· In this new Indy featurette, Shia LaBeouf recalls the tingles he felt the first time Harrison Ford wrapped his arms tightly around his waist, nuzzled in close, and the two embarked on the ride of a lifetime. [IndianaJones.com]
· Some people, however, would be just as happy to spoon with a horse. [Craigslist]
· Good news: They want you to pose shirtless for the cover of a magazine, Jamie Lee Curtis! Bad news: It's AARP's. [CNN]
· Ninja exclusive: First look at Snake Eyes from the G.I. Joe movie. [superherohype.com]
· Christian Siriano will be representing Access Hollywood on the Nickelodeon Kids' Choice Awards orange carpet, where he'll be turning your children gay. [Access Hollywood]
· Where in the world is Defamer editor-at-large Mark Lisanti, you might be wondering? Possibly winning...A NEW CAR!!! [Lisanti Quarterly]
· And in case you thought you were being paranoid: No. The Easter Bunny really does hate you. [YouTube]

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We've quite enjoyed Macy's new marketing campaign in which they put together their design "stars" in fast-paced montages jam-packed with one-liners from the likes of The Donald, Martha Stewart and Jessica Simpson, who's fully come to terms with her dumb blonde schtick by agreeing to pretend she just can't figure out how to open the darn door to Macy's while schlepping boxes of her stripper shoes. But the latest spot has us confused. Featuring Mariah Carey (she has a fragrance, unlike any other celebrity we know!), Carlos Santana (highly respected shoe designer and sometimes musician!), Donald and Martha, the commercial's theme appears to be the way in which consumer goods can inspire...quasi-rhythmical snippets on Santana's legendary guitar?

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We're stocking up on bottled water and canned goods around Defamer HQ today, where even our shameless pop-culture pathologies can't process devastating reports that the venerable Associated Press is launching a standalone entertainment news organisation. The equally tormented Nikki Finke, whose giddiness at yesterday's fall of PageSix.com was mitigated only slightly by the firings it would require, crashed back to Earth today with an internal memo clearly foreshadowing -- via a Q&A with new "Director of Entertainment Content" Daniel Becker -- the violent demise of newsgathering as we know it:

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Mmmmm....dirrrrrrrt sannnnndwich. Each week, Defamer videogetarian Molly McAleer plucks just the ripest, juiciest morsels from the tabloid TV landscape, slices them finely, then stacks them carefully on artisanal all-grain bread smeared in a Tuscan olive tapanade for a satisfying meal unto itself. This week: an impressionable Abigail Breslin recalls her Spartan co-star's toilet-mouth; TMZ has a good laugh at serious skin conditions and near-fatal animal attacks; Gary Busey pep-talks the terminal cancer right out of Patrick Swayze; and Oprah's dog chokes to death on a ball. Enjoy!

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Looks like Nicole Kidman should take notes from fellow country crooner wife Faith Hill when it comes to groupie love. At a Keith Urban concert in Australia two nights ago, underwhelmed Nic didn't hide any signs of boredom from her VIP seat. There was yawning, there were eyelids dangerously close to shutting down, and even a not-so-subtle glance at her watch just to check how much long she'd have to slouch through Urban's self-proclaimed "awe-inspiring prowess as a guitar player with lightning dexterity." More pictures of Kidman's enthusiastic attendance after the jump, plus our suggestions for how to redeem herself next time:

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PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are submitted by our readers, and are posted several times a week, so send them in often--the fate of the universe relies upon it! Submit yours to tips[AT]defamer.com (please put "sighting" or "PrivacyWatch" in the subject line so we don't lose them) and tell everyone about the time you saw Stephen Hawking flirting shamelessly with a restaurant hostess in Pasadena.

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We admit not devoting much thought to the sensation that is Tyler Perry's Madea franchise (Diary of a Mad Black Woman, Madea's Family Reunion, and this week's Meet the Browns among others) beyond the actor-writer-director's garish drag stylings and Lionsgate's savvy in attracting one of moviegoing's most underserved audiences back to theatres every couple years. Thank God for Salon's James Hannaham, who today breaks down the Perry phenomenon for the controversial throwbacks to minstrelsy, misogyny and all-around insensitivity old Madea may actually represent:

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Back in 1997, two wondrous events occurred: Joss Whedon surprised the television world by managing to remake the classic Buffy The Vampire Slayer into an incredibly watchable, witty, addictive TV show, receiving critical praise and an instant loyal fan base, despite a relatively unknown cast. Secondly, Sarah Michelle Gellar's career skyrocketed from ugly duckling soap star to teen idol in a matter of weeks. Girls wanted to be her and get in the sack with Xander, and guys just wanted her to karate kick the shit out of them. And now, 11 years later, the entire team (well, minus wise ol' Giles, David Boreanaz, and star in her own right these days Alyson Hannigan) reunited yesterday at the Paley Centre to the joy of all Buffyverse inhabitants. And my how things have changed: they've got jobs! And new hairstyles! Pictures from the smiley reunion, plus details on the vampire-fighting clan's future plans, after the jump.

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Because Friday is typically our day to let out a little workweek steam by offering up material just a little more frivolous than the hard news we churn out Monday through Thursday, we offer you this delightful mashup by Defamer videotrix Molly "The Bride of Spindenstein" McAleer. In it, Barbara Walters bids a fond farewell to the shores of her sanity, and sets sail on a large Viking barge for the fabled realm of Dementia: And it's all to a hip-hop beat. Enjoy, everyone! Happy Friday! And Happy Easter!

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Still smarting from his inglorious Oscar Night '06 jilting at the hands of fork-tongued Crash co-producers Paul Haggis and Cathy Schulman, real estate magnante-cum-film industry dilettante Bob Yari has a whole new territory to divide and not quite conquer. It's called "Canada," reports Adam Dawtry, where the would-be mogul this week locked up distribution for his slate of around 10 middlebrow indies per year through 2010.

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GYLLENHOBBLED! Jake Gyllenhaal was captured on crutches, reportedly for having twisted his ankle during a pickup basketball game. Hours later, Santa Monica Blvd. in WeHo was packed with dozens of well-muscled pedestrians sporting the same crutches-with-army-green-Crocs look. Photo: X17 Online. [omg.yahoo.com]

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· There will be nuts. [THR]
· Midway Games' wafer-gobbling CEO David Zucker is relieved of his duties by the ghostly specter of Sumner "Blinky" Redstone. [Variety]
· Even though Rita Marley is its executive producer, the Marley estate is refusing to licence Bob's music for the Weinstein's biopic. (It's Martin Scorsese's fault.) [THR]
· It's hypersensitive elephants vs. African-American drag queens duking out for top spot at the Easter Weekend box office. Oh well, we've been meaning to re-grout our bathroom for a while now, anyway. [Variety]
· Brad Ingelsby, a 27-year old who until last week lived with his parents in Pennsylvania, sold his first script The Low Dweller for $650,000 against $1.1 million, with Ridley Scott directing and Leonardo DiCaprio set to star. We now pause to take in the screams of anguish pouring out of every Starbucks and Coffee Bean in the greater L.A. area. [Variety]

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Sound the alarms: Michael Stipe of REM recently shocked fans around the globe by officially coming out of the closet (to "help some kid somewhere"!), the closet he's already been out of for say, one meeellion centuries. But Michael's not the only one with a groundbreaking announcement to make. Apparently his bandmates, Mike Mills and Peter Buck, have been waiting all these years to make an earth-shattering declaration regarding their own sexual preferences. In the clip above, hear Stipe outs his bandmates, complete with a prepared hand-written statement. ('Cuz he's nervous! Cute!)

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News that The CW would be shooting the pilot for a Beverly Hills 90210 spinoff was undoubtedly met with conflicted feelings by the sporadically employed cast of the original series, even going so far as to cause Ian Ziering to wake up repeatedly in cold night sweats, shouting into the darkness, "But will they remain true to the original show's vision of eight best friends who pledge over countless lunches at The Peach Pit to remain together, through thick and thin, whatever life throws at them?!"

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Our closely watched forays into Lindsay Lohan Sex Tape Authentication (and Eventual Debunking) elicited a response late Thursday from representatives for Lohan ex Calum Best, whose D-list member was absolutely, positively, most certainly for sure not the one serviced in the discredited cell-phone short. He should be so lucky -- or so his handlers say:

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More grim news from the week's obituary pages: Producer Bill Hayward, one of the unheralded principals who got Easy Rider on the road to cult immortality (and about $40 million in box office on a $400,000 budget), reportedly committed suicide March 9 in "a trailer where he lived" in Los Angeles County. A coroner's account reveals the cause of death to be a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the heart. Hayward, 66, is the latest of a snakebitten Hollywood family to meet an untimely demise; drug overdoses previously claimed both his mother, actress Maureen Sullavan, and his sister in 1960. [AP]

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Strawberry coke users take note: Ohio's crack-epicures were surprised with a special treat this St. Patrick's Day--their rock was dyed a festive green, in recognition of the Irish holiday. Sadly, the dealers were thrown into jail, completely unrecognized for their Martha Stewart craftiness. [TSG]

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Another day, another lawsuit against Lord Oprah. According to TMZ, an audience member who recently had her dreams come true by being allowed to sit among the teary-eyed, wild and crazy women who plunk themselves down in Winfrey's studio day after day, has been brutally trampled by her fellow Oprah-loving fans during a taping:

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While having yet to really deliver on her post-incarceration pledge to feed the hungry Darfricans of Rwandonia, Paris Hilton did finally manage to make it to the African subcontinent yesterday, accompanying boyfriend Benji Madden to Johannesburg as he toured with his band Good Charlotte. Once there, she refused to step foot out of her Range Rover caravan until handlers agreed to "show me some African orphans like the one Madonna bought or whatever," at which point Hilton was whisked to the Jacaranda Children's Home, where she signed a stack of photographs featuring the humanitarian star of The Hottie or the Nottie striking a seductive pose in a white bikini. (A gesture which only confused some of the younger children, who proceeded to gnaw on the headshot, assuming it was was some kind of flatbread ration.)

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Arguably the Judd Apatow of the '80s and currently the movies' equivalent of J.D. Salinger, prolific writer-producer-director John Hughes dropped out of filmmaking in 1991 after helming eight movies and developing stories and characters for nearly two dozen more to come. But now, in a symbolic Easter-weekend resurrection perhaps possible only in Hollywood, the writer Hughes and producer Apatow share above-the-line credit for the latest doomed Owen Wilson vehicle, Drillbit Taylor:

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