Project Runway winner Christian Siriano made an appearance on down but not out Craig Ferguson's show last night. As the awkwardness of the fierce tranny hot mess of a 21-year old fashion wunderkind attempting to make conversation with the pinstriped Scot gradually began to fade, conversation predictably shifted towards hair. Christian has made great use of his mullet-meets-Warhol 'do, and after lazily beginning to describe what it's all about for the umpteenth time, silly ol' Ferguson suddenly went into a state of hysterics at the thought of both he and Christian going platinum blonde together. Apparently, you see, Craig had tried to get producers at hipper than hip CBS to allow him to bleach his salt-and-pepper 'do. Their response? "They were like, no way girl!" We still have absolutely no idea how to react to this claim, or to Ferguson's Howard Dean-like scream, so we'll just let you watch and share in our confusion.

Stop counting calories, it's the weekend! Indulge yourself by taking a giant bite out of our Dirt Sandwich, one that's been carefully arranged and piled high with yummy (yet trans-fat free) toppings by Defamer's resident sandwich artist, Molly McAleer. The ingredients in this week sandwich include: aspiring cookbook author Katie Lee Joel dishes on what it's like to have a step-daughter just four years her junior; we learn about the drugs (!) and the kidnapping (!) that plagued the king of the tighty-whiteys, Calvin Klein; Donnie Osmond kissing, wait for it, a girl!; and, finally, a sad update on the second least talented member of the Jackson 5 (no offense to Tito, really). Enjoy!

FRIDAY
· Get your weekend started off on the right foot with the sweet, folky sounds of Beth Orton at the El Rey. Or, if that's not your style, try Citizen Cope at the Wiltern or Gods and Monsters at Safari Sams.
· Kids in the Hall: Brain Candy will screen at the Nuart, which will be followed by a Q&A with original Kids in the Hall cast member Scott Thompson.
· The documentary American Zombie "tackles the real, day-to-day struggles zombies face in their, uh, "lives"" at Laemmle's Sunset 5.

Attention Defamer operatives: You have been slacking on your PrivacyWatch duties! Today's installment is verging on pitiful. We command you to wander the streets until you successfully spot a celebrity, then rush back to the nearest keyboard-equipped telecommunications device to breathlessly type up your dispatch. Submit yours to tips[AT]defamer.com (please put "sighting" or "PrivacyWatch" in the subject line so we don't lose them), so that everyone can read about how you Giovanni Ribisi needs Magnum condoms.

After the torrent of skepticism that threatened to douse the near-instant mythology of country-fu trailblazer (and bar-brawlin' Daughter of Willie) Paula Nelson, a shocking dispatch from Austin today indeed reveals a true hoax for the ages, one that Ashton Kutcher's "Pop Fiction" posse could only dream of replicating:

We're fans of surprises here at Defamer, especially when they involve young female stars in bikinis. So when we came across these photos of Ashley and Mary-Kate Olsen in their itty bitty swimsuits on Egotastic, we were admittedly shocked. Considering all those years-old anorexia rumors, coupled with endless paparazzi shots making the tiny twins look roughly 80 pounds combined, we'd expect a somewhat fear-filled reaction upon seeing MK and Ash undressed. But you know what? Hugh Hefner may not have been crazy after all when he decided the twins would be ideal candidates for his next Playboy spread. Even if the camera does add poundage, we're seeing muscle tone and curves. Take a closer look at the full gallery, up close and personal, after the jump.

Can somebody in America please buy one of my daughters' albums? Please? Or at least do a little more than pretend to like them or go a step beyond liking them for various reasons of irony? Do you know how hard it is to make the change between the manager who just got off the phone with the record label to the cool dad who has to the break news that one of them is about to get dropped from their label? It's hard, real hard. Let alone hiding these irrational fears that I'm going to get fired by my own daughters? Can you imagine that being fired by your own flesh and blood? It could happen. The constant threat that keeps me up at night. That and Ryan Seacrest changing his phone number without him giving me the new number.

It's official. Paris Hilton should be banned from dancing on stages, be they in Phoenix or Istanbul. At yesterday's Miss Turkey competition (yes, "Miss Turkey"), Paris was inexplicably asked to serve as a judge during the festivities. And in an equally inexplicably turn of events, one of the belly-dancing extras performing for the crowd grabbed Paris from her seat and dragged the initially demure heiress up on stage to shake her non-existent booty for the incredibly non-enthused crowd. Now, we're not in any position to pass judgment on Middle Eastern dancing moves, but we're still pretty sure that tossing your hair back and robotically shimmying your hips back and forth does not a belly dance make. Judge for yourselves after the jump.

After receiving a lawyerly talking to and even getting within one very, very close degree of separation from our target yesterday in the John Hughes Q&A Challenge, we're convinced that A) John Hughes knows about our quest for answers, and B) he has absolutely no intention of or interest in playing ball. While our feelings are slightly tweaked by Mr. Hughes' unwavering rejection, we can't take it too personally. After all, if one of the last experiences you had with the press — recently unearthed from the Spy Magazine archives by Jeffrey Wells — labeled you as an "impossible" and "capricious bully" who was responsible for "childlike rampages through [Hollywood's] playpen," then perhaps you would refuse even the most innocent of media inquiries as well:

After trying and failing to lure tabloid favorites like Nicole Richie and K-Fed to the Broadway stage, producers on the Great White Way have apparently reverted to seeking out stars with actual acting experience. The Daily Mail reports that Katie Holmes is in final negotiations to play a major role in Arthur Miller's classic All My Sons, opposite Broadway heavy hitters Dianne Weist and John Lithgow. But will Katie's performance top one former Mrs. Cruise's naked cartwheels from exactly one decade ago?

· The 2008 box office year has been "solid rather than spectacular," failing to yet produce the kind of runaway, $200 million-earning blockbuster that 300 did for the first quarter of 2007. You want a hit? Turn South Heavy Metal Park into a feature. [Variety]
· Dennis Quaid and approximately two dozen other stars sign up for Legion: On the eve of Apocalypse, a "group of strangers...must deliver a baby they realize is Christ in his second coming." Or as it was pitched in the room, "It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World meets Children of Men!" [Variety]
· Superproducer Jerry Bruckheimer has reteamed with his Pirates of the Caribbean writers Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio for a take on The Lone Ranger for Disney that promises to be as overbloated, over-CGId, and overly fucking confusing as their last outings. (Tonto's half-squid.) [THR]

We'll call this Confounding Oscar Reality #259: A tipster tells us today that the documentary Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired, which painstakingly makes the case that Polanski's conviction for unlawful sexual intercourse with a minor was a travesty, has opened theatrically after leaving Sundance in January with a $1 million dollar deal and loads of acclaim. But wait — why are we hearing this from a tipster? Where is the marketing? Where are the reviews? Where is the heated discussion about the Polanski case? Thanks to Academy Award rules and a fickle distributor, that might have to wait. Follow the jump to find out why.

Spotted frequently at George Clooney's side, little is known about the actor's comely and seemingly demure girlfriend Sarah Larson, an oversight finally corrected by Star Magazine in a blistering exposé entitled "Sarah Larson's Sin City Secrets." Described as a "former go-go dancer," the leading supermarket news source soberly goes on to report that "evidence of her wild escapades has been spilling out of Sin City like quarters from a slot machine!" Exhibit A: The 2007 photo above, from lastnightsparty.com, in which Larson is seen giving her dead-on impression of a Dune sandworm, moments after emerging from its subterranean lair to feast on a meal of sand plankton (as represented by a glossy magazine and actual sand). Think that's amazing? Wait until you see Exhibit B, in which Larson appears to levitate right off the ground—a stunning illusion achieved using nothing more than some powerful inner-thigh strength and the hips of a nearby patron. It's after the jump.

The Gossip Girl star kept a low profile waiting to meet with a mysterious friend in New York City. Crawford was reported to be humming the choruses of popular *NSYNC songs while killing time. After a half hour or so, Crawford had grown visibly impatient and decided to leave. Crawford told one of the photogs that if you're not going to be able to meet up for coffee, then you should at least hit somebody up on their beeper, so they can rearrange their life accordingly. Geez!

Much like John Hughes, our advertisers are proud of the work that they have accomplished over the years. Unlike Mr. Hughes, though, they are both willing and able to talk about their successes with their respective fan bases. If you would like to join this esteemed group of proud companies, all of the requisite information can be found here.

It seems Mike Judge's dark, dystopic vision of a functionally brain-dead society, who require nothing more than watching grown men getting thwacked in the nuts to be entertained, wasn't quite so far off into our distant, idiocratic future as we might have hoped: Variety is reporting that ABC has ordered a new reality competition from the producer of Fear Factor, called Ow! My Balls! Wipe Out.

When it comes to intertwining underage sex, loveable drug addicts and coldblooded serial killers, nobody does it better than Bret Easton Ellis. So when we heard a while back that The Informers would finally follow in the footsteps of Less Than Zero and The Rules of Attraction and make its way to the big screen, we couldn't have been more giddy. But now, IGN is reporting that Brandon Routh's turn as Jaime, the vampire-like leading man with a penchant for sucking blood, will be left on the cutting room floor; as anyone who has read the book will attest, his character was both a central figure in and a critical element of the depraved stories Ellis included in this book. The question is this: with no blood, gore, zombie fangs or Superman, will The Informers even be The Informers at all? Or will it just be Less Than Zero: The Sequel, minus the sight of a drugged up and passed out Robert Downey Jr. sprawled on the beaches of Malibu?

Conan O'Brien was the lead guest on The Tonight Show last night, and he graciously left behind his tape measure and fabric swatches, while Jay Leno kept his passive aggressive put-downs of his scheduled usurper to a comfortable minimum. Among his entertaining anecdotes, Conan recalled the time he hosted the Emmys of two years ago—before Fox got their cracked-out claws into them, and transformed the ceremony into a one-ringed-circus presided over by Master of Women's-Footwear-Identifying-Ceremonies Ryan Seacrest. Describing the tense scene from the wings, Conan recalled an increasingly desperate stage manager giving a live play-by-play of the Charlie's Angels diva-feud that could very well have altered the course of Aaron Spelling Production cast reunion history forever.

An over-caffeinated Miley Cyrus showed the throng of photographers that follow her every move some new and interesting dance moves that she recently learned from some videos she saw on YouTube. Cyrus told the photogs that she hopes to incorporate these moves into her next tour, which just might launch at Jumbo's Clown Room.

In L.A. this week to accept the Chrysler-sponsored Behind the Lens award for 25 years of filmmaking and shit-stirring par excellence, Spike Lee took a moment to thank the Italian producers who supported his latest film, Miracle at St. Anna, before unloading a potent spray of ammo from which wounded attendees are still recovering in intensive care units and barricaded studio offices all over town. As THR's Risky Business blog reports: