Possible ways for Jeremy Piven to redeem himself: (a) return to Broadway in a sharp, well-reviewed play (not a revival) and stay with it to the end of his contact; (b) swear off poon by way of a Leonard Cohen celibacy at an ashram in eastern Oregon, (c) deliver a strong performance in a first-rate film that expands his range (i.e., nowhere near Ari Gold ); (d) buy some work boots, strap on a utility belt and help build low-income housing in some economically hurting area, a la Jimmy Carter, or do a Sean Penn and go to Iran/Iraq, braving bullets and shrapnel.

Because right now (and especially with the publication of this Ben Widdecombe story) Piven has solidified his rep as a legendary doofus that a lot of people would really and truly love to see fail.