China has cut off access to the iTunes store after it was revealed that some Olympic athletes have downloaded a pro-Tibet album featuring, among others, tea-swilling bald Lothario Moby. Dear power structure: Please stop affirming Moby's self-importance. [Idolator]

There's probably been a time or two when you've been tempted to check out a restaurant or bar simply because some celebrity supposedly "owns" it. Maybe I'll see Justin Timberlake devouring a plate of ribs at Southern Hospitality! Or I'll spot Robert De Niro slurping on some pasta at Ago! Restaurateurs know this, too, of course, which is why they're all so eager to attach a celebrity name—any one will do!—to their ill-conceived bistro, brasserie, speakeasy, lounge, or barbecue shack. We don't want to be the ones to crush your dreams and tell you that there's no chance you'll see these famous faces at these venues. Just in case you're the more optimistic type—or just curious who has a stake in what—we happily introduce the Cityfile celebrity-owned restaurant/bar map!

Would you pay $150 to see a "weird, bald man," as KCRW radio host Nic Harcourt lovingly described Moby at a fundraiser last night for KCRW at the Malibu Performing Arts Center for the experimental station? Well, a few hundred people had no qualms with the "Little Idiot," as Moby likes to call himself, and shelled out big bucks in the name of sustaining their favorite local radio station.

Teabagging musician Moby has announced that he wants to marry Britney Spears. It's a revelation that comes a year too late in our opinion. (Can you imagine the bald wedding photos and horrible double-header jokes on Leno?) "She's like this Tennessee Williams tragic figure," he tells The Sun. "The fatter she gets, the weirder she gets, the more I love her. I found her moderately appealing in the late 90s, but now I would marry her in a heartbeat."

Moby, the beep-boop musician who unfortunately can't stop talking about himself, speaks to Salon today in that very particularly grating way that only Moby can. His formula, I'm figuring out, is to vigorously agree with every insult you throw his way, then go off on tangents about how, hey, he's not like all the other yuppies who act exactly how he acts, because of his revolutionary sympathies against our white male-dominated society. Then, speak much too openly about his own sexuality and personal problems. He follows this pattern today, reminiscing that "When I was DJing in the late '80s, more often than not I'd be the only white person in the club, and I found that strangely comforting." You'll surely have that gay minority child one day, Moby! So, please tell us more than we want to know about your sex life now!

Hey, everybody: Reluctantly heterosexual digital sampler Moby will be appearing LIVE at the Virgin Megastore in Union Square tomorrow to sign copies of his new CD! The flier instructs you to "purchase a copy of Last Night to receive a wristband to meet MOBY." Or, just hang around on the street outside with a cup of tea, talking loudly about how your gay children are going to be starring in a car commercial that could really use a good ambient soundtrack, and watch him come to you.

Grass-eating canned music maker Moby bought a $3 million house in the Hollywood Hills with alice+olivia designer Stacey Bendet in January, and his new neighbors have a message for him: Quiet down, prick. "Moby is turning the garage into his studio and the neighbors are all up in arms," said one resident, irked by excessive construction noise. "He should be careful. We just kicked Prince off the street for excessive noise." [P6]

Moby, the bald purveyor of computer music who is Amy Winehouse's anti-drug, will not stop speaking out on or against any and all things. Now, he is reassuring the gay community that, although he didn't have the luck to be born gay, he does hope that his kids will be [Advocate]. What does the hairless downtown master of background tunes like so much about the gays? "They have nice homes, bars, and restaurants." Ok then!

Moby, the purposely bald and nerdy musician frequently seen wandering the Lower East Side in search of commercials to score, is warning his brethren in the music industry about the dangers of drugs. "I look at Pete Doherty and Amy Winehouse, I wonder what they're going to be capable of when they're 30, in terms of cognitive and emotional abilities. Drugs burn you out," says the diminutive drum programmer, who knows too much about teabags. "You feel bulletproof if you're selling records and making money and everyone wants to sleep with you, but then things start to go wrong." In other news, somebody once wanted to sleep with Moby. [ohnotheydidnt]

I've always loved to watch Mark Cuban dance — but Tuesday night I got to see the billionaire booty-shaker up close. The venue: PureVolume Ranch in Austin, Texas. The occasion: The Bigg Digg Shindigg, South by Southwest Interactive's closing party. "You guys always picked the worst photos of me," Cuban said. Mark, as I said at Sunday's panel on gossip, I live to serve. Digg packed PureVolume's dance floor and backyard tents with hundreds of partygoers. Besides Cuban, Moby was there, as were Digg CEO Jay Adelson and cofounder Kevin Rose, iLike CEO Ali Partovi, StumbleUpon's Garrett Camp, and Automattic's Matt Mullenweg. RealNetworks CEO Rob Glaser had just flown in from Florida on a private jet. But for me the most interesting person was newly hired Digger Aubrey Sabala, who put the party together in three days — after Digg had given up on the idea.

• Britney Spears hanger-on Sam Lutfi must henceforth keep 250 yards from the singer because as Britney's mom reminded us, he "gave Britney Spears pills ground up in her food to keep her quiet and at one point he told Britney she had to take 10 pills a day if she wanted to see her two young children." [Reuters]

Once the king of electronica, Moby is better known these days for selling his tunes to the highest bidder, hanging out with socialites, and spouting liberal political views.

Remember the other famous musician who tried to busk in the subway? Except this one was Joshua Bell, "one of the finest classical musicians in the world." He made $32 in 45 minutes, and didn't even draw a crowd. [Washington Post]

Moby, international dj sensation andsensitive vegan weiner, took it upon himself to busk (that is, to play in the subway for money) at the Sloane Square tube stop. Sloane Square, btw, is where a particular type of attractive/annoying sensitive-y rich girl pashmina-scarf wearing girl hangs out. They are called Sloanies. You'd think that, since those type of people are Moby's target audience, he'd make a killing. But no! Our little bald honey bun hardly made anything at all. ""At the most I was given maybe £5 or £6, but that's fine because I was obviously not doing it for the money." Ah! I just read through the article in the London Paper. This guy is ridiculous.

Maybe the reason the Parkers and the the Maggies and the Mobys (Mobies?) and the Sarandobbins are so visible is because they're lonely and just want to make friends with their neighbors. At least, that's one theory from our stalker, whose sighting of Parker Posey ambling around the nabe is after the jump.

Moby sympathizes with the plight of captive creative minds imprisoned by corporate giants like MTV by signing an autograph for one of them. You know what she might appreciate more? A celebrity-sponsored health plan! [Via Flickr}

Each year (or really, every 11 months and two weeks or so, kinda), the Jews observe Yom Kippur, the day of atonement, during which leather shoes and doing it are totally forbidden. Then there are many apologies. Let it begin with us! Josh is up first because he's the Jewiest.

Moby, the human semicolon, has found a buyer for his four-floored five-terraced penthouse in the El Dorado. But good news for Moby does not good news for New Yorkers make. He's already said he wants to move back downtown—and with $7.5 million padding his Prana-pant pockets, he has a virtual run on the neighborhood. Also, what sort of crystal-toting gypsy is the buyer of his old place going to have to hire to rid it of the Moby mojo? Maybe Mica de Jesus has finally found her vocation.

"The Rivington Club taps into the same air of exclusivity as many of the city's hot spots, but its wares are kicks, not cocktails. The front door has a buzzer but not a sign; the tiny foyer gives way to a posh interior with red carpeting, black leather banquettes, and a chandelier. The new, vintage, and rare shoes are exhibited in a grid of individually lighted cubbyholes and a locked glass display box, and customers are perfectly willing to drop entire paychecks on the latest limited-edition Nikes. On Saturday, though, there was no mistaking the appropriate door at Rivington and Clinton: Carefully dressed kids peppered the storefront for a chance to get in—they couldn't—while two huge bouncers stood appointed on either side of a minidressed glam girl." All this plus Moby, and that fucking bench. God, we hate New York sometimes. [VV]

The date: June 24th
The place: Counter, 105 1st Avenue
The time: 12 p.m.
Sighted: "Ubiquitous imp Moby was having brunch at veggie-friendly bistro Counter. He sat in the back corner wearing a lime green t-shirt and upon finishing his meal, walked out wearing silly looking aviator shades with a fat red plastic rim."