Who will corporately sponsor actress Lindsay Lohan's 22nd rockin' birthday? Remember, it's the '00s now, and the Brand is You. Lindsay clearly understands this, as does the marketing firm handling her party. But let's cut the crap: if you're a sponsor for her birthday bash, what's in it for you? After all, this is what the marketing site calls "an internationally media worthy event. Lindsay and 10 of her closest friends will start the celebration in the early afternoon with manicures, facials and massages."

Designer Marc Jacobs recently got a new boyfriend and changed his Facebook relationship status to "It's complicated" from "In an Open Relationship." Does that mean Jacobs is loyal to his upscale new boy toy in a way he never was to threeway-friendly ex Jason Preston? Perhaps! But Preston isn't going to send the new man threatening text messages as he did with Jacobs' last guy, Austin A. No no, he's moved on, and in fact has a new, awesomer boyfriend, who Preston wants all his Facebook buddies to know about, at least according to the status update above, forwarded by an email tipster. Let the race to a Facebook-able California gay wedding begin!

Yesterday, the New York Post splashed with a big story about on-air cussing WNBC anchor Sue Simmons being a drunk who liked to down cocktails before doing her show. Today, the tabloid's follow-up mentions how she denies having a drink before showtime in the last 15 years, without even acknowledging that Simmons is talking about the Post itself when she says "I understand now why many people don't trust the media." Apart from the "Journalism" issue here (ha), the odd part is that the paper should have a little more respect for fellow professional drunks. After all, boozing is a Post trademark—and it starts right at the top, with the paper's heroically enthusiastic alcohol-abusing editor Col Allan!

Like two straight co-eds showily making out at a party, the fake-lesbian act trotted out by usually-classy film starlets reeks of desperate self-promotion. (Yet, our hetero male readers mysteriously disagree.) There was Natalie Portman and Scarlett Johansson's W magazine spread, which featured very intense staring that led us to rather sexual conclusions, despite the fact that they played sisters in the movie they were promoting. And now Scarlett and Penelope Cruz's kissing scene is all hyped up in the trailer for Woody Allen's Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

Ramona Singer, the aspiring fashionista on Bravo's awful reality show Real Housewives of New York City, was spotted by Page Six acting boorish at a goodies junket, since her show and fellow cast members weren't embarrassing enough already. Singer was stopped at a "gifting suite" at the Ritz-Carlton "demanding four pairs of Luxxotica sunglasses and more than $6,000 of Lia Sophia jewelry. When she was denied, Singer screamed, 'Well, do you want press or not?'" Oh, Ramona. Sigh. If you're going to successfully run a jewelry and clothing company you have to understand there's a hierarchy to celebrity freeloading, and unsympathetic monsters starring in a basic cable reality show are very near the bottom. Also from Page Six, Housewives' "Countess" LuAnn de Lesseps who is married to a French aristocrat, was maybe snogging with a younger dude:

Gracie the hound has been spotted again, this time in Philadelphia, where the quirky indie actress is shooting a movie: "While browsing the Wilbur Vintage shop in the basement, Posey's dog showed an interest in shop owner Dan Wilbur's Stride Winterblue gum... Wilbur says that Posey asked him to chew a piece a little bit and then give it to Gracie because she loves to chew gum. Posey tried to retrieve the gum from her pooch, but Gracie swallowed it." Can someone call the ASPCA already? [Philly Gossip]

Scruffy musician and noted poet-blogger Ryan Adams has denied dating singer Mandy Moore before, on his blog (which is down again, but it's like the weather—just wait a few hours.) But now he's totally feeling her up in a comic book store. Whatever. [The Superficial]

Hiding in Hip Hop, entertainment industry vet Terrance Dean's coy tell-all book about the gay secrets of famous people in the music world and Hollywood at large, has not exhausted all of its blind items. Not by a long shot. And I was forced to read (a large portion of) this book, so I plan to bring these gay celebrity blind items to you, the curious masses. Today: the lesbians! And at least one is very obvious:

The popular celebrities of the day influence baby names, because we worship them! As you can see from this graphicle, the popularity of "Britney" as a baby name (gleaned from the Social Security database, which is searchable), has plummeted. What mom in their right mind would want to mark their child from birth with a reminder of a mentally unstable child star turned Lolita Pepsi-selling shill turned Blanche DuBois? "Britney" was at #200 in baby names in 1993, and its decline in popularity mirrors the pop star's own, beginning its descent to #600 around 2001. Yep, sounds about right.

By the end of last week things looked pretty dark in the world of Project Runway. Even setting aside the show's imminent move to Lifetime, the lawsuit between producer Weinstein Co. and former host network Bravo and the defection of Runway's executive producers, there were also alarming reports about Marie Claire maybe partnering with the show and judge Nina Garcia leaving Elle and possibly Runway itself. None of that has yet come to pass, and Women's Wear Daily informs everyone today that it's because Garcia is still negotiating with both Elle and Runway and because neither Elle nor sad Marie Claire have even started negotiations with Runway yet. WWD also reminds everyone that as bad as Elle is, at least the magazine is growing its circulation, while Marie Claire's circ dropped nearly 60,000 copies to 341,000 last year, so maybe the magazine is being used as a pawn by both Elle (in negotiations with Weinstein Co.) and Garcia (in negotiations with Elle). When you throw in the possibility of Bravo developing its own Runway imitation, there are some real opportunities here for groundbreaking research by ambitious game theorists. [WWD]

Suge Knight, CEO of Death Row Records, intimidating former football player, and certified gangster, somehow got himself knocked out at a club on Saturday night. Odd! Even odder: the guy who did the knocking allowed TMZ to take his picture, although "he didn't want us to use his name." Message to that guy: Run, you fool! Run for your life! Message to Suge Knight: we are on your side in this and all other disputes, and don't let anyone tell you any differently. But seriously, Mr. Punchy: Run. Below, two pictures of Suge Knight laid out unconscious, which should not be construed as disrespectful to him in any way:

NYC blogger-about-town Cajun Boy was minding his business on a bench outside of an American Apparel store on the Lower East Side last weekend, when "a man with thick eyeglasses wearing a blue Member's Only jacket, carrying a denim murse, and generally carrying on like a crazy person" started pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, shouting into a headset. The man's erratic behavior had Cajun Boy convinced he was a maniac about to shoot up the store. Until he got a good look and discovered—spoiler alert—that it was just energetic American Apparel CEO Dov Charney, no doubt engaged in important corporate business! A scary, businesslike man. Not spotted: Dov's poor chihuahua. [Cajun Boy In The City]

Yesterday, I finally received my advance copy of Hiding in Hip Hop, former closeted entertainment industry gadfly (pictured) Terrance Dean's much-hyped autobiography about all of the gays that are, well, hiding in hip hop. I've read about half of it so far. Dean has already proven himself eager to trot out blind items about male celebrities he says he's hooked up with, and the book doesn't disappoint in that regard. Today, an overview of what the book is and isn't, and then some of what you've been waiting for: three TV actors, a famous rapper, and a "megastar," anonymously outed.

Bungalow 8 founder and Manhattan nightclub soothsayer Amy Sacco is being humble! "Most everything's overrated [about NYC nightlife]," she says. "Even I'm overrated!" She thinks that London is now "much more interesting than NYC." Funny, because last time we checked in on her London branch of Bungalow 8, local reviewers were calling it "empty." Surely those days are past? Well, recently they haven't been calling it empty, exactly—just overpriced, overcharging, and helmed by an ill-mannered doorman!:

Alyse Myers, a Times vice president, recently published a book about her cruel mother. Perhaps you heard about it last week in the Times, where it received a glowing if stilted and end-spoiling review. Or perhaps you missed that review but caught Myers' essay in this past Sunday's Times magazine, in which Myers revisits the topic of her mom, and gets another nice plug for her book. Granted, it was Mother's Day Sunday, so the book was topical. And, granted, Myers' employ at the Times was disclosed in both articles. But so much kind coverage so quickly on a Times executive lends at least the appearance of favoritism. And according to one email tipster, Times staffers are upset not only at appearances, but at Myers' behavior, as well:

Once upon a time Heather Mills had the audacity to marry Paul McCartney and a funny island nation got really, really upset about it. So upset that they're still coming up with stuff like this: "Heather Mills has been accused of breaking a promise to a disabled mother whose artificial legs she promised to pay for. The 40-year-old ex-wife of Sir Paul McCartney - who herself has an artificial after she was hit by a car in 1993 - met Maria Rybkina, who was left tragically disabled in a train accident, in her Moscow flat four years ago. Heather promised 28-year-old Maria a personal donation of $20,000 to provide her with new artificial legs, but it has now been claimed that the former glamor model never handed over the cash, despite repeated promises to do so."

What happened this week on The Sci-Fi Channel's space disco Battlestar Galactica? I dunno. I was blotto and thinking about Smurfs. But I took notes, as always. There was more shooting than usual, which is always nice. After the jump, spoilers! Maybe!

Early buzz over Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is kind of pooh. First, co-star John Hurt bad-mouthed the flick and executive producer George Lucas to the Times of London, saying, "It's cops-and-robbers stuff. And it's all to make Mr. Lucas an extra billion, as if he needs it." Now the basement-dwelling fanboys at Ain't It Cool News are crying like a bunch of YouTube commenters.

The Beatrice Inn should at least pretend a little more convincingly. The signs in the downtown nightspot warning against drugs, sex, smoking, and dancing are routinely ignored, particularly for Josh Hartnett-level celebrities. And according to a tipster, bouncers told all the patrons to extinguish their cigarettes shortly before a raid by the police last night. Two heavyset cops came in around 2 a.m. and made a beeline for the bathrooms—which are, by regulation, drug-free. Still, even the police presence didn't stop two girls from trying to conduct their nefarious business in there:

So, have there been any updates in the prolonged daily rollout of salacious details about "Preston," the mystery professional athlete who allegedly had a fling with Terrance Dean, former closeted MTV producer and author of the upcoming book on the gay side of hip hop? Well yes there has been an update! Though we must say, he's really trickling this story out slowly. Today, Preston—who we now know is a pro basketball player—reveals his down-low status, and then takes Terrance home to meet his mom: