Lindsay Lohan at the Boom Boom Room (Patrick McMullan)

Now that Lindsay Lohan has been kicked out of the Chateau Marmont for not paying her $46,000 bill, it is time for her to pack her bags and move Eastward. Surprisingly, the LAPD is letting her do this, despite the fact that up until yesterday she was the prime suspect in yet another jewel-swiping case. And what of The Canyons? Will no one think of The Canyons?

Just when you hoped that New York City had successfully dodged its last   heat-seeking paparazzo after Los Angeles' native Kim Kardashian left the Gansevoort, the New York Daily News is reporting that LiLo is moving to Tribeca and rooming with her assistant.

But where will she ultimately be hanging her temporary hat? We have some ideas.

The Plaza: She can search for Madeline while participating in Park Ave's  illustrious history of jewel heists.

 Gansevoort Park Avenue: It's got the Kardashian seal of approval. Plus, they have the loudest, drunkest, and  most annoying roof parties, which should act as a homing beacon to Ms. Lohan.

Chelsea Hotel: The used-to-be-cool, asbestos-filled death trap is basically a metaphor for the actresses' entire career, except that Bob Dylan has never been inside Lindsay Lohan. That we know of.

The Standard: They have the Boom Boom Room, which offers Red Bull, and Cat Marnell, who offers angel dust.

Tribeca Grand: There is literally no better place to shmooze with downtown celeb scenesters, potential directors, or Harvey Weinstein.

The Wythe: Where better to listen to Skrillex and party with a bunch of dirty hipsters?

Courtyard Marriott on 92nd: She can get high on the over-chlorinated pool while staying close enough to Dorrian's to chill with Pat Kelly and Shane Spencer. Also the only place on the list she can afford.

Dream Downtown: Owner Vikram Chandal will be sure to give her a discount.

Tribeca Twelve: You know, when she needs to keep a low profile and pretend to be sober for a couple days.

Brett Cohen, fooling the world! (YouTube)

"Normal guy" Brett Cohen punked a bunch of Times Square tourists recently when he hired a crew of cameramen, bodyguards and assistants to follow him around 42nd Street and pretend like he was somebody special. It totally worked! People thought he was famous and tried to get his autograph or have him pose for a picture while pretending to know who he was or why they should care about him. Because, you know ... sheeple.

Except, here's the thing. Well, here's the video, and then here's the thing.

http://youtu.be/XYU1a0lTTTw
From the description on YouTube:

He dressed up like a typical celebrity and was accompanied by an entourage of two professional bodyguards, two assistants, and photographers pretending to be paparazzi. While the assistants and photographers waited for Brett to exit the 49th street marquee at NBC Studios, they started a buzz that a "big star" was about to walk out, thus making it worth their while to wait and get a picture. Many asked the crew whom Brett was, and no answer was given. They were forced to either make something up, or just take a picture with him in hopes that their Facebook friends or Twitter followers might have a better idea.

This social experiment, of sorts, makes a profound statement about how modern culture is so attracted to pop culture, without any real credibility needed.

Ugh. No. Sorry, it's not a "profound statement" to grab the attention of hordes of people in Times Square, especially when you have scouts running around announcing the arrival of a famous person. We've literally seen crowds form 50-deep on 42nd Street to gawk at a horse taking a dump, or a small person in a foam outfit. In one unfortunate incident, foot traffic stopped entirely so everyone could crowd around a guy who they thought was some sort of magician/street performer but turned out to be a severely schizophrenic person who kind of looked like Criss Angel. You'd think that people would be able to tell the difference, but this is a patch of Manhattan where the Naked Cowboy is an attraction, not a deterrent, so there you go.

People in Times Square will literally stop and photograph anything. That's why it takes half an hour for your cab to get through Midtown, regardless of the time of day.

So what did this experiment actually prove? It proved you could get a bunch of gullible foreigners to look silly by having your cameraman ask leading questions about your hit single or your acting career. Though in all honesty, a number of people seemed to legit have you confused for Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark’s Reeve Carney. (Though a much more obvious celebrity lookalike would have been Andrew Rannells, or possibly Seth MacFarlane’s younger brother.)

Or maybe it proved that if you spend enough money on a fake entourage, you can be important to a bunch of strangers who won't remember who you were the next morning.

Or maybe you just proved that Andy Warhol was exactly right about the future of celebrity.

Or, most likely, you just proved to your parents that sending you to college was a terrible idea, since you just ended up pulling this shit with cash you could have used to pay off your student loans.

James Franco, Renaissance man. (HuffPost)

James Franco, the real voice of our generation, has taken time out from his busy schedule of Art and Teaching and also Learning to begin a Huffington Post diary. It's about time!

So what important issue of our times is Mr. Franco tackling? President Obama's stance on gay rights? The construction of Marina Abramovic's performance space over on the Hudson? His new album, perhaps?

Those are all great guesses, but James Franco is actually here to talk to us today about a matter close to his heart: Haunted tours in New Orleans that he took with his Nana. (Which is the name of his Japanese hairdresser, not his grandmother.)

As you would expect, Nicolas Cage is name-checked several times over the course of this hard-hitting piece of journalism :

I had great memories of living in the Quarter a decade ago, when I acted in Nicolas Cage's directorial debut, Sonny. I guess New Orleans is the place actors go to direct their first films. We were shooting Sonny when Mardi Gras came around, and Nic was crowned King of Bacchus in the Krewe of Bacchus parade. I was on a different float, but I threw plenty of beads.

I had a similar experience during the Sonny shoot, when Nic Cage and I purposely took the two haunted rooms in the Bourbon Orleans Hotel, itself a former convent. My room was said to house the spirit of a nun who had leapt from the window. After unpacking my bags, I heard the sound of rushing water and realized that the sink in the bathroom was running full blast. It hadn't been on when I entered the room, and its knob wasn't the least bit loose.

We also visited a strange mansion that at one point was owned by Nicolas Cage. It was the site of horrific medical/carnival experiments on slaves in the vein of Human Centipede. About 200 years ago, the mansion belonged to a rich socialite with red hair. A fire broke out during one of her parties, and the fireman who answered the call discovered a chamber that smelled so bad it brought them to their knees, retching. Inside were living and dead victims of a variety of mutilations: amputations, limbs exchanged between people, sexes switched (meaning dicks were sewn onto women), skin flayed in designs to turn the victims into "human caterpillars" and other grotesque monstrosities. The house is still occupied, but it has not had a single owner for more than a five-year period.

In conclusion: human centipedes, Nicolas Cage, New Orleans, ghosts. Let's just hope that this experience doesn't inspire Mr. Franco's syllabus at NYU next semester with over-eager undergrads. Or even scarier...a new book collection.

Sipping a drink, or tipping off the team? (Getty Images)

Much has been made the last several days of the secretive nature of Jay-Z's conversations while sitting in the front row of basketball games (Knicks and Nets). He covers his mouth to avoid lip-readers, has a secret handshake for friends like LeBron James, and may be using some form of covert CIA-level cryptology to alert his posse that he needs more popcorn.

We took a look at pictures of Jay enjoying games throughout the years to see if we could decipher his gestures.

He left his Twitter friends with a series of links to Youtube videos of the final movement of Mahler's 9th symphony, a section of the work Leonard Bernstein once rapturously described as the composer's transcendent farewell to the world.

Alec Baldwin works on so many different levels. With the links to Mahler, for instance, Baldwin added an unexpected and subtle dose of good old late German Romantic Weltschmerz to the Twitter experience. We don't get that from Kanye, now do we?

Back on Twitter

— AB (@alecbaldwin) January 7, 2012

You get everything from Words With Friends to the transcendental musical meditations of Gustav Mahler from Alec Baldwin, and that's why we're glad he's back and repeat what we said when he left in December: lay off the man. Let him play word games and muse on the Haitink interpretation of Mahler in peace.

Kanye West, not speaking

At any rate, we now know why everyone thought Mr. West was being so nice and respectful to the protesters yesterday: He didn't yell at them.

Lindsay Lohan, an American in Bellagio.

New York's Fashion Week wasn't exactly a picnic for Lindsay Lohan. In a single night she managed to throw cocktails at a cameraman in the Boom Boom Room and a photographer in Electric Room, while also causing a commotion when a woman sitting next to her started bleeding profusely. The next day, she was banned from the Marc Jacobs party, crashed it anyway, and was forcibly removed. The city's tabloids are still having a field day over that one.

But it's been a week and a half. An eternity, really. Surely she's been up to some fresh mischief, right? Well, not in New York -- Lohan's skipped town to Milan, where she's doing slightly more than just perusing the party circuit. Designer Philipp Plein chose the embattled star to be the face of his new line.

"Lindsay is a beautiful, highly acclaimed actress and model," Mr. Plein said, in a statement. "We will be able to create unique images: Refined and luxurious, but also full of sensuality."

The gig has kept her busy. She attended the runway show Saturday, and was spotted by The Daily Mail in Bellagio, Italy taking in a shooting on the steps of a villa. Lindsay, you're keeping it together!

So, with her acting career stalled, and no sign of resuscitation on the horizon, has Lindsay Lohan rebranded herself as a damaged go-to muse for artists and designers? T asked the question during the Venice Biennale, when she provided the inspiration for a floating work by Richard Phillips. And she'll have a staring role in the "Well Hung" exhibition, from bad boy artists Maximilian Wiedemann and Tyler Shield, which opens at Imitate Modern in London next month.

All she needs now is a few more high-profile lines to embrace her. Perhaps something later this week, in Paris? Details about Kanye West's show Saturday are still very slim, so who knows what could happen.

Christie's auction house will sell the jewels, clothes and art of Elizabeth Taylor in auctions late this year or next, with some of the proceeds likely going to benefit the American Foundation for AIDS Research, which she co-founded in 1985. But the deal has been in the works for nearly a decade, and Taylor's estate planning overall has been marked by savvy, sophisticated strategies designed to make a glittering, history-making spectacle that will bring a tremendous windfall to her heirs and favored charities.

From preemptively establishing clear title in court to an eight-figure Vincent van Gogh, to structuring her will in a manner that keeps it out of the public record, and cutting an elaborate financial and marketing deal with Christie's years before her death, people close to these matters said, Ms. Taylor was planning ahead.

Most notably, in the fall of 2006, in an arrangement that resembled a reverse mortgage in extremis, the star--who in her later years asked that Christie's employees call her "Dame Taylor"--contracted with the auction house to sell her property there after her death in exchange for a private multimillion-dollar line of credit, people close to the matter said. Insiders declined to comment on the extent of the financing, but it was likely in excess of $10 million.

Did the legendary, eight-times-married Academy Award winner really need the cash? While there are published rumors that Ms. Taylor's estate may be valued at up to $1 billion--"Tabloid reports of the potential value are, as ever, wildly exaggerated," according to a spokeswoman for the actress--at that time, at least, she may have needed it. Her publicly traded House of Taylor jewelry company (ticker symbol: HOT) was facing difficulties. It was de-listed by Nasdaq and in 2008 filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy protection.

Christie's, meanwhile, had had a long history with Ms. Taylor. Along with fifth/sixth husband Richard Burton, buying on her behalf, Taylor was a client of both Sotheby's and Christie's, and both companies had hosted galas to benefit amfAR, in part to curry favor with the acting legend. But in 1999, Christie's had a significant success that paved the way for future business dealings. It auctioned the lush blue gown she wore to the 1969 Academy Awards for $150,000, at that time the second-highest price ever paid for a dress at auction. According to Christie's, proceeds from the sale of it and 55 other dresses worn by other stars to the Academy Awards generated about $787,000 for amfAR. Later, Christie's would go on to aid Ms. Taylor in the publication of her 2003 limited-edition book, My Love Affair With Jewelry.

The notable jewels in the Taylor collection, according to a Christie's 2006 statement, include the 33-carat Krupp diamond ring, the LaPeregrina pearl (a Valentine present from Burton), an antique diamond tiara (a gift from her third husband, the producer Mike Todd), a Taj Mahal heart-shaped yellow diamond necklace (a gift from Burton), that Duchess of Windsor diamond brooch, a 29-carat diamond ring (a gift from Todd), the pear-shaped 69-carat Taylor-Burton diamond and the spectacular Grand Duchess of Russia emeralds, said to be among her favorites.

The jewelry collection was appraised about 15 years ago, according to people close to the matter, at $30 million to $40 million, but is more valuable now, especially in the context of a blockbuster Greta Garbo- or Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis-style marketing campaign. Christie's likely take of the Taylor trove is undisclosed. Normally, an auction house nets, after expenses, about 14 percent to 20 percent from a sale's proceeds, with commissions coming from both buyers and sellers. In the April 1996 "Jackie O" sale at Sotheby's, however, the auction house was guaranteed a higher percentage if the sale went above certain target levels, which it did--in other words, it was rewarded for its ability to hype the merchandise and generate bidding fever.

As for the disposition of the estate, who will get what? Taylor structured her will as a "revocable living trust"--which is generally a private contract between the decedent and trustees (who include, in this case, her son with second husband Michael Wilding, Christopher E. Wilding). Unless her heirs dispute the division of the estate and file a lawsuit questioning the validity of the trust, it will likely remain private.

In an email, Taylor's attorney, Paul Gordon Hoffman, wrote that as the actress "wished to keep her personal and financial situation private, I cannot confirm or deny" any matters not in the public record.

But Taylor's estate planning literally seemed to go as far as the Supreme Court. An effort by heirs of a Jewish art collector to recover her 1889 van Gogh landscape went all the way to the highest court in 2007. Taylor's father, an art dealer, bought the painting, Vue de l'Asile et de la Chapelle de Saint-Rémy, for her in 1963. She offered it at auction decades later, but, with a high reserve and under a cloud as to its legal title, it failed to sell. Relatives of the original owner had claimed it, saying it had been sold only under duress. But the district court dismissed their suit as untimely. And the high court opted not to hear the appeal.

Though Christie's declined to comment on any specifics of the Taylor auctions, the house is likely to offer that van Gogh along with other somewhat less notable Impressionist and post-Impressionist works from her collection. (Articles on Taylor over the years refer to works by Renoir and Degas, some displayed on the boat she owned with Burton.) As for the prospects for that van Gogh, a person close to the initial, unsuccessful sale of it said Taylor once reported she had had a dream that the painting of a chapel and asylum would fetch $27 million.

Sounds like as good an estimate as any.

apeers@observer.com

"Oh I'm sorry..." the endlessly leggy Ms. de la Huerta cooed, or rather warbled, to The Observer. We were standing with her at a Playboy party, under the High Line, and with one shoestrap broken she leaned on us, palms flung around the nape of our neck. She had given a reading that night from Madame Bovary, during which she crossed and uncrossed her legs and cradled the hardback in her forearm. She was not wearing any underwear. It was October.

It would be a few cold months before we again found ourselves in the presence of Ms. de la Huerta, this time at the Top of the Standard. The casket-sized smoking deck affixed to the Boom Boom Room smashes you with the other nicotine freaks, making collision inevitable. Vertigo, too--feet are forced to stand precariously on a glass ceiling, the cobblestoned Meatpacking streets miles below. Paz was there. She was a silhouette in the smoke. Red lipstick, an outline of her sash, arms dangling inert at her sides. She was having a Champagne and swayed until leaning on the wall. It was probably not her first glass.

"Ohhhh, wowwww..." she hummed as we approached her. Conversation was metered in sighs.

Then last Sunday, in that same golden canopy of the Standard Hotel, Ms. de la Huerta peaked. After reality show star Samantha Swetra accused her of being drunk, the actress famous for being just that hurled a cocktail and clocked Ms. Swetra square in the nose, Gatecrasher first reported. Lindsay Lohan was on hand to pluck shards out of the victim's leg.

Closure will come after Ms. de la Huerta appears in court April 18--TMZ confirmed that Ms. Swetra filed a police report this morning--but her image has already been altered for good, and for the better. Could this be a return to the pre-recession spree of catfights and punch-outs? Such antics have been missing from the lives of our idols. Perhaps they could be back.

Either way, this news confirms that Paz de la Huerta is the most gloriously fascinating American celebrity we have left.

nfreeman [at] observer.com | @nfreeman1234