LAT in 90 Seconds

Sweet Ride: After Mel Giblson was released on bail Friday morning, a uniformed Sheriff’s deputy drove him 10 miles from the Malibu-Lost Hills station to retrieve his Lexus LS sedan at the tow yard.

Department spokesweasel Steve Whitmore said, “We do this for someone from time to time at all of our stations.” Richard Winton, Andrew Blankstein and Megan Garvey also report that “officials decided to drive Gibson to avoid a confrontation with gathering media.”

Hmm. No preferential treatment, huh?

Mad Maxims: In other Mel news, Patrick Goldstein does an excellent job expanding upon what we’ve been saying here at FBLA: That Gibson will feel very little long-term repercussions from his remarks. Mostly, Goldstein writes, because Hollywood’s Jewish community is staying mum.

The only morality in this town that really means anything is the bottom line. When the president of Harvard said women made lousy scientists, his colleagues jumped all over him. When Atlanta Braves relief pitcher John Rocker made a series of nasty ethnic slurs about various minorities, he was roundly criticized and dumped from the team.

But when an actor-director who has won an Oscar, had a string of action hits and made “The Passion of the Christ,” one of the biggest-grossing movies in recent history, has an anti-Semitic hissy fit, the Big Kahunas of Hollywood are silent.

River of No Return? Canadian Singer Sherrie Lea Laird is walking around telling people she’s the reincarnation of Marilyn Monroe, which is fine. There’s a guy outside our building who believes he’s Jesus. But Laird is different. She’s got “science” on her side.

Adrian Finkelstein, a Malibu psychiatrist (until they take away his license, anyway), says he uncovered Laird’s luminous past using the highly controversial technique of past life regression. We’re not scientists. We’re not even allowed to buy Sudafed anymore. So we can’t pass judgement on past life regression, but we do have this question to Finkelstein and his ilk: Why, when people remember their “pasts,” were they always famous or horribly injured. Where are the insurance agents with 2.5 kids and a station wagon? Do they not get reincarnated, too?