The Defamer Special Pre-Oscar Agent-Hosted Party Correspondent infiltrated CAA bigshot Bryan Lourd's A-list awards orgy and promptly filed this report, which we are now not as promptly sharing with you now. Inside: Robin Williams! Julia Roberts! A fat Tobey Maguire! Jen and Brad talking! To each other! Also in attendance: just about everyone else in Hollywood that an agency would need present for an obligatory salad-tossing as the Oscars approached. We'll get out of the way now and let Correspondent X do her thing:

· Paris Review prizewinners (for fiction and most promising emerging writer) appear at the Culture Project to read from their respective works. The $10 admission includes an open bar—a nice way to cope with the realization that you, most likely, will not be published in the Paris Review anytime soon. [flavorpill]
· Bar-owning journalist hottie Sebastian Junger discusses what he's learned from being a bar-owning journalist hottie at the Explorers Club tonight. Tickets go on sale at 6pm for all of you lustful admirers. [Explorers]
· Crown Heights duo Ratatat headline a show at the Knitting Factory for Pitchfork readers who fancy melodic electro-rock. [KF]

In this week's New York Magazine, Adam Sternbergh ("dean of the celebrity think piece," pace Jeff MacIntyre) profiles former stunt driver-turned-MTV reality show star Lizzie Grubman. The best quote (which we, gotta admit, we got from Jossip) comes about midway into the article:

Who said real journalists can't get down with blogs? (No one, probably.) Our brother site, Gridskipper, is currently being helmed by Brendan Koerner, whom you might know from his weekly column in a little up-and-coming newspaper called The New York Times or his work for Slate and Wired.

The March issue of Allure features a remarkable exposé: Gawker is responsible for your dimpled thighs and flabby arms. That's right — it's not your bi-weekly trips to Magnolia or your late night pizza habit that's doing you harm; it's our fault! In her piece Eating After Dark (soon to be reprinted in the New England Journal of Medicine), Ginny Graves points out the danger of late night eating and Gawker-browsing. While we thought we were providing distraction purely during office hours (if nothing else, we want to keep you from being productive), Graves' research on page 178 suggests otherwise:

Everyone knows New Orleans is for drinking, but it's also becoming the go-to spot for slummy celebrity bar-hopping. After Lindsay Lohan turned a Girls Gone Wild event into her personal cotillion, Jude Law follows suit in his own reserved, British-y way. A reader writes:

· Spoiler alert (?): Because such things truly matter, Bachelorette Jen Schefft is rumored to have accepted Jerry's proposal (episode to air tonight), only to end their engagement a week later. Since then, she has been spotted "cuddling" Chicago restaurateur Billy Dec. Meredith and Trista would be ashamed. [Gatecrasher]
· Soho House continues to die a slow and ugly death, as the private club's Oscar week outpost managed to step on the toes of just about everybody. But really, what's a stolen Ferrari in the grand scheme of exclusivity? [Page Six]
· At Saturday night's Miramax party, stunning revelations from Harvey Weinstein include his purchase of a hamster. For his daughter, the story goes, but we know better. [Lowdown]
· Cynthia Nixon, eager to assert her lesbianism, has moved to Park Slope with her lover, Christine Marinoni. [ELK]
· Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston continue to confuse everyone by making the Oscar party rounds together. Meanwhile, George Clooney brought New York's favorite homeless fellow, Radio Man, out to LA for some party-hopping. [Page Six]
· The Academy Awards, according to Rush & Molloy, have "soul." Or they did until they wrote that line, anyhow. [R&M]
· Will Smith = Jerry Lewis? [Scoop]

Jon Friedman (whom, you may know, is a one of the good guys) looks at bloggers in his column today and wonders:

We want to apologize, briefly, for showing you Fred Durst s penis. We didn t think of the repercussions and thus regret any traumatic scarring we may have caused. If need be, we know a nice shrink on Park Avenue who s admitting new patients.

Click to enlarge.

We barely slept a wink last night, as last night's Black Edition of the Oscars had our blood racing with its edgy edginess and nouveau newness! Did you see how they lined up some of the low-level nominees on the stage? Breathtaking. Or when other "unimportant" nominees were presented their Oscars without having to leave the comfort of their seats? Stunning. And ooooh, Chris Rock really stirred things up when he told the audience, "Sit your asses down." (Thanks to Matt Drudge for dutifully reprinting this quote twice as his headline — once as "Sit You Asses Down." Direct translations are so helpful!)

In about two weeks, you'll have the chance to bid on some of the common property of director Tim Burton and actress Lisa Marie, as the former couple's stuff hits the (court-ordered?) estate sale circuit. Own a piece of Hollywood heartbreak!

· We don t think we need to explain why a gay porn revolving around The Gates is extremely awesome. You already know. [Fleshbot]
· It's Paris Hilton Hacked: The Game! IM with Lindsay Lohan, read new notes, and see previously unreleased pictures, all from the comfort of your home! Share it with someone you love. [LiquidGeneration]
· We're really, really sorry we didn't remind you to watch last night's Stars Without Makeup special on Fox, but we forgot too. Clearly, it's time for us all to reprioritize and get a grip. [Lindsayism]
· Once again, The Simpsons imitate life. [Parenthetical Remarks]
· We told you Hilary Duff was seriously punk. White nail polish included. [Page Six Six Six]
· If heaven has a cage match, it'll star Omarosa and Linda Vecter. [Johnny Dollar's Place]

Oh felllllaaaas! Have we got a catch for you:

If hell truly does exist, it's probably located somewhere near Prince Street and the Soho Apple store. But anyone who's had to wait more than two hours for a "genius" to serve you at the "bar" probably knows that already:

Friday:
· Hipster lifestyle manifesto Repellent Magazine has about the same publishing track record as Radar, but they sure do throw some fun parties! Tonight, DFA mates Pixeltan team up with Kid606 at Rothko. [flavorpill]
· Nu-folk Americana rockers Animal Collective haul ass from Brooklyn for a sold-out show at Bowery Ballroom. You know you want to go: all the cool kids will be there, and when was the last time you said no to peer pressure? [BB]
Saturday:
· In the pantheon of coolest band names ever, I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness has gotta be pretty high up there. As for their music, well, we've never heard them, but God, that name is so cool... They play with the Winter Pageant, Uncut, and the Octopus Project at Rothko. Jesus, what isn't at that freaking place? [Rothko]
· Indie favorites Luna kick off their three-night stay at the Bowery Ballroom. Rothko, Bowery. Bowery, Rothko. You get the idea. [BB]
Sunday:
· The Oscars are going to be boring, but maybe Chris Rock will call someone a white bitch and everyone in Famousville will squirm uncomfortably in their seats. That's reason enough to watch, and our lazy brother on to the West will be live-blogging the ceremony while drinking himself to death. [Oscars]

Another day, another (yawn) scandal. Conveniently timed just after Paris Hilton
s HackGate, some fool has taken it upon himself to "leak" a sex tape starring the one person you
d never want to see in a sex tape, Limp Bizkit frontman Fred Durst. The blogosphere is labeling this as fallout from the massive T-Mobile hack, but we
re not quite sure if this is the sort of moment that can be captured on a Sidekick.

Special thanks to this week's advertisers, whose undying love gets us through the bad times. Interested in accessing the passion? Info here.

· The Saga of the Family Lohan continues: mummy Dina tried to get a gag order on pappy Michael before he hit Primetime Live. [Page Six]
· More than a week after the story broke, Page Six finally picks up on Jenna Elfman's crazy love of Scientology. [Page Six]
· Jamie Foxx confesses that he's had his heart broken twice before, which should make that Oscar victory speech all the more "heartfelt" and "tearful." [R&M]
· If it's true that Nadine Johnson is paying for a therapist to help her employees, we kind of think that's awesome. We've spent months campaigning our Hungarian slave master to cover our shrink bills. [Lowdown]

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The Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue (currently residing in the finest nightstands across the heartland) has a nice little online feature, complete with handy-dandy pictures and bios of this year's models. Featured is Mallory Snyder, best known for slumming on The Real World: Paris, the Forgotten Season, who has turned her basic cable stint into a modeling career. But, unfortunately, Mallory doesn't have enormous breasts and Sports Illustrated knows it.