Friday
· Music round-up: Brandi Carlile and Gran Bel Fisher at the El Rey; Boyz II Men (!!) at the House of Blues; Brazilian Girls at Avalon.
· Sickies Neil Campbell and Paul Rust tell the story of "two teenage brothers run away from home and discover a valuable lesson: Sometimes growing up ... doesn't involve any actual physical growth at all" at the UCB.
Saturday
· Blogger/author/bon vivant Paul Davidson signs The Lost Blogs, which finally lets us know what it would've been like if blogging technology was available to Jesus (hint: the New Testament, but with more verses about how much He loved his cats) and other historical figures, at the Barnes and Noble in Santa Monica.
· The Roxy hosts the US Air Guitar Championships, which for a few shining hours will make that venue the world capital of embarrassing facial expressions that should never be seen out of the context of private sex acts.
Sunday
· It's Mother's Day. If you aren't spending the day putting aside the psychology issues that she inflicted on you by taking her to brunch (or to fancy tea), you can at least have the decency to stay home and think about your scarring upbringing.

Realizing that their innovative method for distracting their employees from thinking about M:i:III's disappointing™ domestic box office performance by subjecting them to a sneak preview of their upcoming World Trade Center movie may have had its own set of unpleasant side-effects, Paramount today offered its staff some further stress-reducing options:

The autograph has endured for centuries as the classic celebrity-fan interaction, a masterpiece of social synthesis in which all that is required of the participants is a writing instrument, a writing surface, and a brief traversal of the vast chasm of status that separates a famous person from his or her plebe admirer. Autograph Collector, the magazine devoted to such pursuits, has released a list of best and worst celebrity signers. Sitting atop is the approachable Johnny Depp, reportedly always at the ready with a smile and a Sharpie with which to personalize your Pirates of the Caribbean lunchbox:

Time once again to put you out of the profound misery that is not knowing the consensus solution to this week's Ted Casablanca blind item. But first, reload One Employee of the Month Blind Vice:

Perhaps the only thing that could approach inspiring the kind of euphoria we experienced the first dozen or so times we watched Kiefer Sutherland take the Long Island Iced Tea Plunge into that Christmas tree is the triumphant, and completely unexpected, return of Owen "The Butterscotch Stallion" Wilson to this space. A heavy-lidded (read: possibly shitfaced) Wilson was accosted by paparazzi while leaving a restaurant in London last night, where he was "partying with not one, but four, ladies," causing him to blot for the comparatively flashbulb-free environment of a nearby vehicle. Overall, a thoroughly unnewsworthy event, but still we're left wondering a single question: Just four ladies? The Stallion's a little off his game.

The story of Kiefer Sutherland's drunken, flying takedown of a Christmas tree (in fairness, the angel ornament sitting atop it called him a pussy first) was so amazing as to seem wholly apocryphal, so while we'd heard that footage of the crapulent Yuletide miracle would appear in a documentary about the band he manages, we never allowed ourselves to dream that we might one day see it. We've been hurt before. Today, however, dreams come true.

Hollywood PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are submitted by our readers. Send yours to tips[AT]defamer.com (please put "sighting" or "PrivacyWatch" in the subject line) and let everyone know about the time you saw the lonesome Brokeback cowboys going through the paces with their women.

No matter what George Clooney can do or say to get people to focus on the genocide in Darfur, the only crime against humanity Americans are currently interested in involves the elimination of Chris Daughtry from American Idol. Somehow, having a platform of 40 million people hanging on your every Creed cover note for months wasn't nearly reward enough, as the guy has been telling anyone who'll listen how he's been robbed of the Idol tiara. (And, according to this amusing Photoshop montage, that was just the start of many shafts to follow.) It turns out, however, we may be looking at a Florida recount-type situation, as some voters are complaining their calls were directed to the wrong contestant:

Our love for this week's sponsors is total, perfect, complete. Join us in celebration the alpha and omega of our affection for those bullet-pointed below, knowing that their goods and services will bring you utterly mind-blowing satisfaction. If you'd like to advertise on Defamer and grab your own piece of ecstasy, see this page.

· The whole world, including places that aren't versed enough in the tenets of Christianity to know why Catholics don't like the idea of Jesus and Mary Magdalene hooking up, seems really, really excited for The Da Vinci Code. [Variety]
· After closing a deal to sell his clothing company $1.6 billion, Tommy Hilfiger is so rich that he's willing to fart away $20 million on a movie about the fashion industry. We predict that he's going to be the most popular guy in Hollywood by next Wednesday. [THR]
· Credit Var for not falling into the "sinking" trap and instead going scatological with their "Will the ship hit the fans?" Poseidon headline. [Variety]
· CBS wins all three hours (both overall and in the key demographic) of primetime Thursday TV against "super-sized" NBC episodes, even though (spoiler alert) Jim totally told Pam he was in love with her at the end of Casino Night and we like cried for a half hour straight. [THR]
· NBC officially picks up Friday Night Lights, Heroes, Raines, 20 Good Years and The Singles Table. They still haven't given the official go-ahead to the Tina Fey comedy—the network seems to be working things out with Alec Baldwin so that they can premiere the show in the fall and fulfill their dream of having a solid 90-minute block of all SNL-inspired programming. [Variety]

Of course, not every headline from today's round of Poseidon reviews oh-so-cleverly coopts the movie's sinking ship premise. It just seems that way:

The Paris Hilton brand is synonymous with skank quality, so there was much finger-twitching anticipation at the E3 gaming convention for the launching of the cellphone videogame to which she attached her name. After a short, anxiety-inducing wait, Hilton arrived to the sound of hundreds of cheering, undersexed men to promote said immersive, virtuawhore experience in person. She then made an announcement:

Wherein we invite our readers to unlearn everything they thought they knew about celebrities, life, and the English language and submit themselves to the radical reeducation of humpy E! gossip-imagineer Ted Casablanca's weekly blind item. Today, Casablanca takes up the humanitarian cause of saving recurring Blind Vice character Morgan Mayhem from the powdery clutches of the White Scourge. Pinch one nostril and inhale deeply of One Employee of the Month Blind Vice:

According to Page Six, skeletal Viacom executive presence Sumner Redstone was so displeased by rumors that corporate lieutenants Les Moonves and Tom Freston are leaking stories about each other to the press that he leaned back in his throne (upholstered, of course, in the tanned flesh of a former board member who once disappointed him), breathed a world-weary sigh that rattled his frail rib cage in a most unpleasant way, and finally gave two exasperated tugs on the velvet cord dangling behind him, summoning his bickering minions for a sit-down in which he could personally administer a punitive spoonful of castor oil to each chairman:

· We know we really should resist this lame urge, but we're so weak: Snakes on a Lesbian-Hosted Daytime Talk Show. No, we don't feel good about it, but there you have it.
· Posterwire goes inside the Lohan Wink.
· Things Britney Spears would do in a movie: nudity, play a superhero, and George Clooney.
· We just can't get enough of fallen Idol Chris Daughtry feeling sorry for himself. We get it, dude, you didn't expect to get booted off the show. Drown yourself in some 16-year-old groupies and get on with your life.

An operative submits this David Spade sighting from last night, in which Spade, who so memorably defended his budding relationship with Heather Locklear from accusations of adulterous naughty-making via cardboard puppet theater last week on The Showbiz Show, was spied chatting up a suspiciously non-Locklear female:

Ever on the lookout for new and cutting edge methods with which to curtail the proliferation of pirated materials, the MPAA is licking its chops at news of two British Labradors who have been successfully taught to sniff out DVDs in airport packages:

Somewhat unsurprisingly, serial drunken joyrider and former Lost star Michelle Rodriguez did not find being locked up for 65 hours with several hundred hard-bodied hardened, female criminals to be a cruel and unusual punishment. To hear her describe it, her weekend in all-girl detention was wall-to-wall talent shows and arts and crafts classes:

As demonstrated by these warring wire headlines on the upcoming series finale of Frankie Muniz's golden egg, Malcolm in the Middle, coming to a popular consensus on just how missed your departing sitcom will be is not that easy a task. Regardless of whether or not the show leaves us past its prime, however, one thing is for certain: that thanks to the magic of syndication, its grating They Might Be Giants theme song will be around to annoy us for years to come.