Hollywood PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are sent in by readers. Send yours to tips@defamer.com to let them know that you are watching, always watching.

Oh, we do love our cameraphone pics. A reader captures American Idol runner-up/showtune-belting Muppet Diana DiGarmo lunching at Souplantation. We always assumed they just executed the losers on an empty stomach, but it appears that the AI team gives them a reasonably-priced final meal as well. (Click the pic at left for the full-size version.)

· MTV: "Oh, that thing where we didn't want to air the Super Size Me commercial? Forget it, somebody fucked up. We totally want it. Who? Um. Johnny Junior-Level-Staffer. He's always screwing things up."

Thank you to this week's advertisers, who are keeping at least one Hollywood degenerate in cheap beer for Memorial Day. If you'd like to advertise on Defamer, send an email here.

Wanna advertise? Info here. (Unless you're Wired magazine — they evidently give us the advertising. And for free!)

Paul, Hastings, Janofsky, and Walker, LLP lost a lawyer yesterday. He won't be returning, either, after his farewell memo. "In fact," he writes, "I dare say that I would rather be dressed up like a pinata and beaten than remain with this group any longer."

Like Erin O'Brien, the CAA assistant who was fired after her gushy "I work in Hollywood!" story circulated throughout the western world, the story of Ms. Poopy Pants couldn't have spread so far without eager emailers who were willing to spread it.

The weather appears to bite ass, but we'll still be bailing the hell out of Manhattan mid-afternoon with the rest of you. (Although, honestly? We might just skip the mad LIRR rush and take in an early showing of Soul Plane, which is sure to be the Citizen Kane of blacksploitation airline industry films. Seriously — Soul Plane, we're thinking, may be the best summer offering on the docket. We're super-stoked about the silver screen triumph of that Snoopy Dog Dogg fella!)

The Story of Poopy Pants elicited lots of reader mail — not all of it friendly. In fact, this might be one of the best pieces of hate mail we've ever gotten. There's definitely a job in our offices for its writer whenever she wants.

In case you only read Gawker — in which case, you're fucked anyway — you've probably heard that you're suppose to prepare yourself for Massive Amounts of Imminent Terrorism. Like, now. Immediately. Whatever!

· Michael Lewittes, news editor of the Star, is asking for $1.3 million dollars in defamation damages — in part because a vindictive website referred to him as "that closeted editor of a certain paper," Page Six reports from court documents. I call bullshit. Could it be any more fucked up that insinuating a heterosexual is gay is a million-dollar offense? [NYP]
· As we reported on April 19th, a few Spence girls had a good stoney time on a class trip to D.C. Page Six goes the extra mile and names Seagram's heir Edgar Bronfman, Jr.'s daughter as a perpetrator in the incident. [NYP]
· Lloyd Grove reports on conversations at Soho House, the press-shy hotspot — will the good English folk ban the gossip columnist? [NYDN]
· Actress Lindsay Lohan's dad, famous for a recent family brawl, did jail time on three separate occasions. [NYDN]

Welcome to a special, single-sighting edition of Hollywood PrivacyWatch, which has necessitated this Defamer Reader Advisory: Stay out of Glendale unless you're prepared to have your Sunset Strip'd ass rocked right back to 1984!

· The dirt on Lohan Family Feud: starlet Lindsay Lohan's dad had fisticuffs with his brother-in-law after a family communion. Ah, Catholics. A few drinks after church and they're beating the crap out of each other. [NYDN]
· PR flack claims that Halle Berry doesn't use a body double in the upcoming Catwoman. Right — and neither did Brad Pitt in Troy. Oh wait, yes, old chicken legs totally did. [NYP]
· Liza Minelli spends Paris to New York flight screeching like a banshee. [NYP]
· Mira Sorvino to marry post-teen waiter. Some say she's preggers. Yay, it's a busboy!

Today's NYO profiles Iris Javed, one of the few female livery drivers in the City. Why, Iris, do women prefer women as drivers?

This lovely, if chilly, morning finds the tabloid wars heating up — Daily News gossip-boy Lloyd Grove claims the Post's Page Six has nabbed two of his items, and insinuates that someone on Page Six's staff should get disemployed. This is clearly a retaliatory strike after last week's Page Six item about how lazy and shiftless (or something) Lloyd is, which is in revenge for... something or other. It's very Godfather XIV at this point.

Hollywood PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are sent in by readers. Make sure yours are recorded for posterity by emailing them to tips@defamer.com.

Defamer's server was down for a couple of hours this morning, due to what our techie-type person describes as a mysterious "attack from China." We suppose this is what happens when you pay for your hosting with giant bags of pills and American blue jeans.

· Once again, rock-boy Bryan Adams is living our dream: we wanna push Tommy Hilfiger into the pool. But we also wanna hold his head underwater for a while. (Not for long! Just 'til he apologizes for his crimes against fashion!) [NYP]
· Will Southampton's Jet East open this weekend? Or, not up to code, will its bathroom counters remain forlornly uncoated by coke and model-vomit? [NYDN]
· Someone reportedly has beaten the crap out of someone at Lindsay Lohan's parents' house in Long Island. No word yet on the outcome of the "domestic disturbance." Perhaps her parents freaked over the Great Scar Tissue Debacle. [NYDN]

1. Clay Aiken, now forever known as Chester the Molester. [via Modern Age]
2. Michael Kinsely, the new LA Times ed/op editor, takes down NY Times columnist David Brooks... in the NY Times.
3. Two's a trend: that slutty doll on the cover of David Sedaris's book sure looks familiar.
4. Justin Timberlake, making his serious acting debut on-set as we speak, isn't going to be the next Frank Sinatra.
5. Gothamist launches Chicagoist. Seriously. Expect alderman scandal coverage and... uh... okay, that's it. It's a hard choice between living in Chicago and being buried alive, and I speak from experience on both counts.

From New York mag's gossip columnist Deborah Schoeneman's birthday party, held Saturday night on the roof of the Gramercy Park Hotel. (Uh, is it just me, or did blind items get a lot less blind while I was on vacation?)