Page Six is reporting that somebody is going through celeb trash in order to "bare their secrets," such as the prescription for Mary Louise-Parker's thyroid medication. Surprisingly, that "someone" is not Page Six themselves. We have to congratulate the garbage trawler—that's great shoe-leather reporting. (Maybe it was Village Voice editor Tony Ortega—that's how he got his got his hot Harvey Weinstein scoop!) Since we sadly have a bit of experience in dumpstering, here's a how-to guide on finding interesting things in the trash—especially since the economy's going straight to hell and you might need to.

This is the worst Friday we can remember since the last terrible one. Darnell Hudson, mother to almost universally loved Oscar-winner and American Idol contestant Jennifer Hudson, was murdered in Chicago today. "Investigators said two shooting victims were discovered inside a home belonging to Hudson's mother just before 3:00 this afternoon," local TV reports. The other victim: her brother Jason. Police are releasing no details except to say it was "domestic," which means... not a robbery, we suppose. Just sad.

Moby is a maker of annoying electronic music, a gentrification-contributor due to his Lower East Side vegan tea-shop, and a very rich man who's invested in Manhattan real estate. He's also out at basically every media party/clusterfuck in town, on the scene and ready to be quoted. Yet, we are still mean to him. That's why he asked our publisher at a recent party, "Why are Gawker commenters so mean? Why can't I be a beloved neighborhood figure?"Well, we don't know, Moby, we hear from multiple sources that you are very endearing! But come on: you can "free Tibet" and be concerned about deforestation and moan about the gentrification of the city (that you are contributing to) all you want—but you're still a capitalist who just sold some multimillion dollar property in the East Village to a Texan natural-gas broker. Chalk it up to a difference in philosophy. [Curbed; NY Observer]

Actor Tobey Maguire has had another confrontation with the ever-dogged paparazzi, this incident ending in bloodshed. Apparently, his friend punched some photographer and was hauled off to jail. This is the second such outburst for the Spider-Man star, but he's not the only one to lash out at the wicked, prying photogs and their gaggle of flashing lights and inane questions. After the jump take a took at five other celebrities who have stood up and barked "No!" at the insidious rabble.

Sigh. Even though he was funny in that movie Tropic Thunder and his upcoming eye-patch epic Valkyrie actually doesn't look that bad, everyone still hates Tom Cruise. Always with the hating of Tom Cruise! Anti-Scientology protester group Anonymous is scheduled to once again picket at the Schoenfeld Theater, where his bewitched wife Katie Holmes is acting in a play. Last time they had signs that said things like "Free Katie, keep Tom," which is just mean, y'all. And now New York actress grand dame Lauren Bacall hates Tom too: "Tom Cruise is a maniac. I can't understand the way he conducts his life," the octogenarian told Elle magazine in a recent interview. She added that his "whole behavior is so shocking . . . inappropriate and vulgar." She was reacting to his breakup with wife Nicole Kidman, which occurred when Kidman accidentally burned herself on the radiator at their London home, causing her to suddenly snap out of the foggy hypnotic state she'd been in, like when Short Round burns Indy in Temple of Doom so he'll stop doing Mola Ram's bidding. [P6]

Everyone tortures themselves with this question: Did the parties used to be better? Probably not; It's just your mind playing tricks, pining for that magical time back when you and your friends were young and free and ready to take on the world—years before life and consequences trammeled your spirit. That said, New York magazine, as part of its 40th anniversary, has a slideshow of 40 years of parties. Here's one of precocious little brat Drew Barrymore chatting up party guest Moon Zappa... when she was ten. [New York]

Senstive, bloggy musician John Mayer—when not giving impromptu interviews on a SoHo streetcorner explaining to a gaggle of press why he dumped his girlfriend—is feeling alone in our brave new online world. "That's the problem with people today," he opined at a concert last night. "Everyone sits in dark rooms and sends each other links, but it's a connectedness without really being connected." Shut up, dude! Artists and writers have been complaining of the alienation of big cities and a lack of connectedness since forever. John, intellectuals of the past have some advice for you:"There is only one way left to escape the alienation of present day society: to retreat ahead of it." -Roland Barthes "I don't want to express alienation. It isn't what I feel. I'm interested in various kinds of passionate engagement. All my work says be serious, be passionate, wake up." -Susan Sontag And, finally: "The surest sign that two people no longer speak the same language is that both say ironic things to one another but that neither senses the irony." -Friedrich Nietzsche [NY Observer]

Well, you are a plebe, so you obviously didn't spend it with Bill Cunningham. The New York Times' roving fashion photog doesn't waste his precious film on just anyone with a cute tank top and those adorable sandals you got on sale. The guy is hanging with Eva Mendes, for Pete's sake! Mayor Mike! People named Rockefeller! Peggy Freakin' Noonan!! Maybe next Fashion Week, you'll get into one of these beautiful people parties, but let's be honest—you're nothing but a pair of shoes to this guy. [Party Photos, FW Street Shoe Show; audio slideshow warning @ NYT]

When he's not threatening our tipsters and offering to shove recording devices up our collective ass, scruffy indie actor Vincent Gallo is threatening a female Blackbook reporter at Fashion Week. The Brown Bunny actor offered to "track [her] down and make [her] wish [she] was never born!" (In fact, we've also heard from other gal reporters who have interviewed Vince that received threats along the same lines.) Maybe Vince loves women so much he hates them. Because he would be rakishly handsome if not for all this anger. Hey Vince! You can track me down and make me wish I was never born—I'm just crazy enough to win. I'm in the office at 210 Elizabeth Street most weekdays (so call first.) Bring it. (And who the fuck is letting him into Fashion Week?) Click for the girl-threatening video![via Blackbook] Click to view

What? We'd expect to find a slew of celebs at at a hip downtown concert for, say, the Citizen's Band or something—but mediocre granola college-rockers Dave Matthews? The Stalker sightings are coming in from last night's show at Madison Square Garden, and it seemed to have attracted the celebrity dregs. Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen were backstage, "dressed like it's January," one tipster said. And aging cougar-fameball Dina Lohan, mom of LiLo? Allegedly drunk:

The twits at Columbia can be so déclassé: as Vesal Yazdi wrote in the university's Spectator (and as noted by Page Six), they surrounded actor James Franco like cats in heat as he was trying to study in a campus cafe (he's going for his master's in writing at NYU.) They were "crowd[ing] around him and star[ing] into his face and the emails on his Mac..."

The low-ceiling'd, tiny coke den that is the Beatrice Inn doesn't look like much. But it's become Manhattan's celeb hangout du jour, obsessively covered by blogs like this, and fetishized most recently in Fashion Week Daily's detailed map placing the regular characters of the downtown hovel. About-town writer George Gurley—the cuddliest of the nightlife denizens—compiled a "Who's Who" of the "Bea," as it's called by regs. Nothing short of hilarious, he has the juice on everyone: Mary-Kate, Josh Hartnett, Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson, and Kirsten Dunst, who perhaps explained the Bea's celeb draw better than anyone: "[She] once told a regular, 'Don't judge me, guys, don't judge me! I like to have fun too!" Click for full list and map.

Of all the pundits' and politicos' stated opinions on Sarah Palin, John McCain's spectacularly curious choice for running mate, this is perhaps the most stirring and urgent. Once celebrated, now mourned actress Lindsay Lohan—she of the former cocaine problems and current lesbianism—has posted yet another blog post on her MySpace page, this one exploring the nuances of political life versus private life. Hands off little Bristol Palin's baby issues, she implores:

Brit-actress and dater of married actor Balthazar Getty Sienna Miller's house was spray-painted with "SLUT" last night. Oh yeah? Is she? Really a slut? Don't worry: strident feminism is not part of today's lesson. But the Bible is!

This month, Harper's Bazaar styled the children of the Ronson family as the Royal Tenenbaums from the 2001 Wes Anderson film. They're so right! The Ronsons have been chronicled as a weird, semi-dysfunctional family whose socialite/self-promoter Mom and rock-star stepdad eased the way for their kids' fame. The Tenenbaum children were also precocious youths, which only led to despair as adults. Bazaar points out that both sets of children are the productions of an "unconventional and artistic upbringing," leaving out the dark side of the film.Charlotte designs t-shirts or dresses or whatever and does charity stuff, producer/DJ Mark, while talented, got his start with his famous parents' connections, and his sister DJ Samantha followed on his coattails. She's admitted to not knowing how to use DJ equipment during her first gigs. (The Ronsons don't have an "adopted" daughter, as Royal Tenenbaum always mentions when introducing his daughter Margot, but they do have children from their mom's second marriage that aren't featured.) [Harper's Bazaar]

The woman behind baffling social/creative relationship-mapping website FameGame is profiled in the Observer this week. "There are still people all the time who are figuring out ‘You're behind FameGame?'" Tatiana Platt, a former AOL executive, tells them. Actually, there are still people trying to figure out what FameGame is, and how the hell it works, and also what is the point. Still, we may be missing something here: "There's a few women that refer to me as their genius friend." [Observer]

Large-headed, sensitive singer and Jennifer Aniston boyfriend John Mayer is testifyin' in the war against thuggish paps that chase celebs all over Los Angeles. Reports the L.A. Times, there was a hearing yesterday about the city's paparazzi problem, where Mayer spoke: "I'm asking you to regulate it... I don't want to beg the city of Los Angeles to give me 1987 back. I love being a famous musician in 2008… This is about safety."" He had a host of recommendations, including:

A few months ago, at the height of her prolonged meltdown, Britney Spears alone used to account for 20% of L.A.'s paparazzi business, providing ample opportunities for photos like this one. Now, says the L.A. Times, she's cleaning up, behaving herself—and ruining the living of the city's hardworking thuggish paps:

If Hulk Hogan can't make it work with his lookalike, equally bleached-blond wife, what hope is there for the rest of us? And what about Matthew Broderick and those rumors of his cheating on American's princess, Sarah Jessica Parker? And the impending divorce of the Yankee's A-Rod and his wife, after the Madonna/stripper liaisons? Summer is the season of celebrity divorces, and our Intern Morgan Miller put together a chart of the juiciest scandals, from Lucy and Desi on up. Transsexual prostitutes, drug paranoia, and herpes—as Ivana Trump once said, "Don't get mad, get everything."

Publishing insiders are all a-twitter about Lynne Spears's memoir about her troubled pop-star daughter Britney. CEO Michael Hyatt, of Christian publisher Thomas Nelson, microblogs: "I'm reading through the second draft of the Lynne Spears manuscript tonight. I am hoping to be able to approve it tomorrow. It's totally compelling." A few minutes later: " I can't put it down—and I'm not even the market!" One hour later: "Wow. People are going to be surprised. The media have it so wrong." Teach us, Lynne. [Michael Hyatt's Twitter]