Arnold Schwarzenegger took the podium at the RNC yesterday, charged with the delicate task of energizing the Republican delegates with carefully-calibrated references to his acting career while not stealing the convention's focus from George W. Bush. Schwarzenegger worked in his catchphrases ("Don't be economic girlie men"), his resume (saying the DNC should have been titled "True Lies"), and self-deprecating commentary on his acting ability (the ovation from the delegates was "like getting and Oscar. Like I would know."). Hey, did you know people call him the Governator? Variety does (3 mentions), as does THR (a lone reference). We're especially disappointed he didn't fire off any bon mots from Commando, probably the most quotable work in his oeuvre. He either hasn't yet found the opportunity to tauntingly query someone "Remember when I said I'd kill you last?" or he's saving that for when they "find" bin Laden.

Jennifer Lopez has shitcanned "longtime makeup man" Scott Barnes for leaking incredibly important J.Lo information to the press. The cagey actress even set a trap for Barnes, feeding him fictional dirt and waiting for it to get back to her. It's regrettable that Lopez had to combat mistrust with subterfuge, but what other recourse did she have? If you can't trust the guy who ladels on the ass-minimizing blush and glues your nipples to your flimsy Grammy gowns, who can you trust?

—Star magazine paid people $20 bucks to spy on the Olsen Twins in the bathroom? If we're giving up an Andrew Jackson, we'd better get back a zip-loc bag full of vomit or at least what's left of their eight-ball. But we suppose that's just another one of those differences between bloggers and the mainstream media.
—Paris Hilton's head touched Christina Aguilera's shoulder at a VMA afterparty, nearly opening up a skank vortex that sucked in Carson Daly's penis. Nearly. Sigh.
—Charlize Theron certainly dead: According to her publicist, the actress suffered "no cuts, no broken bones" from an on-set injury while shooting Aeon Flux.
—Jewel-juggling sister site Fleshbot gives a sneak peak of "DC Sex Blogger" Jessica "Washingtonienne" Cutler's Playboy spread. [NSFW]

Given Britney Spears' recent predilection for unleashing her manicured tootsies in some of Southern California's finest public restrooms, we can't guarantee that this is just a hickey and not a fungal infection like ringworm. Until he brings his fiancée to a physician to confirm it's merely the innocent byproduct of some harmless (though rather immature) necking instead of a more sinister malady, Mr. Federline should probably keep the Cheetos bag clear of the blemish.

1. Reminisce about the days before AHWOSG made Dave Eggers the unstoppable publishing juggernaut/ubiquitous literary mega-celeb he is today, as Eggers presents and signs Created in Darkness by Troubled Americans: The Best of McSweeney’s Humor Category 1998–2003 tonight at Book Soup. Maybe you can even ask him what it was like to sit by as a genuinely offended Janeane Garofalo tried to explain the Eggers legacy to decidedly less ironic fellow autobiographer Joe "Joey Pants" Pantoliano on Dinner for Five.
2. Phil Collins is the next ironic guilty pleasure just waiting to be ruined by The O.C. No? The Postal Service recently covered “Against All Odds.” Why not go hear the original live and watch as Phil rocks some serious "Sussudio" at the Staples Center tonight? Jacket totally fucking required!
3. Grab one of those rave kids and threaten to withhold their X and lollipops unless they can tell you the difference between techno and house music at the BPM Magazine release party at Pearl (and featuring Photek).

Did you find yourself somewhat unsettled that you didn't hear about the recent deaths of Laura Branigan, Fay Wray, or (God rest his soul) Rick James until perhaps an entire day after the fact? The Celebrity Death Beeper allows you to cultivate your obsession with Hollywood morbidity and instantly taunt friends each time you rack up some new points in your celebrity death pool. Be the first on your block to know about the coming tragedies of Tara Reid or Andy Dick! (Hey, we're just playing the odds. We hope they live long, healthy, skanktastic lives.)

Despair, all you aspiring producers who enter here: The PRODUCERMAG blog (all caps theirs) interviews producer Steven Paul, who reveals that he was pretty much born with the touch that allowed him to bring together the magical elements that became The Karate Dog, Baby Geniuses, and SuperBabies: Baby Geniuses 2. So if you've been fetching dry-cleaning and making up inventive excuses to cover for your bosses while they're "in a meeting with a $700 an hour body-relaxation consultant" in order to learn the trade, just give up now. It's fairly clear that you either got the instinct to put Scott Baio in the frame with a talking baby while you were still in the womb, or you're out of luck. Perhaps you would consider a nice career in craft service?

Hollywood PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are sent in by our readers. Send yours to tips@defamer.com and let Jeremy Piven know that even though he plays a dick agent on Entourage, you're pretty certain he's not quite as bad while having a cup of coffee in Santa Monica.

· Director Mark Waters has signed on to direct Henry's List of Wrongs for New Line. Waters, you'll remember, was the director entrusted with shepherding Lindsay Lohan's breasts from Freaky Friday to Mean Girls. Let's see how he fares without those particular pillows to fall back on. [THR]
· Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn team up for Columbia comedy Outsourced, continuing an on-screen love affair that began with Zoolander, was revived with Starsky & Hutch, and will continue with next year's The Wedding Crashers. We can't wait for Ben Stiller to claw out Vaughn's eyes in a jealous rage. [THR]

Whew! For a minute there, we thought that the Republican's own "big tent" party full of celebrities was going to be a lonely affair, with Stephen Baldwin quietly sipping a cup of punch and nervously watching the door for a Schwarzenegger sighting. But yesterday, the GOP unholstered a big gun and took aim at Hollywood:

Since we've already entered the "Respect Copyrights" space this morning, here's an opportunity to again stoke the flames of our Manny Perry protest. A reader transcribes a passage from mildly adorable Scrubs star/indie director-blogger Zach Braff's liner notes from the Garden State soundtrack:

For those of you just joining us, we've been dedicating our free time this summer to stamping out the furry, absurd, fashion-damaged menace that is the Ugg boot. It's been a bloody struggle marked by incremental victories and soul-crushing losses, but the fight continues. This missive from the Defamer correspondent on misguided trends adopted in flyover country gives us some new hope that the Ugg problem can finally be killed off. L.A.'s fashion victims: You wouldn't want to look like some trophy wife from Winnetka out on a shopping binge on the Magnificent Mile, would you? Maybe it's finally time to drop your Uggs off at Goodwill and invest some of your hard-earned tip money on the new, shaggy hottness before they wind up in Cleveland.

Blog Engadget interviews outgoing MPAA head/pirate-crazy copyright crusader Jack Valenti about technology, his legacy, and the continuing menace posed by digital piracy. The unflappable Valenti was his eloquent, statesman-like self, even invoking great leaders from our past to illustrate the struggle that will continue even through his imminent retirement.

—We honestly don't care if you've seen this before, where it came from, or if it's a fake. (Probably.) Go ahead, try and stop us from linking to it. Oops, you couldn't.
—The Day in Lindsay Lohan: Lindsay nearly killed inside the Love Bug, but survives only to face annihilation by Tara Reid in a fight for Paris Hilton's affection. Say what? [via Thighs Wide Shut]
—First Britney fails to wed at the VMAs, then pulls a no-show at her own charity event. This time she's gone too far! Those kids aren't going to learn how steal baby-daddys and court dangerous public bathroom infections all by themselves! [scroll halfway down page]
—Singer Laura Branigan dies. The funeral will be shown Friday on VH-1, with moving eulogies by Michael Ian Black and Hal Sparks.
—Dave Matthews Band PoopGate rages on: DMB offers DNA to solve RV BM SNAFU.

If you've ever sat around with some pals on a lazy summer day and played that game where you dream up a porno titles for mainstream movies, it's a safe bet that the Tomkat Theater in West Hollywood has already topped you with actual XXX fare. And no, I Know Who You Blew Last Summer does not star Jennifer Love Hewitt—unless she's been fooling us all of these years and is packing a big surprise under her skirt.

1. Atone for doubting the box-office clout of Hero (OK, maybe that was just us) and catch the epic on a proper screen at the Vista Theater.
2. Didn't get enough of Usher and Kanye West last night at the VMAs, when they were shown on screen every fifteen seconds? Then catch them at the Staples Center. Tickets are still available. Of course, if you really want to hear "Yeah," you could always just stick your head out the window and wait for the first Hummer to roll by.
3. All broken up that Craig Kilborn has abandoned you in your hour of talk show need? Catch the Greg Proops Chat Show at Largo.

In an essay for the Australian Herald Sun, Russell Crowe bodyguard Mark "Spud" Carroll tries to explain a punch-up with his movie-star boss on the set of Ron Howard's The Cinderella Man. Check out the bodyguard's blow-by-blow of the hot, Aussie man-on-man action:

LA.comfidential's Laurie Pike notices this interesting marketing ploy in the September issue of Los Angeles magazine:

Enjoy some extravagant Hollywood home theater porn courtesy of the NYT Sunday Magazine. Above, Wilmer Valderrama takes in a movie as three struggling actresses are forced to stand against a wall and admire his gigantic equipment. Strangely, girlfriend Lindsay Lohan nowhere to be found. The best part: Valderrama did the room's decorating, carefully choosing that striking Summer Catch poster (left, co-starring one Wilmer Valderrama) all by himself.

Defamer checked out the opening of Hollywood Hell House at the Steve Allen Theater Saturday night to experience some good, clean, fundamentalist Christian scare-tactics as reinterpreted by some heathen Hollywood troublemakers. Our brief photo-essay follows. The vignettes are presented out of chronological order so that we don't spoil the House's surprises for anyone who wants to see graphic depictions of what awaits their sinning souls in the afterlife. Also, since this is a family-oriented blog, we're saving the (extremely) gory photos for ourselves.