After seeing two nights' worth of disastrous, Univision-test-pattern-quality ratings for Fox's much-hyped On the Lot yesterday morning, we called for the official CancellationWatch to begin. Our fears that Steven Spielberg might never discover the next cinematic visionary through the evaluation of one-minute comedy shorts about hilariously unlucky coins have become suddenly more acute, as the network has announced that it's downsizing the show into a single, hourlong competition-and-results mash-up each week for the rest of its scheduled run. Should that drastic measure not quickly improve the series' fortunes (and really, what could possibly go wrong?), look for Fox to repeat the ratings-fixing voodoo it attempted after Lot's underwhelming debut week, when it sacrificed original host Chelsea "Somewhat Recognizable to TV Audiences" Handler to the Nielsen gods and replaced her with the far bustier Adrianna "Who?" Costa; the blood offering of a second TelePrompTer-reading albatross might buy the network another episode or two before it has to tell Spielberg that it's ending his failed experiment to bring the noble, talent-nurturing spirit of Project Greenlight to the wasteland of summertime network television.

· Music round-up: Electrelane at Trobadour; Sparta at the House of Blues; The Hold Steady at the El Rey.
· The legendary Don Rickles presents Rickles' Book: A Memoir at Book Soup. Make sure to stick around for the signing, where Rickles will inscribe your copy with an insult that you will cherish forever.
· The LAT's Kevin Thomas has picked Odd Man Out for the Aero's screenings of classic Carol Reed movies; pinch-hitting critic Jean Oppenheimer will stand in for the out-of-town Thomas and introduce the film.

On the bright side, four of the five words prominently featured on the official website for upcoming revenge thriller The Brave One are presented correctly, a fact that Jodie Foster's agent is sure to take into consideration as he calls Warner Bros. to politely ask, "How many fucking Oscars does my client need to fucking win before someone over there can learn to spell her fucking* name?"

The long road to recovery and redemption for Saving Private Ryan star Tom Sizemore is paved with countless arrests, hearings, and court-ordered humiliations. (They'd outfit him with SCRAM-type ankle monitoring device, but any self-respecting tweaker would gladly saw off their own foot for their next hit.) Even his booking last month in Bakersfield on possession charges continues to reap unwelcome dividends for the troubled actor:

At first, we thought that some editor at Parade (motto: "When the Cerritos Pennysaver's celebrity coverage is too hard hitting, we're there for you.") was trying to slyly undermine the above pullquote (from this Sunday's issue) about Jessica Alba's ambitious plan to produce movies with empowering female roles by reminding everyone that her greatest critical accolade is the coveted "Sexiest Performance" Golden Tub of Popcorn. But then we realized that when the actress really gets her producing career rolling, those are exactly the parts she'll develop for herself, proving to the white males who control Hollywood that she no longer needs them to cast her in the stripper roles that best show off her talents.

It would irresponsible of us to recommend that you cut ties with your current employer by urinating on the dry cleaning you just picked up, phoning his wife and admitting he's nailing the assistant two cubes over, and then heading to the beach to enjoy the rest of your day, confident that a better gig is right around the corner—irresponsible, that is, unless we told you take along your laptop and spend some time using the Defamer Job Board to plan your next career move as you listen to the gentle sound of the Pacific lapping against the sand.

The news millions of children (and socially awkward adults who enjoy playing wizarding make-believe in their leisure time) have been waiting for has finally come: Plans for a Harry Potter theme park have been announced, in which the series's enchanted cobblestone walkways and ivy-covered walls will be painstainkingly recreated on the grounds of the equally magical Universal's Islands of Adventure. Reports the AP:

· Finally, some good news for Lindsay Lohan: After convincing Poor Things producers Shirley MacLaine and Rob Hickman that she's confident she'll be able to step right in and disrupt their production with blown call times and suspicious absences the moment she gets out of rehab, they've agreed to rearrange their shooting schedule to accommodate the troubled actress's inconvenient trip to Promises. [Variety]
· Proving once again that there is no comic book franchise Hollywood won't take a crack at adapting, Warner Bros. is producing a live-action version of DC sidekick title (Robin! Kid Flash! Aqualad! The Bastard Son Who Keeps Tagging Along When Green Lantern Is Trying To Fight Sinestro!*) Teen Titans. [THR]
· Little Miss Sunshine writer Michael Arndt, contracted to script a remake of the 1939 comedy Midnight for Universal, might need to get some better dreams: "Being given the chance to update the film with Reese [Witherspoon] in the lead is simply a dream come true." [Variety]
· Just throw a brick through your TV screen and buy a new one in the Fall: So You Think You Can Dance wins Wednesday night for Fox. [THR]
· How hot is 1939 right now? Writer/director Diane English is going forward with a long-gestating remake of 1939's The Women, assembling what she hopes is the ultimate chick flick cast, one that spans generations and levels of acting ability: Meg Ryan, Annette Bening, Eva Mendes, Jada Pinkett Smith, Debra Messing, and Candice Bergen. [Variety]
[*Probably not a real character, so please, no e-mails.]

Disney has hopefully ended the studio dick-measuring contest over Spider-Man 3 and Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest's dueling claims to the record for the biggest worldwide opening (six-day) weekend, splaying its box-office inches across a two-page spread in today's Variety. While the (technically?) triumphant studio's design team was initially going to allow the huge number and curiously tiny #1 WORLDWIDE OPENING OF ALL TIME copy speak for themselves, they couldn't resist surrendering to their cruder instincts with a message taunting their rival and its humbled, slump-shouldered hero.

While admittedly not every competitive reality venture devised by format innovator Mark Burnett could be categorized as a runaway success (e.g., On The Lot has yet to connect with audiences, and seems headed towards granting the guy who made the retarded-guy-in-Heaven movie a corner office on the DreamWorks lot), he nevertheless boasts an impressive batting average in the unpredictable genre. His latest effort, Pirate Master, premieres tonight on CBS, and seems a sure a thing as they come, pairing the Darwinism-for-dollars premise that made Survivor such a runaway hit with the public's enduring fascination with all things buccaneerish:

We incorrectly assumed that as the end credits rolled on the American Idol finale, a designated producer would rush up to judge Paula Abdul, hand her a fist-sized pill for "nerve pain" to gnaw on for a few minutes, and then prop up her slumbering body in a janitorial closet, reviving her from her off-season hibernation only when the first group of Idol hopefuls arrived at January's cattle-call auditions. Abdul, however, has been quite active in the rags since last Wednesday night's sign-off show. She recently railed against how every slurred, on-camera utterance is unfairly scrutinized (can't a popular TV personality chemically manage her chronic pain without people jumping all over her when she momentarily forgets the order that makes strings of words comprehensible?), and today finds herself the subject of a Page Six story describing a "meltdown" she allegedly had on a conference call in which she "seems to be talking to a group of publicists at some point during the last week" about how her former flack wasn't properly servicing her crazy-person needs. An excerpt:

Who could have imagined that a Lindsay Lohan DUI arrest (with the ever-popular "usable amount of cocaine" option), some embarrassing sleepy-time photos, and a hasty trip to Promises would generate so much media attention, even days later? We retreat into our defensive round-up posture to handle this morning's onslaught:

· Having recently provided the venture capital that buoyed the business of a pair of North Carolina lemonade magnates, do-gooding Ocean's 13 star George Clooney is now helping to launch multimillion-dollar musical careers.
· Being the most recognizable motorcycle cop to an entire generation of law enforcement officials has put a target on Ponch's back.
· Apparently, Judd Apatow is a big Britney Spears fan. Do with this information what you will.
· Stuff on My Lohan: Like with the cats, only drunker and much less cute.
· Nicole Richie was just kidding about that 100-lb weight limit on her party. The fatty cut-off was only supposed to keep out porkers over 85.

As the American Idol machine reboards its Magic Karaoke Spaceship and lifts off into the ether, perhaps the hardest part of it all comes in knowing that with it flies away the show's trusty center judge, Paula Abdul. Sure, she'll return when the entire sadomasochistic process begins anew in January, but for those of us who greedily relied upon her zonked-out, indecipherable energies being beamed to us twice a week through our TVs, there is little sweetness to our parting sorrow. Abdul recently opened up to OK! magazine, educating their readers about the excruciating physical conditions that led to a reliance on prescription painkillers:

While we're well aware that it's the rapidly approaching Transformers premiere that's inspiring the look of "Look upon my hacky works, ye mighty, and despair!" pride on the face of Michael Bay, we imagine that not everyone who finds themselves confronted with the countdown clock currently ticking away on the fauxteur's web presence will know exactly what will happen when it reaches zero. Still, the unlabeled doomsday timer is an appropriately unsubtle reminder that no individual Bay blockbuster is larger than the blowing-shit-up visionary behind it, even if that movie will soon be launched in one of the most over-the-top promotional orgies ever staged in a city known for its love of excess. Reports the LAT:

As his ex-wife continues her campaign to reclaim her good name though online manifestoes that rationalize the neglect of her children and years of generally idiotic behavior with a combination of untreated ADD and a manager with sinister motives, Kevin Federline quite impressively manages to remain laser-focused on his life's goal: forging an independent and enduring show business career entirely built around his multiple non-talents. For example, he cleverly maximized the thousands of hours he clocked behind the velvet ropes of Las Vegas's better drinking establishments by convincing Wilmer Valderrama to collaborate on his sophomore record release. And while his acting career appeared to have stalled after one underwhelming guest appearance on CSI and the Method channeling of a fry cook for a Super Bowl insurance commercial, reports have now surfaced that K-Fed will soon be acting opposite an Academy Award-winner, plus one of Hollywood's most legendary monosyllabic leading men, in a major motion picture:

· Music round-up: Arcade Fire returns to the Greek Theatre (will Gwyneth be back for more?); Brakesbrakesbrakes at Spaceland; Great Northern at Troubadour. Special PSA: Bo Bice breaks the hearts of local Idol fans by canceling his HOB show.
· Novelist Susanna Moore covers the red-hot topic of women's prisons in The Big Girl, which she'll read from and sign at Vroman's in Pasadena, then patiently answer questions about what Paris Hilton's summer stay in Lynwood might be like.
· Courageous Ellen Show dance-refusenik Zach Galifianakis is at Largo, where he'll hopefully discuss his recent, harrowing talk show ordeal in greater detail.

The Best Week Ever blog has pulled the above clip from Sunset Tan, E!'s latest documentary-style celebration of all that is glorious about life in our somewhat image-conscious city. Be appalled if you must that a doting mom would drop $1300 on having her daughter irradiated and spray-tanned to a hue favored by Lindsay Lohan; we, however, are disgusted only that the parent didn't march her neglected child over to Dr. 90210's office for an on-camera consultation for the pre-teen breast augmentation that's wildly popular in fifth-grade classrooms this year, or, at the very least, a quick Restylane treatment to preemptively paralyze the various facial muscles that will soon rob her of her youthful good looks.

In a shocking revelation that is sure to awaken feelings you haven't experienced since you learned that guy who played Doogie Howser is sexually attracted to men, the AfterElton blog exclusively confirms that Frasier's gay-seeming brother is, in fact, gay. The tip off (besides an 11-year run convincingly portraying a character who found it nearly impossible to consummate a heterosexual relationship with the help) was a passing reference to Hyde Pierce "partner" Brian Hargrove in a recent AP story about the actor's successful career on Broadway, prompting AfterElton to contact his rep for clarification that the individual mentioned was a life-partner partner, and not some other variety of strictly platonic creative collaborator, like the guy who runs Hugh Jackman's production company. Now that this matter is out in the open, we trust that the media will respect Hyde Pierce's privacy, recognizing that like trailblazing Grey's Anatomy star T.R. Knight, being gay isn't the most interesting thing about him, and not begin hassling him about posing with his favorite pet on the cover of the The Advocate.

PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are submitted by our readers, and are posted several times a week, so them in often. Submit yours to tips[AT]defamer.com (please put "sighting" or "PrivacyWatch" in the subject line) and tell everyone about the time you spotted Wentworth Miller leaving his prison blueprints tattoo behind in the YMCA pool.