Oh, good. Facebook conquers all not only when Mark What'shisface maybe-steals ideas from classmates and becomes a megazillionairess in the process, but also when its hapless addicts succeed in getting beloved comediennes who probably should've landed a plum hosting role on Saturday Night Live decades ago their overdue time in the sun. And while Betty White hosting and featuring on the only episode of SNL worth watching in the last eight to ten years is irrefutably a good thing, there are still a lot of issues around this installment. Issues that make it clear that, basically, a male-dominated sketch show is attempting to address allegations of sexism with a 90-minute LOLlapalooza specifically engineered to shut women up.

Our heads are already spinning with the complex and layered symbolism of Beyogaga's latest since it bowed last night. It's part-Natural Born Killers! It's part-Bound! It's part-Requiem for a Dream! It's a polemic about the harsh treatment of inmates in our penal system! But most importantly, the most well-executed music video event of the last five years is a nine-and-a-half-long minute advertisement. And the range of goods featured are so generic that it almost seems like Gaga wants to make peace with the same key demo that wrote to the FCC about how she dared to bare her "pubic hair area" on the Grammys sometime back. Well so long as they're a-OK with the lesbian overtones and the diner-specific genocide, Miracle Whip will yet be the glue that holds us all together. Seven products that enjoyed a prominent presence in the opus (a couple more that merited more fleeting plugs documented here), that you'll now go out and buy. Because the power of Gaga compels you.

Just a few months ago I went out on a limb and anointed Lady Gaga as a more powerful a fashion figure than Anna Wintour, in some respects at least. Gaga has endorsed avant-garde designers in a manner never before seen with regard to pop culture. Take her video for Bad Romance, where Gaga schooled an audience far wider than that of Vogue's monthly readership on one of the late Alexander McQueen's most talked-about collections (for SS10). While she may be doing so on a significantly smaller scale, PR maven-turned-reality TV star Kelly Cutrone is following suit.

Never one to be demoralized by diminishing employment opportunities, Lindsay Lohan is recovering from her Ungaro firing quite quickly. Having categorically failed at being a pop star, thespian, fashionista, and lesbian, Lohan turns to what was simply a niche before the recession, but now a growth industry: Nonsensical litigation. LiLo's suing financial services company E-Trade to the tune of $100 million, claiming the company ripped off her likeness in portraying a milkaholic baby in an ad that originally aired during the Super Bowl.

Did you know: Dorothy Zbornak never existed. Neither did Jill Munroe on Charlie's Angels. You see, America, we willed such iconic figures into existence, by sheer force of will, probably fueled by our disproportionate booze-to-food intake--just in time for this year's Oscars. At least this is what the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Science wants us to believe. Currently being taken to task for egregiously omitting both Bea Arthur and Farrah Fawcett from their Demi Moore-hosted "In Memoriam" tribute, the AMPAS are playing an unlikely card now: The "If We Pretend They Never Existed, No One Will Care" card.

Last night, Gabourey Sidibe lost the Oscar for Best Actress to Sandra Bullock for her work in Miss Congeniality 3: When Orphans Strike. And although Sidibe's name was clearly etched all over that $500 gold man, losing the Oscar for Best Actress is actually the best thing that could've happened to Sidibe. Her post-Precious prospects were always tenuous. Such territory tends to be so for any niche performer after Oscar season blows over and all we're left with is the agonizing interim during which these sort of movies are chucked out to fill up studio coffers gone empty from a half-year of Oscar campaigning. Hollywood has imagined and reveled in someone like Sidibe in a critical context. But now they have to imagine her in a commercial context--the type which governs the box office nine or so months out of the year.

Our favorite under-appreciated actor Adam Scott is going to Parks and Recreation. Variety is reporting that he's joining the cast at the end of this season as Amy Poehler's love interest, and returning next season as a series regular. Good for him! Scott is a wry and hilarious talent, consistently good in everything he's in (Step Brothers, Eastbound and Down). He's especially good in Party Down, the much-loved, little-watched Starz comedy about Hollywood wannabes who work for a catering service. Jane Lynch left that show to join Glee, and now Scott is jumping ship to join Jeff Zucker's evil empire. Starz is a young network with a small audience, so it's no surprise they're losing their best talent to the big time. We talked to Adam Scott a month ago, where he echoed that sentiment, and expressed his fear of losing more cast members. Little did he know he was talking about himself.

Are you aware of a television program called Jersey Shore? I'm not! I'm just shaping my perception of what is obviously the finest bit of unscripted fare--more so than The Charlie Rose Show--through YouTube clips and how many times words like "JWoww", "Snooki", and "The Situation" pop up on Google. Their likenesses are like the pillars of sulfur-scented smoke: peripheral, but undeniably omnipresent. So why is it then that contemporary culture's snobbiest echelon--high fashion--has fallen in love with this roving troop of miscreants?

There are a lot of terrible things about this final season of Lost. Terrible things like Kate Austen and the constipated way in which clues are crapped out. But the serial's also having some sort of positive effect among its viewers--mostly the type that forces us to back away from our laptops and television sets and crack open a book. If only to make sense of what otherwise seems like an unending ziggurat of masturbatory symbolism. On Tuesday night, there was an episode where constantly-conflicted Jack Shephard Jack-faced his way through a scene where he teased a copy of Annotated Alice: The Definitive Edition. Since then, that book has seen a sudden sales spike on Amazon.com. Other books featured this season enjoying similar relevance: Salman Rushdie's Haroun and the Sea of Stories and Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling.

A few weeks ago, Jessica Grose at Slate noted that in order to follow up the tantastic–shit-show-turned-cultural phenomenon Jersey Show “MTV needs a new tribe to study.” Grose suggested that Massholes, a program documenting the “feisty” escapades of New Englanders with a “nearly carnal love for the Red Sox, Patriots, Celtics, and Bruins" and a penchant for aggressive driving, beer binging and inter-tribal warfare, might be an appropriate replacement. Now come hints that the next tribe to get a close up (after the kids in South Beach) may be in Brooklyn-- Brighton Beach more specifically.