While still remaining something of an oddity across the US, Britain's X Factor still serves as a pretty accurate cultural barometer of our pop exports. For example, Simon Cowell has singled out Miley Cyrus' "The Climb" as the first single for whoever wins the competition (all's well that ends well, Jedward!) Then, this past week's show provided a glittering study in contrasts. Lady Gaga delivered yet another delightfully batty set of theatrics. In a fucking bathtub. Dressed in Batman cosplay. Janet Jackson meanwhile turned in a performance that made her look like a frumpy stroller queen lost a long, long way from Park Slope. Sigh.

Oh, look! Another flailing pop queen in distress. They're all the rage aren't they? What with their Brazilian boy-toying and their creative multitasking. Get too close and they may burn you with their fiery vitriol! Stay far away and they get needy. Yes these flailing pop queens are a fickle breed. But they, too have feelings. Like Janet Jackson, for instance -- who, between staring down some harsh truths about her late great brother and forthcoming obligations at some asinine awards ceremony, is having the worst week ever.

Well, we saw it coming. On one hand, maybe this is how the pop ecosystem works. That is, in order to facilitate the trapezoid of life that governs showbiz, all lesser pop stars must cannibalize on what non-chemical biomatter remains of any deceased pop legend. So that in some shape or form, most traces of the pop star can dissolve into the earth. And then, future pop stars can mint their legacies on flat covers of his hits. In that respect, Janet Jackson and Madonna meeting over greasy banh mi or whatever to talk about how to turn one man's death into career momentum for themselves is a sensible turn of events. But on the other hand, it's disappointing that two surviving pop forces, who both delivered poignant Michael Jackson tributes only recently, are piecing together a collaboration designed to launch them squarely into America's heart.

Last night, a whole lot of stuff happened at a variety show whose name is pronounced, "The Vee Em Eys." For the uninitiated, "The Vee Em Eys" is where people accept metallic statues of astronauts for the hard work of other less-famous and less-pretty people who are able to take their songs and make it evocatively crackle along to between three-and-a-half to four minutes of video footage. This footage may include a storyline, choreography, or a liberal usage of string bikinis. And like any high-budgeted awards telecast on a network desperately reaching for any residual shreds of credibility among viewers aged 12-24, there were winners and losers last night. And then there were those who just made us shrug. And none of this has to do with who won what last night, because everyone knows that the real prize is word-of-mouth.

● Hugh Hefner offered Kate Gosselin $400K to flaunt her post-eight-babies bod for Playboy; thankfully, Gosselin turned the offer down. [NYDailyNews] ● Add Paul McCartney to the list of people who want the Beatles catalog on iTunes. McCartney blames EMI for the delay. [NME] ● Did you hear the awesome news that Kristen Wiig is joining Seth Meyers on Weekend Update? Well, don’t get too excited, ‘cause it’s not happening. Meyers will report the faux-news all by his lonesome this season. [EW]

It's rare that the physics of pop ever work out as they should. Here we are, lamenting the slow, grisly death of our childhood icons, and Janet Jackson, meanwhile has been toiling away in near-obscurity with a handful of gems like this, this, and this -- and even scaring up the odd #1 album. So it's great how in the wildfire that followed her brother's death she managed to avoid getting burned and kept a clear head. She continued work on her next album and held out basically for only ostensibly high-profile press opportunities. Like the upcoming Harper's Bazaar cover she's landed. It's not like we expected Janet to shave her hair off, don all black, and grieve for the rest of her life.

You know who's really asking for a karmic DDoS attack? Every last person trying to mine gold out of Michael Jackson's bones. On this list -- of which many are rumored to be partaking in a tribute album: MJ's survivors trying to milk his likeness into a long-lasting cash cow through merchandising, the holy trinity of Beyoncé, Mariah, and Madonna, this 12 year-old kid, comeback prince Robbie Williams, Lionel Richie, and of course LaToya Jackson. About as legit as the wax Jackson above. Death has never been more sacrosanct!

So yesterday, after news broke of the King of Pop’s passing, I turned to my 8-year-old cousin and asked if she knew who Michael Jackson was. She looked at me wide-eyed, confused for a brief moment, then flatly said, "No." I probably would have been more disturbed if she had answered, “Miley Cyrus," when I later asked her who her favorite singer was. But regardless, I was still a little unnerved. Jackson’s death signals the end of an era of icons as we know it. Or rather, the beginning of such an end. My little cousin's growing up in a very just-add-water age of pop commodities, where she'll never be able to cover her walls with the posters of girl groups and boy bands without being pressured to do so by American Idol, Nickelodeon, or the Disney Channel. Gone is Michael Jackson's moonwalk, Freddie Mercury's bad-ass aplomb, and even En Vogue's inimitable moxie. And I'm concerned. Not only for her, but for generations that'll come after -- and not know a world populated with bonafide idols and icons. It's safe to say that yes, with the King's death, America is now not only in mourning, but also in crisis.

Dubbed "The Breast That Destroyed America's Innocence," the Timberlakean appearance of Janet Jackson's right boob at the 2004 Super Bowl resulted in an FCC fine CBS of over half a million dollars. Because of such egregious fines, shadowy network executives decided that the risk involved with ever again having a lady-performer strut on stage was too much. So we were punished by having to witness irrelevant golden oldies like Bruce Springsteen (whose teabagging was probably more offensive than the fall-out of Nipplegate). And Prince, too, who stopped being interesting when he swapped assless pants for an overpriced iPod. Fearing that we may all be throwing ourselves into heathenly decline, today the Supreme Court breaks out the party favors and celebrates the fifth anniversary of needless litigation and censorship by exhuming the brou-ha-ha around Jackson's controversial carriage.

● Nick Cave’s son Jethro is a model. Jethro embodies that pale, alien look so popular on European runways these days. [TFS] ● Benjamin Button has been losing left and right this award season and could lose all 13 awards at the Oscars (from Best Picture to Best Sound Editing). Here’s how. [Defamer] ● Janet Jackson has canceled her one-week tour in Japan “due to the impact of economic crisis.” Last year, Jackson canceled seven performances due to migraines. "Economic crisis" is this year's "exhaustion." [Us Weekly]