· We would never even think of exposing Paris Hilton's private e-mails to the public, even if they supposedly involve Lindsay Lohan outing Jessica Simpson's adventures in blow. Others, however, aren't nearly as ethical.
· Note to Paris: Pick a security question to which the answer is something other than"Tinkerbell." This probably precludes using "What's your nickname for your genitalia?", but such is the price of security.
· We cannot in any way endorse prank phone calls to those in Hilton's address book. Why not read our IMterview with one of the victims instead?
· Russell Crowe refused to show his prosthetic penis to the Queen. Paris could learn something from him.
· Man alive, does Paris talk to regular operators instead of diamond-encrusted ones when she flies? Perish the thought!

· A short listing of tonight's concerts (don't call it a round-up): Afrika 'Baby' Bambatta and the Blakkat Soundsystem at the Viper Room; Robbers on High Street at Spaceland (your chance to say you saw them in a room full of sweaty hipsters etc etc); if you missed 'em yesterday: Paul Westerberg at the Henry Fonda Theatre and Earlimart at the Silverlake Lounge, again for the first time.
· Legally Blonde co-writer Karen McCullah Lutz flies solo in discussing her novel The Bachelorette Party at Barnes and Noble at the Grove. She will likely at least tolerate all of your questions about Reese Witherspoon's adorable outfits.
· We are always in search of a somewhat classier way to get stinking drunk: The Social at the Arsenal has art, a DJ, and booze.

Wow, you can find anything on Craigslist!

An operative with intimate knowledge of the War of the World set has offered us a few more details about the Scientology "assist" tent, where L. Ron's little helpers give "mini-massages" to the crew courtesy of the incredibly generous Tom Cruise. Apparently, only Scientology assistants of the highly-qualified "hot" variety staff the tent, which, incidentally, is a treat from Cruise that travels with the production from the Universal set to location shoots. (Does Cruise ever stop giving? Answer: He does not.) While weary crew members enjoy their assists, the helpful, model-quality technicians try to convince the assistee to purchase a copy of Dianetics. We don't even want to think about the hard sell the crew is subjected to if they opt for the "body thetan calibration," but it probably involves a sensation that can be described as "pulling weeds while wearing a sandpaper glove."

The pre-Oscar script's been written over and over again: Old Hollywood thinks Chris Rock's going to fuck up their special night of globally-celebrated autoeroticism, while Young Hollywood can't wait to earn points at Chateau Marmont by having their names mentioned on the list of who's got their own dick in their mouth. If you can't wait to see some of what Rock will do on Sunday night, the LAW's Nikki Finke has some spoilers:

Hollywood PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are sent in by our readers. Send yours to tips@defamer.com and let the world know that someone who looks like Jack Nicholson might've been checking you out.

By now, it's accepted as fact that the best way to communicate with Hollywood's decision makers is through the creative use of billboards during Oscar season. The original version of this rolling anti-smoking advocacy ad will probably raise some awareness among studio heads huddled outside for their bi-hourly Marlboro Light, but why should certain Colombian interests not adopt a campaign targeted at the industry's influencers? Fun fact: No one ever died of lung cancer by blowing rails off a stripper's ass.

· Fuck the tsunami victims, and forget about houses sliding down hillsides, Hollywood has a bigger problem: How will the pounding rain affect the Oscar parties? [Variety]
· Everybody works during pilot season! James Van Der Beek and one of the Arquettes turn in their food stamps until at least mid-April as they sign up for sitcom pilots. [THR]
· The Shield showrunner Shawn Ryan tempts severe writers' block by inking a huge three-year overall deal with 20th Century Fox TV. Poor schmuck. He may never write again, and his army of gold robots will provide scant comfort as he kicks his laptop, screaming, "Why can't you give me more edgy cop dramas?!" [Variety]
· Failing to find a sufficiently commercial project involving the sexual molestation of former child actors and cancer patients, entertainment firm Neverland Films abandons its bad-buzz name and is reborn as Code Entertainment. Next up: Michael Jackson rechristens his home "Code Entertainment's House of Prepubescent Sodomy," forcing another naming crisis for the unlucky company. [Variety]
· U.S. Circuit Judge Harry Edwards tells off the FCC because when ordinary citizens do it, the governent cackles with delighted disregard: "Are you going to regulate washing machines next?...Ancillary [power] does not mean you get to rule the world." Awww snap! [THR]

In the interest of stanching the flow of calls, e-mails, and Forget-Me-Not™ flower-grams expressing concern that we might have foolishly opened an attachment from an unsolicited e-mail purporting to be from the FBI and unleashing a virus throughout the computers at Defamer HQ, we assure you that we did no such thing. (For a detailed view of our security precautions in such situations, click here.) However, we think that we may have contracted gonorrhea of the eyeball from repeated viewing of the hacked photos from Paris Hilton's Sidekick. Please, we beg of you: If you need to stare at the pictures of a topless Hilton kissing the infamous Egplant Dike Ass (nsfw) for upwards of two hours per session, wear safety goggles. Take it from us, the pus-y discharge we're experiencing is no walk in the proverbial park.

You heard it here first: Big-breasted psychics are white-hot right now. In an effort to stay in-step with their competitors' catching of the juggsy-medium Zeitgeist, later today ABC will introduce a six-episode Desperate Housewives arc featuring Anna Nicole Smith as a lesbian professional poker player who's spooked by her ability to commune with the dead.

According to Page Six, Miramax is trying to "disinvite" guests to its pre-Oscar party at the Pacific Design Center Saturday night, shifting certain previously-invited individuals to a "waiting list." We've heard that many of the tragically bumped are agents—coincidentally, we're sure!—who, luckily for the Weinsteins, always take personal slights that reduce their intake of free alcohol and opportunities to schmooze other people's clients with professionalism and grace.

Paris Hilton has finally broken her deafening media silence in the wake of her Sidekick hacking. Hilton, slathered in the cocoa butter of suffering and gently baking to death in the tropical hellfire of Aruba, threw up her hands and let loose a primal mumble to an uncaring God (by way of His preferred conduit, a writer for US Weekly):

On his "Producer's Blog" (yes, it's true, anyone can have a blog—and look at that adorable picture of him sitting at a laptop!) on the Oscar website, awards show puppet-master Gil Cates shrugs and asks, "What, me worry about Chris Rock spraying fine-carrying f-bombs into a billion homes?"

Who says that Tom Cruise's wild devotion to Scientology is creepy? Certainly not us! (We hardly even notice the white van that's been parked across the street from Defamer HQ for six months anymore.) L. Ron's favorite kid is directing his incredible, strings-free generosity towards his War of the Worlds crew:

MSNBC's Jeanette Walls introduces us to the hottest new club in town, where even Kevin Smith is made to wait for service:

· Concert round-up: Ben Lee (ex-boyfriend of the Crudup-stealing Claire Danes, if you care about that sort of thing) will be celebrating the release of his new record, Awake Is the New Asleep, at the Viper Room; we're deeply depressed we won't make it to see Earlimart and Lou Barlow and Matt Costa at the Silverlake Lounge; the great Paul Westerberg plays the Henry Fonda Theatre.
· There's a free screening of The Motorcycle Diaries at the Brentwood Presbyterian Church, but you'll be wracked with guilt if you skip out on the post-movie theological discussion led by a dude who "found God on AC/DC’s Highway to Hell tour."
· Book Soup hosts Legs McNeil and Jennifer Osborne as they read and sign The Other Hollywood: The Uncensored Oral History of the Porn Industry Oral history. Clever!

The producers of Freddie Prinze Jr's sort-of semiautobiographical sitcom pilot for ABC, The Freddie Prinze Jr Project, are determined to explode tired stereotypes. From a casting notice:

It might seem obvious that a couple of Oscar nominations might sour a person on the artistic worth of an MTV-manufactured, panic-jigging pop star, but without our operatives overhearing a fascinating conversation like the one below, how would we know for sure?

In our exhaustive effort to remember the real victims of Paris Hilton's Sidekick hacking, the people in her phone who suffered wave upon wave of prank phone call, we present this IMterview with Mike Sandwich, rock star, friend of Paris, and hacking survivor. Sandwich had the misfortune of being in Hilton's notebook under the not-nearly-cryptic enough entry "Mike sandwich met at esquire looking for bands 917 [redacted#]." We corralled Sandwich via Instant Messenger to record his thoughts on desperate voicemails, Paris' unslakeable thirst for publicity stunts, and hot, girl-on-skunk action:

A reader spotted Paris Hilton's other sidekick in the middle of yesterday's T-Mobile hacking hailstorm—in a Verizon store. Oh, the irony!