" – almost let us forgive the beads of sweat rolling off his face when we shook hands and chatted with him afterward.

Since we weren't about to waste our precious moments with Mr. VP showering him with praise – especially when we hadn't seen the movie nor read the book – we cut right to the chase: Was he sad to see Katie Couric leave the Today show? "I'm just glad she got a promotion!" he boomed. Okay, okay, we did discuss more than Ms. Couric's lower-half, but when Keith Olbermann finally freed himself from Gore's grip – "he paved a path to introduce himself," Keith lamented – we knew we had some questions for TV's most esteemed Counter-Downer.

The rest of our evening, after the jump.

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When the sun kissed gods of Miami grace New York City with their presence, and we're invited, we hardly decline. And because the opportunity to skip dozens of people in line still thrills us, we trekked up to Marquee last night to celebrate the special New York issue of Ocean Drive.

Admittedly, we were there half as press and half as party goers, but we made every attempt to contact the hosts of the party. The host list which read like a who's who of SoHo House, promised such socialites and scenesters as Patrick McMullan, Tinsely Mortimer, Jonathan Cheban, and Michael Musto. Oh, and we were told Maer Roshan would be there too.

Yet, when we arrived at the Ocean Drive party section of the club, there wasn't even a PR person to be found. And while we're definite fans of Michael Musto, he played the role of "stand in the corner and don't talk to people host." No Tins, no Patrick … not even Peter Davis made an appearance.

We did, however, find Hilary Duff sitting in another corner, surrounded by friends and of course her sister Hailey, and being blocked by her bodyguard. Who was allowed to smoke inside. When we tried to talk to her, she looked at us, looked at her bouncer, and we were quickly shooed away by the very, very large man. And despite the help of Ben Widdicombe, we were unable to locate a Maer Roshan or a single Radar-lite among the sea of clubbers.

Somewhat disappointing — we were promised the Tins, we got the Duffs — but nothing a few mojitos and random hotties from Denmark couldn't cure.

Watching Atoosa Rubenstein* among her Seventeen minions is a bit like watching Carmela Soprano traipse between her roles as devoted mother and mob boss spouse: She's personable, sweet, and genuinely interested — but isn't afraid to call you a bitch.

We joined Atoosa and her Seventeenies for their staff moving party at the Library Hotel's rooftop lounge Bookmarks yesterday evening as they said goodbye to their rusty old digs on Eighth Avenue and welcomed in the new glass tower on West 57th. Because when The 'Toos invites you into her inner sanctum of lip gloss and body image issues to imbibe on Cathie Black's her own dime, you damn well better RSVP.

We didn't take an official count, but it looked like the entire masthead showed up to crowd around Atoosa's feet as she delivered folklore from the days CosmoGIRL!. When she wasn't calculating her next move post-Miss Seventeen, Atoosa could be found professing her (publicly reciprocated) love for Women Wear Daily's Jeff Bercovici – "He's hot! And straight!" A moment passes. "He's so hot!" – and struggling to remember what the term is for taking a "drag" on a joint. (Survey says: a "hit.")

Then there was the matter of clearing up (via BlackBerry, natch) a rumor inquiry from a certain tabloid gossipist that Atoosa met with corporate cousin Harper's Bazaar to interview for the the job, bringing along mock ups of the mag for added emphasis on why she should get the gig. The rumors are "categorically false," says 'Toos.

We're told some staffers get today off (that is, free to meet deadlines outside the office) since movers need 'em cleared out to haul their red pencils and beauty closet paraphenalia over to the new Hearst Tower. But they'll be back in full force Monday, easing into their new quarters on the 17th floor for yet another edit meeting on body hair.

Additional evidence that Atoosa doesn't run the magazine herself, after the jump.

* In the interest of full disclosure, we count Atoosa Rubenstein as one of our poorly populated group of friends, or at least among the group of people we say nice things about sometimes. That doesn't mean, however, we let her fly free from our magic wand of crass commentary.

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Jim Kelly knows how to party. You saw the beer in his bathtub at his fete for Andrew Sullivan, yah? Now repurpose those antics for Time magazine's 100 Most Influential People party at Jazz at Lincoln Center (at, ahem, the Time Warner Center) and throw in actual A-listers instead of Peter Kaplan and his Observers (though we'd much rather hang with those types) and you've got media personalities – usually so eager to fawn over themselves – crowding around Jennifer Lopez to watch her blink.

We were there for the free bubbly, but people watching being our favorite sport, it would've been rude for us not to show off.

• The affable Stephen Colbert revealed he had no idea C-Span demanded his White House Correspondents Dinner speech be pulled off YouTube. "I've got a two week break," he told us. "My assistant is collecting all the newspaper articles."

• Vanity Fair coverboy Anderson Cooper shaking hands with Regis Philbin, and, we imagine, making no mention of mama Gloria Vanderbilt's alien feet in the VF photospread.

• Bill O'Reilly brushing up on his expressions of deep thought while chatting with Mort Zuckerman. Shortly thereafter, O'Reilly professed to us he doesn't read "those Internet things" so no, he doesn't follow our meta coverage of him.

• A glam Jennifer Lopez and her surprisingly unfrightening husband Marc Anthony acting puzzlingly social. We showed up immediately after these two, trailed them on the red carpet and rode the elevator upstairs with 'em. Her giggle lets her off the hook for those conspicuous grey hairs.

• Harvey Weinstein running around looking for Will Smith. Not once did we see Harvey touch a silver tray of hor d'oeuvres.

• Will Smith shaking hands with anybody who approached, but not letting them walk away before introducing his brother. He told us he was most excited to meet Nancy Cox (he's all giddy about flu pandemics, given his filming of 2007's bio-thriller I Am Legend). He also mentioned the only time he gets pissed when people sing "na na na na na-na-na-na" from "Gettin' Jiggy Wit It" was at black tie events. We didn't spot Jada Pinkett Smith, so we assume she was off making wickedly bad music with Wicked Wisdom.

• Martha Stewart was very appreciative when we brought up Blueprint. Very appreciative. Did we mention the very part of her appreciation?

• Arianna Huffington, doing what Arianna Huffington does best: giggling with enthusiasm.

• Ann Coulter mulled about acting as liason between good and evil.

• The rest of the rest: Queen Rania, looking royal. George Lucas, looking important. Lauren Bush and David Lauren, looking like they're ready for Hamptons season to kick off.

We're sure there was more to be seen at the actual dinner (like Condoleeza Rice denying she's making a presidential run), but we had to split to watch David Blaine succeed in making an ass out of himself.