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Ryan Gosling

Lisa O'Connor/ZUMA Press.com

Eddie Murphy, in an all-black ensemble, looked "yummy"—did I actually write that?—so says a java-jonesin' witness, at a Coffee Bean in L.A. this week. The Murphster was rollin' big in a beaut, shiny new Ferrari as he sipped on his brown stuff in his pricy car. Jeez, maybe the guy really is signed on for the Batman flick, 'cause you gotta be rollin' in dough to be sporting a ride like that in this economy. Oh wait, forgot. Eddie makes those ridiculous D-movies for billions of dollars, conveniently blocked that for a sec. Also forgetting the bad times was...

Ryan Gosling, in a raggedy tee that was just ripe to be ripped off, over at Bardot. He was looking unbelievably handsome rockin' some scruff as he deejayed his usual Monday-night gig. Turns out Ry actually has some talent 'cause the tunes perfectly accompanied the hipster, just outta- or into-bed vibe. Either that or the sea of drunken gals vying for his attention in front of the turntables was just for show. Far more discreet, and unnoticed, was Hairspray hunk...

James Marsden, getting dropped off at the Beverly Hilton Sunday for the Golden Globes, Wilshire side entrance, not the big splashy front-door entry where all the cameras, fans and red carpet barkers were creating pandemonium. James, clean-shaven in a handsome tux suit, was alone and unattended. No publicist. No date, fake or otherwise. No entourage. No SUV-supported team of goon-guards. Just him. And he was left entirely to himself. Now, I know James isn't exactly Brangelina here, folks, but he's famous and has a huge following. So if the totally put-upon, overly adored crowd really does want some privacy, there are ways. (They just pretend not to know about them.)