New emails tie John Ensign even closer to his cuckolded, hush-moneyed staffer. More

Image via Wikipedia A California man called 911 for help on Monday and said his blue 2008 Toyota Prius sped up to more

A janitor at Ohio State University was told that he'd be getting laid off. This morning, he shot two of his supervisors, killing one. Then he killed himself. Since no students were hurt, this incident will be quickly forgotten. [ LAT] More

Douglas Schantz , the president of natural gas firm Sequent Energy Management , was hanging out on Bourbon Street in New Orleans with coworkers around 2 a.m. last Friday morning. He hasn't been seen since. Schantz, who lives in Houston, went to New Orleans last week to present a donation from his company to Tulane University and to visit his daughter, a student there. He and his colleagues went out on Bourbon Street Thursday night. According to news reports, he was last seen at Club Razzoo at two o'clock in the morning. Now his company and his family are looking for him, along with the NOPD. And Schantz—formerly an executive with Cinergy— probably didn't just wander off : [Son Michael] Schantz says "He loved, developed a passion for the city in a short time. He loved the Saints said "Who Dat" every second of the day when they were in the playoffs. We are willing to give anything to find my father, money is not an issue."

Last night Los Angeles was drained of star power because super-agencies WME and CAA had house parties with ridiculous security. Things we discovered: bribing people is harder than you think, security guards are scary and we belong among the dregs. We had high hopes of breaking into CAA partner Bryan Lourd or WME honcho Ari Emanuel 's house parties. We drove down leafy roads among mansions worth tens of millions of dollars with various cunning, Mossad-esque plans. We even had a ladder in the trunk. And then we pulled up outside Bryan Lourd's house to take this innocuous picture of his front door. Lourd represents, or has represented, George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Sean Penn, Robert De Niro and Tom Cruise among others, so we figured that it was worth being brave to sneak in and surround ourselves with the mega-wattage of true Hollywood. We had visions of laughing with George about our antics. Drinking with Brad. Getting De Niro to say "you talking to me" on voicemails to our mothers. And then two angry, Blackwater-looking security guards in khaki fatigues and windbreakers, a Swiss Guard if you will, sprinted at high speed down the road towards us shouting things, doubtless about the pre-eminence of CAA in Hollywood life and the many achievements of Bryan Lourd. And we shat ourselves and drove away. But not before trying to bribe a valet from Chuck's Parking who was snoozing in a van nearby. "I can't get you in," he said, plainly. So we asked if he could text us updates on whose cars he parked. "No." Window rolled up. Even CAA's Oscar party valets take the oath of omerta. And then we found our true position in life at the OK! party. Where we hung out with... Audrina ...

Meet Kevin. He's homeless. Every evening he trawls Hollywood looking for stars and their associated paparazzi. Oscar weekend will be huge for him—because Kevin has figured out how to get celebrities to give him big money. Kevin Jones is 37. He moved to Los Angeles in 1996, with a business degree from Indiana University that he abandoned to pursue his dream of making music. Until the crash, he was a recording engineer. Then, last year, he got fired—"there was no safety net, no family or savings," he said on a recent night outside celebrity nightclub Voyeur, surrounded by $500,000 Ferraris and Bentleys and a dozen paparazzi. He wore a dirty red sweatshirt, gray scarf and beanie and held up a creased cardboard sign that said "Lost Job, Lost Home, Anything Will Help, Thank You, God Bless". The sign was lit with a tiny battery operated lamp "so the cameras pick it up." He said he now lives in the laundry room of a half-built apartment block off Sunset Boulevard. A month or so ago he had an idea. Around 7pm each night he goes to every hotspot in Hollywood and Beverly Hills—"the hotels, the [Chateau] Marmont especially, the clubs"—and joins the paparazzi pack. When celebrities emerge from their shiny cars, in a cloud of cologne and entitlement, he blocks the cameramen and helps these buffoons in dubloon-stuffed pantaloons enter the venue as best he can. "They tip big sometimes," he explained, eyeing a sky blue BMW X6, with the Vanity Fair logo on its back doors, just in case. "I don't kid myself. It's not because they're grateful. It's...

[ A mad hatter escaped from this painting by Vincent Desiderio at the Armory Show and escaped with the crowd into the black hole. Guess he'll miss the fine art show opening tomorrow. Image via Getty ]

A house fire in Chunchula left a family homeless and tied up traffic on US 45. Traffic was stopped in both directions

Image via Wikipedia Over the past few months, a computer virus has been making its rounds on the social networking site Facebook. The virus

She did this before getting knocked up with Suri—but what if she's trying to buy Suri's freedom? Tiger and Elin share a home, Jude Law meets his love child, Courtney Love terrifies again. Monday gossip has mixed feelings. Katie Holmes has been spending a lot of time at the Hollywood Scientology Center, which means they are probably anointing the thousand sacrificial virgins necessary to spawn a second Suri Cruise Hubbard Jesus as we speak. Reports a Page Six embed: "This is exactly what happened just before she got pregnant with Suri. Tom has made no secret of the fact that he would like another baby." X17 made the same guess last week. Creepy as the collective Holmes-Cruise silent labors are, I cannot oppose a process that creates creatures this adorable. Besides, how do we know she's not gearing up to leave Tom, and is actually in the process of negotiating her freedom? You can do it, Katie! Gather your Suri and run. [ P6 ] [ X17 ] Tiger's back in sex rehab, but not in Mississippi, says Page Six , which has the recovering addict getting "private therapy sessions out of a home in Cave Creek, Arizona." Biggest shocker: Elin was briefly staying with him in the sexual halfway home. This is the first (relatively) credibly sourced report...

[ Hope you enjoyed your snow day today, New York, like these people trudging through Bryant Park today. Monday it's back to the office—through the slush. Image via Getty ]

If we learned one lesson from the Kevin-Smith-is-too-fat-to-fly debacle it is that we have outgrown our chairs. That's right, America, it's time for all new seating in planes, theaters, cinemas, and the like. Who should pay for it? Fat people. Not only did we learn about this problem recently when director Kevin Smith —with all his girth—was asked to get off a Southwest Airlines flight for taking up more than his allotted space, it was reinforced for me last night as I sat on a steep balcony of a Broadway theater. The couple in front of me and my companion were both so large that they could not sit in tandem in their $125 seats. They could fit their asses between the arm rests, but the mass of their arms and upper bodies were pushing them into each other and the people in the adjoining seats. How did they correct this? Well, one of the pair had to lean forward on his haunches so the other could sit back in her seat. Then everything fit. They were like a yin-yang of bulk, wrapping around each other to fit into their little, overpriced sphere. However, due to the incline of the theater, now me and my friend were kept from seeing the entire...