But her recent detention in Vegas after a drunken, assaultive visit to Caesar's Palace is what really compelled our consideration here: Who is this Hebrew hellcat, anyway? After the jump, learn everything worth knowing about Semel's climb to sort-of fame.

I. KNOW YOUR SEMELS

Courtenay, 28, is one of three daughters born to billionaire ex-Warner Bros/Yahoo! chief Terry Semel and Jane Bovingdon Semel, a former secretary to Susan George. She attended the Loomis Chaffee School in Windsor, Conn., before abandoning education for... we don't know. This is a historical gap we have yet to fill in; suggestions are welcome.

Regardless, she's clearly been doing some philosophizing over the decades, culminating in the powerful declaration of principles held forth below:

II. KNOW HER CANON

Courtenay got her start in 1991, portraying the crucial role of "Bratty Kid" in the Bruce Willis flop Hudson Hawk. Her 2000 follow-up — the never-released indie thriller Sweetie Pie — is best known for a cast also including Paris Hilton, Whitestarr vocalist Cisco Adler and the offspring of Dustin Hoffman and Kelsey Grammer.

Her "break" (and all of ours, really, if we're being honest) came when she was cast alongside childhood friend Kourtney Kardashian, George Foreman III, Fabian Basabe, Brittny Gastineau, Shanna Ferrigno and other nepotism all-stars on the 2005 E! series Filthy Rich: Cattle Drive. The show featured Courtenay and Co. skipping the boilerplate South Beach coke getaways for a bit of reality-TV ranch-handery. Sadly, due in part to reasons listed below, it was not renewed for a second season.

III. KNOW HER ACCOLADES

Courtenay's otherworldly bitchy contribution to FR:CD was roundly commended by critics who cited her distinctive look ("like an overfed mutant chipmunk") and her performance as a "brattier, PMS’ing version of Haley Joel Osmond [sic]" — outmaneuvering even Basabe as the worst human being the show had to offer. Word is her father was happy with the performance in Hudson Hawk as well, but as of press time he has not responded to Defamer's requests for official comment.

IV. KNOW HER STYLE

Spoiled lipstick-lesbian chic, at once aggressively designed and thoroughly disposable — all spangles, trash, heels and hair.

V. KNOW HER LOVE LIFE

This is where it gets complicated. Courtenay has been very publicly attached to no fewer than three young women of varying celebrity since 2007, starting somewhat retroactively last winter with Lindsay Lohan. "Everyone thinks Samantha [Ronson] is Lindsay’s first lesbian love, but we were very passionate until her fear of being found out drove us apart," she was quoted as saying. "At the time she was terrified her career would be over if she revealed her sexual tendencies. But then Samantha came on to the scene and I was dropped.” That triangle was fleshed out a little more this week by our cousins at Gawker, who noted that Courtenay and Ronson both visited LiLo separately during her rehab residency.

Next came Johnson and Johnson heiress Casey Johnson, who made the gossip rounds last month after a canoodling binge with Courtney. Enter Tila Tequila, who showed up maybe a week ago? A couple weeks ago? Anyway, now they've found true love, as evidenced by the scorching red-carpet chemistry below:

Surely she must also have been some poor bastard's beard somewhere along the way; as always, your tips are welcome!

VI. KNOW HER EMPIRE

You mean besides her father's 10-figure net worth, divided four ways sometime in the next 15 to 20 years? Not so much. We guess she can always lobby for a Filthy Rich: Cattle Drive — The Complete Series DVD Box Set, even though Basabe probably has a 75/25 split written into his deal. He thinks of everything.

VII. KNOW YOUR FUN FACTS

· Has been a Kardashian family BFF since the age of 2.

· Intimate public displays of affection with Tila Tequila range from kissing to spoon-feeding ice cream in VIP areas.

· Reportedly drove off from this year's VH1 Rock Honors with Casey Johnson in a $160,000 Mercedes that wasn't theirs. They returned it a few minutes later.

Did we miss something? Chime in below — we're nothing without you.

[Photo Credits: Getty Images]

Alessi Skin Care Aligns With Celebrity Socialite Fabian Basabe to Raise Awareness for Their 'Face Forward' Campaign

SEE IT ALL UNFOLD ON THE LIFETIME CHANNEL'S RUNAWAY HIT 'TOP THIS PARTY'
TONIGHT (FRIDAY THE 15TH) AT 10/10:30 ET/PT

BEVERLY HILLS, Calif., Feb. 15 /PRNewswire/ — While world renown
Biochemist and facial plastic surgeon Dr. David Alessi may have developed a
line of the hottest and most sought after anti-aging products in the
country, it is his wife and CEO of Alessi Skin Care, Deborah Alessi, taking
the company to the next level by forging relationships that will forever
change the face of humanity — literally and figuratively.

Not only did both Alessis develop a successful company
(http://www.alessiskincare.com) built on superior biochemistry, but they
also built-in a component that arranges for a percentage of all product
sales to go toward the physical and emotional reconstruction of battered
women and children victimized by domestic and/or gang-related violence —
individuals who are incapable of affording the fees associated with proper
internal and external repair. That remarkable component is their non-profit
organization, "Face Forward" (http://www.facela.net). Established in 2007,
the organization is making great strides to elevate awareness, while
putting resources toward a problem that affects far too many households.

The Alessis have been searching for the right individual to step in and
act as a champion for the cause and push the organization into the
spotlight. The Alessis are proud to announce that their search has come to
an end. They have officially named celebrity socialite Fabian Basabe
(http://www.fabianbasabe.com) as the organization's spokesperson and they
couldn't be more enthusiastic. Like everything he does, Fabian kicked off
the relationship in style by hosting a monumental party in Las Vegas — a
party that will be featured tonight (Friday the 15th) on the Lifetime
Channel's hit show "Top This Party"
(http://www.mylifetime.com/on-tv/shows/top-party). Fabian plans on hosting
several more events to benefit the organization but the first is not to be
missed. The Alessi-Basabe connection will take a household epidemic out of
the shadows ... and onto the red carpet where it cannot be ignored.

Hud Morgan, who is trying to establish himself as a serious journalist after an apprenticeship under Lloyd Grove at the New York Daily News, was particularly offended by a photograph of him, standing awkwardly in a red scarf, beside Allison in her hand-on-hip pose. (This trademark look was so important to Allison that she campaigned to have the photo on her Wikipedia page changed.) The image, which was first posted to Allison's personal blog, was highlighted on Gawker, and mocked by commenters, to the irritation of Morgan's boss. Not the image that a Men's Vogue writer should be conveying.

But spare the sympathy for Morgan. It's not as if the louche writer is a naive victim of Allison's publicity machine. Morgan put himself front-and-center in Tabloid Wars, the 2006 documentary series on the Daily News, in which he agonized on screen about the shallow life of a gossip columnist's gofer, and then drowned his sorrows in free booze. Best line: "Can you get me a beer, because I'm such a man? I want to order a fruit-ini, but I'm on camera." And he's embarrassed Allison in public, before. At a party for Arianna Huffington in 2007, Morgan stole Allison's cellphone, and drunkenly read out text exchanges between the dating columnist and her magazine editor boyfriend of the time, Dave Zinczenko, paying particular attention to mentions of blow jobs and Allison's post-sex bruises. The Men's Health editor soon broke off the relationship.

That's all history; there is a statute of limitations on the offenses committed by drunken gossip columnists. But Morgan's rehabilitation, since moving to Men's Vogue, is superficial. Put aside yesterday's drunken rant at Beatrice Inn. (Allison can inspire rage in even the most sober of people.) Guess whom he's currently dating? It's almost too lurid to be true: Leven Rambin, the 17-year-old star of daytime soap, All My Children. The same Rambin whom Allison called her "adopted little sister", until the barely legal actress lured the dating columnist's geek boyfriend, Jakob Lodwick. (Incidentally, Hud Morgan was one of Allison's first friends in New York, introduced by Grove, whom she knew from Washington, D.C.) Rambin's guilt, now compounded by her latest fling, doesn't trump ambition: the teenaged actress avoids photographs with Allison, on her publicist's advice. "I'm like media kryptonite," Allison tells friends.

Conclusion: they all deserve eachother.

While recovering from our performance, what better to do then go through "Best and Worst Bodies of the Year" in this week Star magazine issue? So, between a longoria here and a Kate moss there, we flipped a page and suddenly realized that the world has gone mad!!!!! More or less, here you have the headline: "Oprah LIES! Her 60lbs weight gain is for eating binges and not a thyroid problem like she said". I mean!!! There are just some things that cannot be done, and believe me - my list on that one is pretty short, but even I know that you don't fuck with Oprah! People, do not abuse your freedom of speech, it is not a free world, it is Oprah's world, Star Magazine, you are in so much trouble! I met Oprah when I was invited to her show, an experience I will never forget, and trust me, there is no one bigger! When I said goodbye she hugged me, and I am still not sure weather she did it because she liked me or because she thought I needed and hug, but whatever the case... StarMag, what are you thinking, accusing Oprah of lying and calling her fat!

Also he got a text from a friend that said Whoopi Goldberg was blowing rails at The Cock, which leads him to pose a fascinating thought question about which famous daytime TV black lady "you" would rather sleep with. Totally gross, Fab! That'd be almost like kissing a girl!

The Life and Times of Fabian Basabe: "...but even I know that you don't f*ck with Oprah" [Fabian Basabe's Blog]
Image via Rob Rich

The truth is... I want to work. I got a call the other day from Howard Stern's people, to do a pre-interview while they consider having me on the show. The man asked me a series of ludicrous questions about my life, relationships and my past, which I delivered in truth. Then he asked me why would I want to be on the show, what did I have to promote... I had no answer. But then I thought about it... ME! I have to promote me! It is not that I do not want to work, it is that I can't get a job! People think I don't need it or I would not take it seriously. That simply is not true! For the last year I have been working hard to clean up my act. I paid a high profile PR man $10,000 per month to keep me out of the press, unless it was positive. I got an agent to market me and I have some projects in the works. But I have a windstorm of negative press and misrepresentations that make it difficult to get things going. Even if I call in favors or throw money at the problem.

Armin to Get You Hammered: Bungalow 8 Doorman Is Opening His Own Joint [NYO]

This Ground Report about the burlesquey goings-on there this past Saturday night caught our eye with this sentence:

Man-about-town Fabian Basabe dances wildly next to Raven O, the otherworldly Master of Ceremonies responsible for the frenzy.

Fabian Basabe was there too, mostly all over Raven O, but the MC didn't recognize the oil tycoon [Ed: haha, what?] and only tried to evade his claw-like grip and drunken advances. Really, Fabian, at least pretend to be straight-ish.

Club Row Moves to Chrystie Street [Ground Report]

Charges Are Shown the Door [Page Six]
Earlier: Gawker's Coverage of Fabian Basabe

"Fabian, who once was named one of Gotham's most eligible bachelors, is now happily married and focused on his charity work and television career while still contributing as a celebrity features editor to Glamour and Gotham magazine."

Fabian's a bit of an exaggerator? Gee, it makes us wonder what else he's fudging the details about in that bio. Hmm. Still thinking . . .

The Imagin(heir)y Editor [WWD]

In the past, Basabe has said his father is a telephone mogul from Ecuador. The reality is, his father (also named Fabian) is a Bal Harbour, Fla., hotel owner with two failed restaurants who's been in and out of court in Florida for his apparent inability to pay bills on time . . . In 2001, Basabe Sr. filed for bankruptcy, which his son later said was part of the family's "business strategy." The business strategy must have been tough to implement; Basabe Sr. was still facing new lawsuits in 2004.

• Hearst has no fucking clue who should edit Seventeen. That's because the 'Toos is irreplaceable. [Radar]
  
• Isn't a densely populated urban area like Manhattan a risky place to set up a meth lab? [ABC7]
  
• Where Fabian Basabe and the Tinz were hanging out last night. [Paper]
  
• New York pizza, overthought. [TONY]

  (Image via)

Walking into the lobby where the party was held, which, rumor has it, was not even in the actual building, just a rented promo space, I was struck by a sudden urge to get ridiculously drunk. Luckily, since I got there right at 9 p.m. like the good little slave I am, pretty much the only people there were me and some bored-looking ladies in yellow dresses serving cocktails. Nice. Also nice? One of the other three people there was Mr. Balazs himself. (Did you know it was pronounced with a soft "g" at the end, like it rhymes with mirage? I didn't. Awkward.) Anyway, dude is smoking hot, all tan and perfect haired. Nice work there, Uma. But I digress. So the space looked sort of like an old bank, with the bar being where the tellers used to be. On either side of the room were sample units. It was kind of like getting drunk at a fancy Ikea. A really fancy Ikea. One with couches made of what appeared to be horse skin. (Do people do that? Does anyone know?). Also, rich people apparently like to bathe together, because the bathtubs were big enough for at least fifteen anorexic model types. There were belly dancers with fire and one chick working a hula hoop like I have never seen. Enjoy:

It's just fascinating how the other half lives. This being my first party crash, I was understandably nervous. My nerves were calmed however by the arrival of my fellow Gawker peeps: editorial director Lockhart Steele, interns Scott and Stephanie, photographers Katie and Nikola, and videographer Richard. The few glasses of wine didn't hurt either.

I realized quickly that my usual party MO — standing in the corner and making fun of people — was not going to be acceptable, so I tried chatting up a few folks. After telling Lloyd Grove I was his biggest fan, (Not even a lie! I miss that Lowdown!), I tried to mingle with two women from Women's Wear Daily. Unfortunately, they barely made eye contact with me until I told them I worked for Gawker. Maybe they smelled the Old Navy on me. (Note to self, next time write down snotty ladies' names for use in write-up.)

By 11:30 p.m. everyone was drunk enough to start smoking inside and I had the pleasure of getting a once-over from Mr. Fabian Basabe (Impressive!). It was a good time. I mean, booze is booze, no matter how rich and important the people serving it are, right? The biggest disappointment? Moby, whose name appeared on the shot list but was nowhere to be found at the party. Sad.

Beaver Bar Grand Opening [Photos]

For starters, I'm almost certain the apocalypse is coming because Richard arrived before I did. Nevertheless, I continue on my mission: stalking debutards and one moderately wealthy media man who pretends to be more important than he really is so he can score a 25-year-old piece of twat. Twenty points or a 25-year-old piece of twat for anyone who can guess that not-so-blind item. Kate hands me a list of 24 people who are supposed to grace the hotel with their presence. Oh! Melissa Berkelhammer, possible contestant on America's Next Debutard? The only other name I recognize is Fabian Basabe. Yeah, it's time for a drink.

Sometime between the first drink and the second, the three of us notice it-boy-of-unknown-identity. A waitress, who looks like she would rather be at home repolishing her perfectly sculpted pedicure, says it's Fabian Basabe. I'm not so sure. I read Socialite Rank and occasionally glance at New York Social Diary for the pretty pictures of rich people in pretty outfits. Seriously, isn't that the only reason people "read" that site, and by read I mean occasionally glance at it for the pretty pictures of rich people in pretty outfits?

Somehow, Kate discovers the identity of It-boy-of-unknown-identity and scribbles it on the back of the folded press release. I glance at it, don't recognize the name, and shove the paper back into my bag. Later I discover it-boy-of-unknown-identity is Kamar De Los Reyes from One Life to Live. This is meaningless to me. The only soap I watch is Passions. Go ahead. Groan. My family and friends are ashamed too. I, however, am not. Meanwhile, Richard is capturing the excitement of women sitting on red couches near tables decorated with red candles near the red carpet floor. Clearly, this party is too hip for its own good. If you don't believe me, check out this counter-intuitive example: Jay McInerney as the most boring, unsexy porn orator on earth.

In typical Gawker fashion, I accost people who you pretend not to give a shit about, but kind of, but sort of have a natural, unhealthy obsession for because, well, you can't explain it and neither can I. First is Lloyd Grove, best known for his short-lived "Ask Lloyd Grove" column. I ask boring questions. Intriguing questions are for grossly overpaid New Yorker editors whose idea of hip involves a yacht and a bottle of San Pellegrino.

Me: Anything you'd like to say about Gawker?
Lloyd: I finally got paid. So I'd like to say thanks for the check, Nick.
Me: I'm so going to use that.
Lloyd: No, don't say that.
Me: Okay.

Don't edit that out, okay? Thanks! There was also Brooke "Belle in the Big City" Parkhurst, but I have a rule against making punch lines at easy targets. Next is Page Six's Richard Johnson.

Richard: Today, Gawker mentioned my wife Nadine. They called her Nadine "I Used to Fuck Richard" Johnson.
Me: Oh yeah! I read that.
Richard: Well it's true. I did used to...

That was salacious and awkward, kind of like those puberty manuals from high school health classes that discuss how your body is going through a series of changes and it's okay to touch yourself when mommy and daddy aren't around. Paula Froelich mentions having dinner with a sexually liberated, Oscar-nominated movie director. Candace Bushnell mentions being a prude. Jay McInerney mentions sex without reading glasses. Kate mentions it is time for us to leave.

On the way out, I notice Fabian Basabe chatting with Olivia Palermo. I'll skip introducing her as a socialite because I hate introducing people as socialites and because she was No. 24 on last week's power ranking. On a side note, I am getting tired of Tinsley hogging the top spot. And now, the million-dollar question.

Me: What do you think of Gawker?
Fabian: I've been impressed at times, but it needs to stay original.

Readers and debutards, please welcome the latest Gawker creation: "Stay Original" t-shirts. Available never at no store near you.

SPECIAL BONUS: A concerned member of the community was kind enough to pass along the below transcript of Paula Froelich's introductory remarks. No representation is made regarding the accuracy of said remarks or their literary/educational value. Void where prohibited.

I was trying to figure out how to open the festivities. At first I thought, how about doing my love life through the lyrics of 80s hair metal bands or country music songs. You know like David Allen Post 'Now I lay me down to sleep' or Journey's 'I'm going to keep loving you, it's the only thing I want to do, I won't sleep, I won't eat, I just want to keep loving you' that guy totally dump me, by the way, that asshole. Or Poison's 'Every Rose Has It's Thorn' I mean come on, so true. Seriously. Poison knew what they were talking about. I grew up in Ohio [inaudible].

So anyway, because of recent events in my love life, I thought I would start off with some anecdotes of, well, what else? Bad dating. Because let's be honest, that's what I do best. That, and not taking my own advice or heeding obvious warning signs. Such as, you know it's not going well when fourteen minutes into dinner, you ask your date, who's a well-known Wall Streeter—you all know him I just can't say his name—and he's been going on and on about homosexuality. So you kind of lean over and say, Excuse me, are you homosexual? And he looks at you and goes, not right now. And you go, what the fuck? And he goes, I used to dabble in it when I was younger however, just to set your mind at ease, I can totally tell you I'm an anal virgin. However, I totally sympathize with what women have to go through when they give a blowjob, if you know what I mean. And meanwhile I wouldn't, like, I missed the freaking point. My motto has always been, subtlety just confuses people. But hi, he didn't do ass.

Anyhow, it's also not going well when you notice your boyfriend of several months—a well-known TV personality—can only get off if he's having sex with you from behind while watching himself on the TV. It's kind of like getting spitroasted by the same guy. Fabulous. You should all try it.

Or, you know it's not going well when your indie film producer blind date says, you know you can probably tell by the look on my face that something's wrong. Because I knew him for all of five minutes beforehand, FYI. I'm like, oh really? No why? And he's like I totally shouldn't tell you. I'm like, oh come on I'm a gossip columnist, I won't tell anyone. And then he goes well you know, my ex-girlfriend just called and said that she's two months pregnant with my child. However, that bitch could totally be lying. I'm like, ohmygod, what are you a Ricki Lake show [inaudible]? I mean, hell. We didn't go on a second date.

But you know it's also not going well after you're fooling with this guy, he's totally cute, he's an Irish Catholic, from one of the boroughs, I won't say which one, and you wake up and you're hey, what's up, I'm putting on one of your shirts, I hope you don't mind. And he looks and he goes, oh my god that's not my shirt. And you go why not? And he goes it's my roommates. And I go what? And he goes, yeah, we're in my roommates room. And you go, [gasp!] Why are we not in your room? And he was like, oh well you know, it was closer? But his room was right next door so of course I want to go see his room, right? I check out his room, which by the way, his bed had hospital corners, above it was a bleeding Jesus Christ crucifix, and on the nightstand, an 8x11 glossy of his mother. [Loud gasp!] Holy shitbuggers! [inaudible] But there's more.

You probably should not go out with a guy who on the first date gets totally shitfaced, and by shitfaced I mean wobbling shitfaced. Seven hour date, at first I thought he was kinda hot and I just wanted to see where it would go. He gets totally shitfaced and at the end, randomly he screams out, "WE CAN FUCK BUT YOU CAN'T HAVE MY BABY!" I'm like holy shit, like I was going to inseminated myself right there, I mean it's not like I'm fucking 35. Not yet! Had my annual 25th for the eighth year in a row. So horrible, I ended up dating him for like 5 months. It didn't work out.

But the biggest warning sign that it's just not going to work out is when you're on a date with an Oscar-nominated, screenplay writer/director and he sits there and looks at you and says, "I spent much of December in Brazil with Fabio." And which point the hairs on the back of my neck stood up because it's kind of like saying you went to a strip joint with Tara Reid—nothing good can come of that shit. And so I go, oh? And he goes, well on my trip to Brazil with Fabio where I fucked so many women, my dick broke. And I'm like, ooohhh. And he goes, no really I've got the scabs to prove it. And I go holy shitbuggers, I'm from Ohio, where I come from we call that an STD. And he goes, no. I went to the doctor, I'm totally clean. And which point I was like, ha ha ha [inaudible]. It didn't really go anywhere after the second date, but thank goodness I am still an eternal optimist which is why, hi. I'm free, hi, if there's any straight ones out there [no one responds]. And also, is our first reader, Candace Bushnell who after many years of kissing frogs finally found her prince but is still going to regale us with stories of bad sex. All pre-Charles I'm sure. Just FYI, Charles is a stallion from what I've heard....

Svedka Erotica @ Gramercy Park Hotel [Photos]

He thinks he crashed two BMW's in one weekend, and is not even clear on how many boarding schools kicked him out. "I don't know, maybe seven? Six, seven, nine?," he said.

He was also kicked out of college, says Fabian. "I brought my dogs to class, I sometimes didn't go to class," he said.

Basabe is no longer crashing cars or trying to stay in school, and says that he's focusing his energies on philanthropy, and pursuing a career as a TV personality. But he also seems to be focusing a lot of his energies on partying. "Premium liquor and champagne flowing, and ... caviar bars, and you know, all the stuff that you see in movies, and it's great," Basabe said.

He said over the years the partying had been financed by his father, who Basabe says is a rich business man who gives him a generous allowance (Basabe would not say specifically how much he's given). Basabe is also married to an heiress of the La Perla fortune.

He doesn't need the income, but Basabe did try the 9 to 5 routine.

About five years ago he took a job on Wall Street and said it was "great."

"I met people, I saw an office, you know, the cubicles, and you know, lunch at your desk, and I saw a lot of that," Basabe said.

But ultimately he said the working life, "just wasn't interesting enough for me."

"And it's a tough life. I mean, they work until one in the morning," he said.

Basabe quit the job and hasn't had steady employment since.

Earlier: Fabian Basabe's Filthy Rich Cattle (Drunk) Drive