Terry Gilliam needs a muse. The 69-year-old director of Twelve Monkeys and Brazil came close to finding one back in 1988, when he cast a then-unknown Uma Thurman in The Adventures of Baron Munchausen. But she left him for another rebel named Quentin and, according to Gilliam, “she never came back.” Two decades later, Gilliam’s latest film,The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, features another otherworldly acting novice with blue saucers for eyes: supermodel Lily Cole. The 21-year-old Brit plays the title character’s doomed daughter, who aches for a suit-and-tie husband and white picket fence, in a welcome return to surreal form for the director.

This year's Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) boasts one of the most stellar celebrity lineups in years. Over the course of the next ten days, we hope to see George Clooney and Matt Damon racing their Bentleys down Yonge Street, Megan Fox and Natalie Portman drunk skinny-dipping in Lake Ontario, and Michael Douglas and Michael Caine playing Backgammon in High Park. But most likely we'll be awkwardly stalking them from across the street with the other plebeians. Here are your best bets at joining the fun.

● Tokyo (Plateau) - The perfect crossection of played Vice aesthetic and lower St-Laurent douche baggery. Weekends are filled with dudes from Boston who heard that this was "the spot", but making an appearance on the massive terrace for Wednesday Rock night is a must for those who know, i.e. us.
● Casa Del Popolo (Mile End) When Spin magazine pegged Montreal as the "next big thing" in 2005 (much to the dismay of scene purists), this quaint indie music hub was its unofficial headquarters. The buzz train has since left town, but the cute girl with the pixie cut and flower print dress reading a dog-eared copy of Moby Dick in the corner, hasn't.
● Bar Korova (Plateau) - Classic table-top video games, tawdry PBR signs, religious icons, a giant stuffed caribou head, neon sunglasses hovering over a DJ that spins dream pop, krautrock, no-wave, and post/proto-nu rave (of course). This place is what hipster diarrhea looks like.

"God's Vagina," said dandy media scoundrel Perez Hilton when asked what it feels like to be a real author. But what else can you expect from the guy who makes a living doodling penises over Lindsay Lohan's face than a line cribbed straight from the trailer of Pineapple Express. Hilton was at Tenjune last night to celebrate the launch of his new hardcover Red Carpet Suicide: A Survival Guide on Keeping up With the Hiltons.

A sultry blonde in a slinky black dress propositions me. The penthouse at the Gild Hall in Manhattan's financial district is teeming with young, symmetrical men and women who have gathered for The New York Society's "Town & Country" party, but for some reason, this one singles me out. For a Canadian, the idea of meeting a mysterious Manhattanite in a boutique hotel-cum-house party, dashing away from the festivities, and finding a secret alcove for Marlboro smoking is about as exotic as it gets. The cigarettes will eventually lead to exposed skin, an exchange of cards, and a blurry train ride home. Unfortunately, all she wants is the cigarette. I unwittingly oblige, and find comfort in the dirtiest martinis this side of the East River.

I`ve been hearing a ton about these `Lifestyle Press Events`` lately. It`s when a big-deal company gathers a bunch of journalists together for a hedonistic weekend of eating and drinking, in celebration of a new product release. The wining and dining is done with an ulterior motive, clearly. They want what you got (press access!). All my journo-friends have been doing them for years, while I waited impatiently on the sidelines for my golden ticket. It finally came this past weekend, when I, along with a handful of eco-conscious bloggers and design fiends from all over the country, were flown to San Francisco to preview the brand new clean diesel-powered VolksWagen Jetta TDI.

In a city where gastronomical decadence knows no bounds, where gold-flaked burgers can be hocked for 175 dollars a pop,and a bottle of beer can go for just under a hundred bucks, it's no surprise that the veritable icon of American comfort food—the TV dinner—is now getting the royal New York City makeover. Courtesy of Loews Regency Hotel, and its vanguard executive chef, Andrew Rubin, New Yorkers can now get their portable pot roast braised in Burgundian Pinot Noir, and their mac n' cheese finished with a Parmesan crust. And you better believe that fried chicken is free range, baby. Perhaps the most innovative aspect of this 30-dollar-a "plate" experience is the eschewing of that pedestrian plastic tray and the ushering in of a more elegant porcelain partitioner. Comfort food just got a tad more grown up. Does this mean we get to stay up and watch Letterman, too?

This summer Sean Avery went from shooting pucks to shooting models. Or at least getting coffee for the people that do. Now that he's Mensvogue.com's guest editor, we look at how The Most Hated Man in Hockey is doing at his new job.

Sean Avery seems adamant on convincing the world that his much-discussed, oft-maligned internship at Vogue magazine is more than just a lark—a desperate ploy for attention by a man infamous for seeking it—or just a flat-out attempt to meet girls (because sexy, rich hockey players have had so much trouble in the past, right?).

The fine folks over at AFI are at it again, looking for any way they can to compartmentalize a century worth of films into list-form. Although sometimes it feels like beating a dead horse, these lists of theirs can still make for a fun night of drinking and guessing games with you and your film snob friends. This time, AFI has broken down America's 10 greatest films in 10 classic genres including: Animation, The Western, Science Fiction, The Romantic Comedy, The Courtroom Drama, Fantasy, Gangster, Sports, Mystery and Epic. Although Citizen Kane is widely considered the greatest American film ever made, it was noticeably absent from any of the lists, as was Casablanca. Caddyshack however, was included so Bill Murray fans rejoice. Keep an eye out for AFI's next list, where they rank the top 100 films written by men named Henry or Steve.

Perhaps understanding that the Tonys get very little press outside of New York, Best actor winner Mark Rylance from Boeing-Boeing did his best at this past Sunday's ceremony to ensure that the rest of us stood up and took notice. A little excerpt from his acceptance speech: 'When you are in town, wearing some kind of uniform is helpful. Policeman, priest, etc. Driving a tank is very impressive.... If that isn't to your taste you could join the revolution.... If you go into the woods...it is a good idea to wear orange and carry a gun. Otherwise it might appear that you have no idea what you are doing.'' Forget the misty eyes, the granny tributes, the interracial smooches, and the operatic proclamations-of-love-while-jumping-erratically-across-the-stage (who was that guy again?)—this was a simple, understated poetry reading (a piece called ''Back Country,'' by Minnesota poet Lewis Jenkins), and it was truly one for the ages. View it after the jump.