Grace Hightower Finally Sells Bachelorette Pad

SELLER: Grace Hightower
LOCATION: Trump Palace, 200 East 69th Street, 25th Floor
PRICE: $2,495,000 ($4,060 per month maintenance and taxes)
SIZE: 1,653 square feet, 2 bedrooms 3 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: (shortened from listing agent's website) Contemporary yet classic, this vibrant yet peaceful 2 bedroom, easily convertible to a three bedroom home is suited for fine family living as well as exciting entertaining. With an open, airy feel and panoramic city skyline views, this tasteful, inspiring space has a lovely, gracious living room with large balcony. The galley kitchen spills onto a windowed dining room. The amply scaled second bedroom has an en suite marble bath and handsome custom built-ins. The master bedroom has its own marble bath with Jacuzzi tub and separate stall shower, double sink, huge custom-fitted walk-in closet, and an alcove sitting area.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: This week in his Gimme Shelter column in the NY Post, Braden Keil gives us an update on the real estate dealings of Miz Grace Hightower, wife of Oscar winning actor and New York fixture Robert DeNiro. Property records indicate Miz Hightower purchased this apartment in 2000, which was shortly after DeNiro filed for a dee-vorce. No doubt this was the petit safe place where the lady licked her wounds and plotted her next moves in life and love. However, although the couple remained estranged for about four years, they eventually reconciled sometime in 2003. Shortly thereafter began a looong house hunt for a new love nest that was followed obsessively by all real estate the gossips.

After a long time on the market, the couple finally sold their Tribeca penthouse in 2005, for $12,250,000 according to Keil, and begin leasing on the Upper West Side. After an exhaustive search through dozens of pricey and swanky apartments and townhouses, the couple finally settled on a 15-room Upper West Side duplex that they purchased from Eve Weinstein (ex-wife of movie tycoon Harvey) for a reported price of just under $21,000,000.

All this time, Miz Hightower hung on to her Upper East Side condo located in The Trump Palace, one of Donald Trump's dee-luxe towers and one of the tallest buildings on the Upper East Side. Perhaps she was hedging her bets, or perhaps she just wanted a place to get away to when things got intense at the rental.

In addition to the 25th floor unit with 2 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms, Hightower purchased four storage units in the building. Gurl's gotta store her out of season shoes and bags somewhere, and they may as well be close by in the basement for easy access. The listing states the four store rooms are included in the sale, but Keil tells us that three of the four have already been sold, at a profit, and presumably, to other tenants.

Your Mama is not the Upper East Side type and we are certainly not the Trump building type, but we do find the layout of this apartment attractive. We appreciate the winged bedrooms so the snoring and/or screwing guests won't disturb the owner.

Anchored by ebonized floors and wrapped in glass on two walls, the reasonably sized living room leads to a small terrace, perfect for evening cocktails, except for those poor souls who suffer from acrophobia. The galley kitchen is pretty standard in these Trump buildings. The Donald and his designers and architects clearly think Trump Palace dwellers will eat out or order in most of the time. Because, let's face it, this kitchen will only accommodate early morning coffee making and late night aspirin taking.

The large master bedroom includes a sitting area which again, provides a necessary sanctuary when in-laws and other unwanted guests are in temporary residence. The double walk in closets in the master are nice and the listing states they are custom fitted, which is even nicer.

Keil notes that the apartment has gone to contract so we expect the moving trucks will be lining up on East 69th Street in order to transfer the storage unit contents across town to the new apartment.

We hope the sale of this condo indicated that Miz Hightower and Mr. DeNiro have passed the awkward stages of reconciliation and have begun to properly nest down in their huge Central Park West duplex.

Sources: NY Post

Michael LaFetra's Modernist Masterpiece in Brentwood

SELLER: Michael LaFetra
LOCATION: Elkins Road, Brentwood, CA
PRICE: $3,995,000
SIZE: 3,108 square feet, 3 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Rich House Residence 1967. Restored to its purist state, the Mid-Century Modern, designed by Thornton Abell, a Case Study Architect, is a masterpiece created by this International Stylist. The indoor/outdoor flow w/modified courtyard lvg. Walnut wd paneling walls & split mrbl fp & dng rom. Walls of glass. St. to st. lot apx. 3/4 AC w/ natural amphitheater. Lrg mstr w/ patio, walk-ins & dressing area. Registered as a LA Historical Cultural Monument.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Well, here we have a house with a serious architectural ped-i-gree that has been worked over by actor/producer and serial renovator/restorer Michael LaFetra. No, he's not a household name, nor does he make for juicy stories in the tabloids. But anyone who cares a lick about the Los Angeles architectural modernism scene certainly knows who this dude is.

To say that Mister LaFetra likes modernist houses in an extreme understatement. The gentleman with an eye for modern has bought, renovated, and sold a handful of significant Modernist houses including a Rudolph Schindler house in Sherman Oaks, and Case Study House #21 up on Wonderland Park Avenue in the Hollywood Hills that was designed by one of Your Mama's favorite maverick architects, Pierre Koenig. LaFetra also commissioned the very last residential design by Koenig, a big glass box on an ocean front lot in Malibu.

Even if you don't recognize Koenig's name, you would absolutely recognize his most iconic design, the breathtaking Stahl House (Case Study House #22), from the thousand and one television commercials and print advertisements it has been featured. The house, built in 1960 and located on Woods Drive, appears to float above Sunset Boulevard and represents the quintessential Los Angeles sexy pad.

However, let's get to the house that has recently been put up for sale high up in the canyons of Brentwood. Built in 1967 by one of the lesser known Case Study architects, Thornton Abell, the front of the house wraps around an entrance courtyard. Your Mama loves a courtyard almost as much as we love a long, gated driveway. Courtyards keep our long bodied bitches Linda and Beverly safely contained.

According to property records, Mister LeFetra bought this flat-roofed beauty in January of 2005 for an undisclosed purchase price and quickly moved to have it registered as a Los Angeles Historical-Cultural Monument. Which is lovely and certainly sounds great, but it really doesn't mean much other than the city of Los Angeles deems the property notable for one reason or another and would likely move to stop any sort of demolition or significant alteration. However, As Your Mama understands, the LAHCM has no real authority to actually stop demolition or alteration. Too bad. Your Mama prefers preservation committees have some teeth and power.

We don't really know how much work and money LaFetra put into this house, but from the photos it looks mostly like a cosmetic renovation. Have the bathrooms been updated? Anyone know?

We like the spare and all-white kitchen, but that 7-burner electric stove concerns us a bit. We're sure that relic heats up, and for some people it's probably nice to have more than a half dozen burners, but who buys a $4,000,000 house and wants to cook on electric coils anymore? We totally get the red apples are meant to tie into the red paint accents on the exterior of the house, which is a little be cheeseball, but none the less, we do like the way they look lined up and ready for some skinny bitch in a glittery Tori Burch dress to pluck one off the shelf for her dinner before heading out to Les Deux.

The fireplace in the large living room appears to have been re-faced with some sort of stacked stone. Your Mama thinks a twisty brass sculpture hanging over the fireplace would look great. The floor to ceiling sliders look original to the house, and we love them. This room beautifully operates as a shelter from the elements while blurring the distinction between indoors and out with the huge amount of glazing.

Your Mama is not in love with the landscaping in the backyard, we might like to see more drought tolerant succulents and grasses. We get so tired of seeing crazy shaped water pits in the backyard that are supposed to look like ponds or some other cockamamie natural creation, so we are completely loving the big, simply shaped rectangular swimming pool that isn't trying to be anything but a swimming pool. Your Mama is always on the hunt for a nice spot to sit in the shade and protect the fragile skin, and the small patio off the living room overlooking the pool suits us just fine for a shady and cool place to sit sipping a gin and tonic in the late afternoon.

It's unclear to Your Mama if LaFetra actually lives in this house, but we expect there is a long list of folks in Los Angeles who are looking to purchase architecturally significant houses and we imagine Mister LaFetra will be saying goodbye to this house very soon.

Sources: Sky Scraper City

Vincent Gallo,

We can all take a real estate lesson from kooky actor/artist Vincent Gallo, who has become well known for buying and selling architecturally significant properties and selling them on at big profits, sorta like Ellen and Portia.

Today RADAR tells us that the stunning John Lautner house he purchased last year has been put back on the market at a tremendous profit.

Head on over to RADAR for the deets and photos of a house that has Your Mama weeping with envy.

Happy Birthday to ME!

What a milestone darlings! I'm 110 today! I hope all of you feel this good when you're 110, except for you temperance crusaders! Fuck you, jerkwads! Of course, temperance crusaders don't live to be 110; it just feels that long.

I'm able to take the time to dictate this to Little Dougie, as most of my close friends can't materialize, or rise from their coffins until after Sundown, so the party doesn't really get rolling until then. Isn't it odd that most of my friends are dead? I have an alibi! In fact, I have alibis for all of them, and they number in the hundreds, and if you add lovers, the tens of thousands.

Anyway, the Headless Indian Brave was at his still all last night (and on Memorial Day, a ghost's busiest day short of Halloween. So many gentlemen callers!), making his special brand of firewater, to fire up the celebration. You know you've had a really great birthday party if, when you wake up afterwards (or these days, if you wake up afterwards.), you find you are two years older! A truly memorable birthday party is one you can't remember at all. You know, a second childhood only comes once. Thank heaven for third childhoods.

As to presents: ladies, vodka is always appreciated. Men, a good, hard shag is the best thing to unwrap. Line up, Tarzans. Who's on first?


Bud, Lou, darlings!


Cheers all.

PS. I mentioned in yesterday's flogging that Little Christopher Lee, a babe in arms of 85, was shooting Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street. Well Little Chris subscribes to this flog, naturally, so he can read each one the instant it's posted. Thus today, I received an urgent she-male from Chris. I assumed that he was letting me know his wife of more than 40 years, Gitte Lee, was finally out of town (He's told me he'd throw me one just as soon as his wife went out of town for a day. That was in 1968, and the possessive bitch hasn't left his side for ten minutes since. At least that's what I'm assuming, since he still hasn't called.), but actually he was she-maling me to say he's been cut from Sweeney Todd. His whole role, as a ghost, has been cut. (The Headless Indian Brave was up for the part, but sadly, he doesn't show up on film, which is a real drawback for a film actor, except for Pauly Shore of course.) Fortunately. it was cut before he wasted any time actually shooting it. So everyone out there, refuse to see Sweeney Todd when it comes out, and let them know it was because they cut Christopher Lee. And then send Little Gitte a telegram telling her she's needed in Dafur immediately. Cheers dears.





PS. Oh, and it's also Little Douglas's birthday. The decrepit old curmudgeon is 57. Send him a birthday greeting if you feel like it, but it's not necessary. You'll only spoil him.

Christie Brinkley Selling off Ocean Front House

SELLER: Christie Brinkley
LOCATION: Flying Point Road, Water Mill, NY
PRICE: $7,900,000
SIZE: 4 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Enjoy your summer in this absolutely charming beach house, 4 bedrooms, 2 baths, with ocean side deck and also includes frontage on Mecox Bay! A rare find and priced to sell!

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Do y'all know the difference between rich and filthy rich? Rich is owning a 20 acre, $25,000,000 land locked estate in Bridgehampton, which many regard as the best Hampton. Filthy rich is ALSO owning an $8,000,000 ocean front beach shack just a few miles away, which spares one's family and friends the indignity of having to cavort on the public sections of the wide sandy beaches of Hamptons with the common folk.

And this, my people, is exactly what super rich super model Christie Brinkley has been able to do the last few years that she's owned the house on Flying Point Road that she recently put on the market in the aftermath of her public separation and impending dee-vorce from Hamptons architect, former model, and philanderer Peter Cook.

Brinkley has long lived on a 20+ acre estate on Brick Kiln Road in Bridgehampton (Sag Harbor address) that is accessed down a long driveway and includes a huge shingled house, barn/garage for 4+ cars, guest house, an all glass greenhouse/conservatory, a very long swimming pool, and secluded tennis court in the woods.

According to reports, the model mommy added to her Hamptons holdings in December of 2005 when she and Peter purchased an oceanfront house in Water Mill for a reported $4,900,000. Although her then hubby Peter is an architect of note in the Hamptons, not much work was done on this somewhat ordinary, but extremely well located house. While Your Mama can not confirm how the house was used, we suspect it was used as a day house so that the family could surf, sun, and frolic during the summer months. The listing shows that a pool permit has been applied for, so perhaps there were plans to renovate the house in the future.

The Flying Point Road house is buttressed by water on two sides, the Atlantic to the South and Mecox Bay to the North, so even though the house is sort of a wreck, the water views dazzle, delight and make up for the house's shabbiness. A large, raised deck on the back provides unimpeded views up and down the glitzy and ritzy sands of Water Mill, and a small path across Flying Point Road gives access to Mecox Bay. The house has 4 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, and most importantly, sandy path over the dunes to the ocean.

We can all feel for Miz Christie Brinkley having to cope with the shameful shenanigans of her philandering huzband, who apparently has a penchant for very young women. But Your Mama suspects none of us will be crying ourselves to sleep as she drives her big Lexus SUV the four miles from her vast Bridgehampton estate to her ocean front shack on Flying Point Road in Water Mill this summer.

Now children, do not be writing us some stoopid comments and sending us emails about about how money does not by happiness or insulate one from pain and suffering. We know. We also know that problems is problems is problems, and no matter how you slice it, your huzband sleeping around with a teenager is a shitty and difficult situation to deal with.

But, as shallow, and even hollow as this may make Your Mama, we think owning millions of dollars of ridiculously expensive real estate in ultra exclusive locales takes a wee bit of the sting away. The still gorgeous Miz Brinkley may have to cope with a no good cheating huzband and father of her children, but at least she gets to go home to some mighty fine houses.

Miz Brinkley and flirty Peter continue to own a fair number of properties in the Hamptons, including the Farhy Road property in Sag Harbor where the sexual tricks and trysts between the Mister and his very young girly-friend took place. We imagine that at some point Miz Brinkley will want to sell that scene of the crime, but for now she's holding on to the property, which we're sure puts a bee in Peter's bonnet.

Your Mama wishes Miz Brinkley all the best in the future. We feel deep in our gut she's going to stick it to Peter in the dee-vorce in very subtle and pointed ways. Like asking the court to decree that when the children are with Peter they not be allowed to fly commercial, but rather only on private places. Which we all know the aging playboy will not be able to afford once his one-time cash cow signs those dee-vorce papers. We hope grinding Peter into the dee-vorce court ground will allow Miz Brinkley to move on to another fella who will recognize how good he's got it bedding down at night with a super rich super model and super mommy.

Now babies, humor Your Mama here, because we want to tell a non-real estate story about Miz Brinkley. Last September, the Dr. Cooter and Your Mama had us some excellent tickets to the finals of the US Open. So there we are sitting in our seats eating ice cream and minding our own bizness, when two sets into the match swoops Miz Brinkley, her two youngest children, and a couple of their pals, escorted by a US Open official. Down into the front row they go where they proceed to stand up, take flash photography, and lean over the railings. During the match! Now we know this was back when all this cheating brouhaha was front page tabloid fodder and we understand the lady must have been under terrible strain, but Your Mama thinks all that activity was distracting and R.U.D.E. the players, not to mention the other spectators sitting nearby. We got nothing against Miz Brinkley. We feel for her, we do. But gurl, you and yer kids might want to learn some tennis match etiquette if yer going to be sitting down in the first row this year. Seriously. Do not let Your Mama catch you acting a fool like that again, because this year we won't just smile at you and act like we weren't completely perturbed.

Sources: Newsday, Fox News, NY Post, HecklerSpray

Tori and Dean's Inn-decent Deceit

Oh dear. All the children know how much Your Mama loves us some Tori Spelling.

We love that Tori can be be self deprecating and make fun of herself in a town where most people take themselves FAR too seriously.

We love that despite the vaunted family name and the Hollywood pedigree, she's makes her own money by forging her own crazy, reality show path.

We love that she had a million dollar wedding in the driveway of the family's Holmby Hills monster mansion, and then decided shortly thereafter that groom wasn't right for her.

We love that you never see Tori shouting and cursing and taking swings at the paps and fans...she knows that without them, she is nothing but a struggling actor with a recognizable family name.

We fell out for her reality show So NoTORIous with Loni Anderson's flawless performances as Tori's make-believe mother.

All of it. We love her. Seriously, we have always wanted to be friends with Donna Mar...uhm, Tori.

But we are saddened and aghast at the many reports that have been coming out in the recent weeks about the inn Tori and huzband Dean SAY they bought in the wilds of San Diego County. Surely all of the children know that Tori and Dean claim they dumped their life savings (and her meager inheritance) into buying and running the bed and breakfast they called Chateau la Rue...after her beloved Pug Mimi La Rue.

But turns out they didn't even buy the place let alone dump their life savings or her pitiful inheritance into the place. According to The New York Times and others, Tori and Dean are LEASING the place. LEASING!? Tori, babe, please say it ain't so. Please tell Your Mama you didn't willingly deceive the world into feeling sorry for your ass over that mother of yours and the pittance you received when your father kicked it.

Seriously, how do we know any of it's true now? Maybe you really got $8 million. Or $80 million. How are we to believe you now? Good grief.

Additional reports say that now the filming for the reality show is over, the Chateau La Rue, which is actually called Oak Creek Manor, is FOR SALE. For $2,600,000.

Your Mama is crushed. Just crushed.

On an additional real estate note, now that the reality show is done filming down in Fallbrook, the couple have moved back to Beverly Hills where we hear they've leased a relatively modest 5 bedroom and 3 bathroom house with a nice swimming pool in the backyard. The house happens to be just up the road from new Bev Hills residents Sexy and The Spice Gurl. Do we see a pool party in the future for these four?

Sources: New York Times, Curbed LA, Hotel Chatter

Slash in the Hollywood Hills

SELLER: Slash
LOCATION: Wattles Drive, Los Angeles, CA
PRICE: $6,995,000
SIZE: 1.76 acres, 5,539 square feet, 5 bedrooms, 6.5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Spanish masterpiece sited majestically on apx. 1.76 acre promontory at the end of a private, gated road. Massive views throughout, from Downtown L.A. to the ocean. Beautiful walled courtyard. Fabulous indoor & outdoor living rms w/fireplaces. Wonderful chef's kitchen. Media/billiards rm. Master suite w/its own private patio & fireplace, & 3 add'l bdrms in the main house, each w/their own baths. Separate gsthse w/bath. Separate gym. Beautiful detail work & landscaping. Designed for entertaining.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Your Mama was never much of a fan of the heavy metal hair bands, but even we know that Slash, real name Saul Hudson, become famous for wearing top hats and playing crazy guitar in the 1980s and 90s in the hugely successful band Guns & Roses. That band, whose lead singer was, of course, bad boy Axl Rose, busted up in the mid 1990s over reports that Axl and Slash were unable to get along well enough to continue to collaborate. Some reports even say the two have not spoken since they band officially broke up in 1996 and that the feud remains bitter to this day.

Slash went on to form a couple other bands, eventually regrouping with a few members of Guns & Roses to form Velvet Revolver. Your Mama has never heard of Velvet Revolver, but apparently they were in the studio last year recording their second album. An album we're sure rockers dudes with ratted hair and bandannas tied around their thighs eagerly await.

Side note: Back in the late 1980s Your Mama was associated with someone who was temporarily staying up in Axl Rose's house. So, of course, we had the phone number to the house, and we distinctly recall speaking to our well connected pal on the telephone one day and there was all this intense shouting going on in the background. Turns out Mister Rose was having a primal scream therapy session. That's about all we know about Axl Rose.

Anyhoo, in 2001 Slash married a lady named Perla and they proceeded to make a couple babies and, according to property records, nest down in the unlikely suburb of Sherman Oaks in a house they bought in March of 2002 for $2,150,000. The very private house, located up a long and gated driveway, has 5,980 square feet with 6 bedrooms and 7 bedrooms, as well as a backyard with an infinity edged swimming pool and views of the San Fernando Valley.

However, in the Spring of 2006 rumors began to circulate and reports began to come out that Slash had filed for a dee-vorce from Perla. Some said it was because of a Yoko Ono like situation where Perla was trying to exert too much influence on Slash and Velvet Revolver. Which may have some truth to it, but Your Mama suspects the couple's decision to part was likely a result of far more complicated and personal issues.

Interestingly, in December of 2005, Slash went out and bought this house on Wattles Drive for an undisclosed sum of money. Your Mama has no idea if this purchase was related to the dee-vorce, but the timing certainly indicates it was. Although this house looks like it is staged to within and inch of looking ridiculous, is our understanding the guitarist did in fact move into this house at the beginning of 2006, months before reports of the dee-vorce.

The house is located up a gated street, so don't any of you people think you can roll up to this house and catch a glimpse of Mister Slash practicing his guitar picking. It ain't happening. You'll just have to make due with the photos here of the six car garage, the back yard with spectacular views of Los Angeles, and the very, very beige interior.

The Spanish style house wraps around an courtyard at the front providing a quiet and protected place to read a book, meditate, or in Slash's case, quietly practice new guitar licks. The back of the property drops off sharply and allows just about every room of the house to have explosive views of Los Angeles from downtown to the ocean.

Although there is little we appreciate in the furniture and decor of this house, there are plenty of architectural features we find appealing such as the peaked wooden ceilings and the tremendous arched window in the sunken living room with the curved and beautifully tiled steps leading down from the front entrance.

The red Venetian glass dining room chandelier is a welcome burst of color, but we are extremely disappointed with the dining room chairs. The kitchen is certainly well appointed and we love the gargantuan Viking range, but otherwise it's just a well appointed beige kitchen that cost more money than most people's automobiles.

The master bedroom is large. We like the carpet, even though it's a little small for the room. And course we like the ceiling, but otherwise this room could be cleared out and have a nice gay decorator turned loose to turn it into a dee-luxe paradise. And the tray on the big bed? We know the benefits of staging a property, but it is our opinion that this tray is one step over the line. Who leaves a tray of stuff on their bed like that? Seriously, who?

Can you see Slash up in that beige bathroom ratting his hair and painting on the eyeliner in a pair of tight leather pants. No, we can't either.

The small back yard pool area is totally focused on the big view, and sitting out there in the buff on a chaise lounge soaking up sun and sipping on a French 75 cocktail would certainly make one feel like they had succeeded in and conquered the wilds of Hollywood. The lawn looks green and well cared for, but Your Mama might have gone with something that requires less maintenance like flag stone with big potted plants creating more of a Mediterranean terrace sort of feel.

Because of the extreme staging, we suspect but have no confirmation, that Slash has vacated the premises. Your Mama has no clue where the rock star might have decamped. Perhaps to the Chateau Marmont? Or maybe, just maybe, back to Sherman Oaks? We have not read, heard, or gleaned from anyone that Slash and Perla are getting back together, so don't any of you rocker bloggers out there tell anyone that Your Mama said they were. We're just making uneducated guesses

In addition to the house in Sherman Oaks, and the this place high in the hills of Hollywood, Slash also appears to own a small house wedged between Eagle Rock and Glendale the separated couple purchased in 2005 for $300,000, as well as a small 2 bedroom apartment near the Beverly Center that Slash as owned for many years. Your Mama doesn't have a clue why the couple would continue to own these properties, but perhaps they are for family or staff?

Because of the privacy, size, and location of this house, Your Mama expects there will be considerable interest from buyers. Not only is there room for the owner's fleet of luxury cars in the 6 car garage, the street is gated for security and privacy, and there's a separate one bedroom apartment above the garage for a nanny or the in-law that stays too long. It's a perfect celebrity home, or for someone that just wants to live like one.

Sources: Internet Movie Data Base, Contact Music, Blabbermouth

More on Ellen and Portia

OWNERS: Ellen Degeneres and Portia di Rossi
LOCATION: Zorada Drive, Los Angeles, CA
SIZE: 1.63 acres, 3,994 square feet, 5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: A few days ago, before we wasted our brain on gin and tonics and frozen yogurt over the holiday weekend, Your Mama discussed one of the houses up on Zorada Drive in Los Angeles that Ellen Degeneres and Portia di Rossi, the world's favorite Sapphic couple, put on the market for $2,300,000.

However, the house that has been listed is not the couple's personal residence. Ellen and Portia live in a long, low house on an adjoining property. We really haven't a clue who stays up in the house that's been listed for sale. Maybe Mama Betty? Guests? Staff? Friends? How extraordinarly and deliciously extravagent would it be to have a guest house of that caliber?

One of our readers kindly wrote in that the house Ellen and Portia actually live is a T-shaped ranch style house that was done over by super star architects Marmol-Radziner for the previous owner, a very successful commercial director by the name of David Ramser. And our reader was correct. There was a fair amount of hoopla when the girls purchased this house including a report on Defamer that stated they paid "around $6.5 million" for this house. Property records show an undisclosed purchase price.

So naturally Your Mama went a-looking for some photographs for the children. Keep in mind these photos reflect the furniture choices of Ramser and not Portia and Ellen. We imagine the gurls have the house filled with a truckload of very expensive mid century modern pieces. In another life Your Mama sold Miss Portia a chandelier and we wonder if that fixture is hanging up in this house as we type.

The assessor shows the house at 3,995 square feet, but Marmol-Radziner show the house as having 4,360 square feet, including an 1,100 square foot great room and a 920 square foot master suite. The flooring in the house is a continuous flow of randomly sized pieces of Pennsylvania blue stone which extends out of the house house and becomes the surface for the 2,590 square feet of exterior patio space creating a seamless flow from indoors to outdoors.

Like we do with all of Ellen and Portia's real estate holdings, Your Mama imagines we would swoon and faint from delight over this house if it were to come on the market as well. We'll let you know if that happens, and of course, you let us know if you hear of anything too.

Sources: Marmol Radziner, Benny Chan (photos), Defamer

A Very Scary Birthday

Is there something particularly scary about the Zodiac sign Gemini? I should know, as I am one, but this weekend is the horror festival of birthdays. You see that photograph above? Well all of those frightening men are having their birthdays this weekend, two of them today! Yesterday, May 26th, was the 94th birthday of the late great Peter Cushing (Lower right), with whom I appeared in Frankenstein's Reason For Living. Tuesday, May 29th, is the 92nd birthday of my dear old chum, horror icon Guy Thanatos (Lower left), with whom I appeared in East vs. West and Doctor Scary. (I've never before noticed how much Guy looks like Little Douglas would look if Douglas were talented.) And today, May 27th, is the birthdays of both Vincent Price (Upper right), with whom I appeared in The Haunting of Horrible House, and Christopher Lee (Upper left), with whom I appeared in Bats in My Belfry. (Peter Cushing was in that one also.) Were Vincent still alive, he would be 96, while Christopher, the infant of the group, is alive and happily 85 today.

That amazing picture was taken for the one and only movie when all four of these wonderful horror icons appeared together in the same picture. Rather than describe it to you myself, allow me to insert here a couple paragraphs from Guy's forthcoming autobiography, My Gruesome Life, ghost written by Little Douglas himself.

I made one film that year, Habitation of the Hideous, with Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, Vincent Price and I finally all together, not merely in the same movie, but in the same scenes, demonstrating the chemistry that had kept us apart for decades. In the picture, a young couple, played by Steve Guttenberg and Larraine Newman, during a violent rainstorm, stumble into a spooky old house inhabited by the four of us, in what looks to me like a four-way gay marriage, although I don’t think that’s what the writer, if there was one, had in mind. But I’ll be damned if I know why these three old men and mature-but-perky me are sharing a house.


We stalk about, menacing them for seventy-five minutes, and then morning comes and they leave. There was next to no script, plot or story. There was certainly no budget or point, and my check, when it came, bounced.


One critic who shall be nameless complained that: "This elderly quartet is about as menacing as a newborn kitten. Lee has his resonant voice trying in vain to give a swirl to incredibly flat dialogue, Cushing is supremely unconcerned with the lackadaisical goings on and seems to be floating in his own private world, Price chews the scenery apparently from hunger, and Guy Thanatos hasn’t got enough to do to rise even to his usual level of awful, and is merely bad. Was there really a time we were scared by these grandiose grandfathers?" After begging us for years to make a movie together, our fans responded to our granting their fondest wish by staying home and ignoring this picture. Would you care to explain to me why you skipped it?

As it happens, May 29th is also my birthday, more on that on Tuesday's flogging, and --- What's that Douglas? Tuesday is your birthday too? I know that. But you're not a celebrity, so who gives a bat's fart? As I was saying before Little Douglas made his pathetic bid for attention, that one year, Vinnie, Pete, Chris, and I all celebrated together. (Guy was in England at the time, making a tremendously bad movie.) This picture was taken at that party, right before I shagged the three of them, in the most horrifying orgy since the Emperor Caligula died.

How coincidental is it that Vinnie and Chris have the same birthday? The two men are nothing alike, apart from being immensely tall, tremendously talented, and possessed of magnificent voices. I think this picture shows just how utterly dissimilar they are.

I am sometimes asked if Vincent was gay. To quote a famous woman with a name quite similar to mine: "Well, he never sucked my dick." In his later years, the thrice-married, father of two Vincent was known to have admitted to being bisexual, which I'm sure was a huge shock to any fans who had seen his campy performances, observed his fey personal style, listened to him lecture on art, or watched him in a kitchen, brandishing his whisk. All I know is that when he was rehearsing his famous one-man show as Oscar Wilde, the one suggestion his director and every critic gave him was "Butch up!" But to address that question, here's a photograph that was clearly taken just as Vincent was preparing to give Peter Lorre head. And I know Peter was straight!

In addition to movies, Vinnie did a tremendous amount of TV, by which I mean television, not transvestites, though I wouldn't rule them out either. This lovely picture is of Vincent and Patricia Routledge, in the scariest episode of Keeping Up Appearances ever, which is odd, given that that wonderful series started right around the time Vinnie passed away.

Anyway, Vincent was a wonderful, intelligent, sophisticated man, a great actor, a ham who did it with style and class, and a warm man whom, it was often said, could make friends with anybody. Talk about tolerant, the man even got along with Delores Delgado, and even Will Rogers despised that hateful sow. Oh, and Vinnie was incredibly funny as well.

Hard as it is to believe from his long career playing villains, and mean, cutting, severe, nasty people with short tempers, Christopher Lee is very funny offscreen also. He's particularly known for his amazing impression of Cher. Here are three different pictures taken over the decades, of Lee doing his Cher impersonation. Chris is the scariest tranny on the planet.

Christopher Lee is also one of the smartest men in movies. He speaks 7 languages, and reads several more. Most actors today can barely speak even one. He has actually appeared in more movies than any other big star. Check out his IMDb resume. His film list is almost 300 movies. Over the last decade, he has appeared in Sleepy Hollow, two Star Wars movies, all three Lord of the Rings films, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and The Corpse Bride. That is eight box office hits in a row! That's better than Harrison Ford in the 1980s. He's the biggest star in the world! And right now, he's shooting the Sondheim musical, Sweeney Todd, The Demon Barber of Fleet. Did I mention he sings? And not just American Idol pop stuff. Lee is a full-on operatic bass, and has sung in operas all over the world, in those 7 languages he sings. And you should hear him beatbox!

And as if that's not enough, he's also a war hero. During World War II (You may have read about WWII. It was in all the papers, and I think they made a movie about it.) he was a spy for British Intelligence, not a movie spy; the real thing. The man IS James Bond! He risked his life going undercover, behind enemy lines. Most of his war record is still classified. One can imagine how amused he must have been when he played a Bond villain in The Man With the Golden Gun, opposite the pathetic Roger Moore, since Lee is the genuine article. I don't know how he kept a straight face.

Here's another lovely picture of him, from 1980:

Hold on. Douglas, is that you in that picture with Chris? I do wish you'd stop intruding into my postings. How is it that these days, you look a whole lot older and far less attractive than you do in that picture, while Chris, at 85, still looks great? When did you pass him?

No matter. You know, sometimes people think that horror stars aren't really fine actors, like Olivier and Brando and Pauly Shore. But Peter Cushing was a wonderful actor (As Osric, he STEALS the movie of Hamlet away from Olivier completely!), Vincent Price was peerless, and Chris Lee (Who is also in Hamlet by the way.) could teach everyone how it is done.

For that matter, Peter Lorre and Boris Karloff were masters as well. German genius playwright Bertolt Brecht said many times that Peter Lorre was his favorite actor in the world, and he wrote A Man's a Man just for him. (What a redundantly titled play. The sequel? More of the Bleeding Obvious.) Boris is one of my ex-husbands, no matter what his family says. (Co-incidentally, Lee has played my third husband, Count Vlad Tepes, in more than ten movies. The man wants me so badly that he keeps playing my tragic ex-hubby just so he can go on pretending he's married to me.) Boris was a terrific actor, and one of the founders of the Screen Actors Guild. His SAG card number was a single digit. Where did the idea that horror stars were lousy actors come from?

Oh yes.

This lovely shot is of Bela Lugosi's little known interpretation of Stanley Kowalski in summer stock. I believe that Tennessee Williams suggested they retitle that production, A Streetcar Named Hambone! I toured in Streetcar (The play, not in a streetcar - I think.) in the 1980s, opposite Bob Denver as Stanley, and it was said that next to Lugosi's Stanley, Bob's Stanley was Tony-worthy. (Although, when questioned, they did tend to admit they meant worthy of Toni Tennielle.)

Happy Birthday Chris. And Pete,Vinnie, and Guy, wherever you are, natal felicitations to you too. Thanks for the scares. They don't make 'em like you anymore.

Cheers darlings.

Your Mama Would Like to Wish...

...All the children a very happy and safe Memorial Day Weekend. Your Mama really hasn't a clue what we're all supposed to be memorializing, but Your Mama and the Dr. Cooter are taking this opportunity to spend a few days in a beachfront shack staring at the water and watching our little bitches Linda and Beverly sun their long bodies on the hot sand.

We got The Chicken and one of her kooky friends coming out for the weekend, and we intend to work those two like poorly treated house maids in exchange for providing them with a place to sleep so close to the water you can smell the salt.

We do not expect to be blogging again until next Tuesday. But one never knows. Your Mama just might get a bug in our bonnet to blog and post something before then. Otherwise we'll be back on Tuesday with heaps more celebrity real estate pornography.

Bye now...

Suzanne Somers' Temporary Housing.

RENTER: Suzanne Somers and Alan Hamel
LOCATION: Serra Retreat, Sweetwater Mesa Road, Malibu, CA
PRICE: $25,000/month
SIZE: 4.35 acres, 5,015 square feet, 4 bedrooms and 4 bathrooms

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Let's face it, Miss Suzanne Somers is a kook. She is. But that's why the world loves and appreciates her, right? Your Mama first learned to love Miss Suzanne Somers in her role as the dimwitted and big titted Chrissy on Three's Company back in the late 1970s. Back then millions of highly hormoned teenage boys touched themselves privately while looking at her pictures. But unfortunately the lady was fired after five seasons for asking for a raise. Imagine that?

Then came the "Thigh Master," and anyone with a television was tortured with the infomercials where lycra-clad Miss Suzanne Summers squeezed a cheap and vulgar looking contraption between her thighs in a way that was more than just a little suggestive. All the while she grinned at the camera like the Cheshire cat talking about her firm thighs and booty. Dear jeezis, Your Mama is just so glad we are no longer subjected to that insanity.

Next came the "Somersizing" phenomena, where over weight ladies and gentlemen across America were encouraged to "Eat, Cheat, and Melt the Fat Away." Which certainly sounds appealing, but naturally Your Mama is skeptical. Miss Suzanne Somers continues to hawk her "Somersizing" program and makes boo-coo bucks selling the shit on the Home Shopping Network. Of course.

Most recently we have the brave breast cancer survivor and one-time ack-tress up on that Larry King Live show shrieking and yapping about something called Bioidentical Hormone Replacement Therapy. Lawhd children, Your Mama only knows the definition of two of those four words, so we can't even begin to tell you what that is all about. But we know it is very controversial. Perhaps the nearly dead Larry King should consider a treatment or two of the bio-stuff if it'll help him see his youngest children graduate elementary school. Oh, ouch.

Miss Suzanne Summers has long been a resident of Malee-boo, and in January of 2007 her mansion burned to the ground during a wild fire. To the ground children. She lost every material thing she owned at that house. A real tragedy. Ever the optimist, Miss Suzanne Somers was quoted as saying, "My nature is to look at the glass half-full. I truly believe we will learn something great from this experience." Well, Your Mama may think she's strange like fruit, but we gotta respect that kind of positive thinking.

Miss Suzanne Somers and her ex-game show host huzband Alan Hamel are rebuilding their home, but in the meantime they need a place to live. It is Your Mama's understanding the couple have leased this big house up in the Serra Retreat to live in while construction proceeds full steam ahead on their house. Y'all may recognize the Serra Retreat as the same gated enclave Britney Spears and Kevin Federline lived, and where the couple are having a tough time selling their tainted spread.

The contemporary house with 4 bedrooms and 4 bathrooms (two masters according to the listing), sits on 4.35 acres on one of the premiere non-ocean front streets in Malee-boo. The gated estate includes a large, flat and grassy yard with swimming pool and amazing ocean views.

Can y'all see the big, dramatic curving stair case in the entry? This house is really something and we can just see Miss Suzanne Somers coming to the big glass front door with a protein shake in one hand and syringe full of hormones in the other.

Sources: Internet Movie Data Base, MSNBC, Pierce Mattie, eDiets.com

Please Buy Rachel Hunter's Hideaway

SELLER: Rachel Hunter
LOCATION: N. Crescent Heights Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA
PRICE: $2,995,000
SIZE: 4,078 square feet, 5 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Built in the early 1930s. Abundance of charming character details everywhere you look. A gorgeous new oversized master bath w/ steam shower was recently added to the master suite which also has a loggia balcony with city views. Stunning open kitchen, mud room, 4 fireplaces, pool & gated on a mostly flat usable 12k+ lot. Finish big basement/media room w/storage. New dual zone heat/air + new systems. Move in.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Okay lovelies, Your Mama is going out on a limb with this one. We have a long list of celebrity homes to bring you but we must be feeling daring today because we have a property here where for months we have been unable to sort out the ownership. We asked one of our contacts who often knows what's what in celebrity real estate, let's call her Rita the Meter Maid, and she tells us that this house belongs to Miz Rachel Hunter...Sports Illustrated swim suit model mommy and ex-wifey of aging rock star Rod Stewart who keeps pumping out babies even though he's old enough to be Your Mama's grandpa.

Here's the thing...somewhere in the far and dark recessess of our failing memory, Your Mama recalls watching this blond and healthy looking gal on MTV's show Cribs. Although our powers of recollection are not always good we do remember thinking it was odd because Cribs usually shows the cribs of famous people with fleets of tricked out automobiles in front of big suburban houses outside Atlanta and places like that. But we also dimly recall that Rachel Hunter lived up in the hills of Los Angeles in a Spanish style house with a dog house she had built to look like a miniature version of the people house. Does anyone else remember that?

Anyhoo, this dwelling, purchased in April of 2004 for an undisclosed sum of money, is owned by a trust connected to the very same trust that is named on the property records for Mister Stewart's gargantuan yellow mansion up in Beverly Park, where he lives with his current wifey and any number of children including daughter Kimberly (who we will never forget falling over on that motorcyle on the red carpet), and prolly Sean, the son who, quite frankly, humiliated himself recently on the reality show Sons of Hollywood. Now there's a kid to be proud of. Jeezis, puh-leeze! Your Mama hopes he was "acting" on the show.

Sorry babies, we digress yet again. It is on the wisdom and information of Rita the Meter Maid that we say this house is owned and occupied by Rachel Hunter. Now, we might be wrong on this one. We are seldom incorrect, but we will publicly stand corrected and endure the 40 lashes if we lead you astray on this one.

Poor Rachel hasn't had an easy time finding a buyer for her pretty house. First put on the market sometime last fall, the price was recently reduced to it's current ask price of $2,999,000 from it's original ask price of $3,600,000. Looks like someone is getting serious about selling. Does this reduction reflect the state of the market in Los Angeles? Or was someone just a little too optimistic in the pricing? The house is also being put out for lease at $12,000 per month so you know Miz Hunter has either already moved or wants to move quick.

Behind the high hedges and super secure electronic gates sits a 1930s Tudor style house that has recently undergone a renovation the included upgrading and updating the services including adding dual zone heat and air. Which is lovely, but we might have considered a few more zones including one exclusively for the master suite.

The house has been decorated with romantic chandeliers and white sofas and silk covered headboards. It's all a little soft and girly for Your Mama's own tastes, but we are none the less quite impressed with the light and bright scheme.

We're not so into the French Country style cabinetry but we all really liking the soft green glass tiles behind the big Viking range. We also like this set up in the kitchen with the white slip covered chairs and the heavy wood table.

Your Mama can easily imagine curling up on that beige velvet sofa in the family room watching Shear Genius on the big flat screen while the fire crackles and our bitches Linda and Beverly cozy up next to us. Again, the decor here isn't what we'd chose for our own home, but it's really quite lovely. Simple. Elegant. Comfortable. And most impressive of all, it's not trying to be a room that screams "I cost a lot of money!"

The backyard pool area is nice and we appreciate a swimming pool on the smallish side. Because unless you're going to swim laps like Mark Spitz, than who needs an Olympic length pool like the one at Jamie Foxx's recently purchased spread up in Hidden Valley? Does anyone really think Mister Foxx is going to slide himself into a speedo and swim laps? No, we don't either.

But even better than the wee pool with the covered sitting area with the Balinese looking furniture including a big chaise lounge for napping in the shade. Nice touch Hunter.

We prefer not to spend a lot of energy on functional rooms such as the laundry, but we do appreciate that this one has been dressed up with a chandelier. That's right, no need to wash and fold in a dark, dank, and unattractive space. It just so happens that Your Mama and the Dr. Cooter have the very same wash and dry machines as Miz Hunter, although ours are the platinum color.

This house really does look like a nice house. Modest for a big celeb, but we like that. And it's conveniently located up in the hills above the Chateau Marmont and Sunset Boulevard. Another big bonus to the celebrity set. Your Mama sincerely wishes Miz Hunter all the best in getting this house sold.

We Have To Give Back!

You know darlings, sometimes my life is just plain weird. Maybe a handful of you remember a Ken Russell science-fiction movie a few decades back called Altered States, in which William Hurt, back when he was sexy (Am I the only person old enough to remember when Hurt was hot? Oh. I am.), took a spiritual journey on hallucinogens, and found himself mutating into odd life forms, much like his career has ever since. Well darlings, the map may say that Morehead Heights is in California, but I assure you that Altered is the state I've been living in for the last century. And I've never taken an hallucinogen gratuitously in my life. How well does LSD or Mescaline mix with vodka, anyway? I can't remember.


But this week has been something else. It was American Idol Finale Week, although this American Idol isn't holding her finale any time soon. On Tuesday evening, I was supposed to attend the finale performance show at the Kodak Theater in order to write a review of it for Little Kent Levine's flog, "By Kent Levine," as he couldn't be bothered, since he was busy taking Sanjaya Maladroit to a Hula Prom on Maui. But I was turned away at the door through some horrible mix-up that I'm sure is all Kent's fault. Nonetheless, professional that I am, I managed to watch the show on a cell phone in the cab coming home, and dictate my review to Little Dougie, who she-maled it to Little Kent, who then posted it under the title AMERICAN IDOL: and then there were two. You can read it by clicking on it's title.

However, I am not in the habit of being turned away like some nonentity (You know, like you.), though I am open to being turned around. More on that below. I was still determined to have my Kodak Theater moment, so on Wednesday evening I showed up there again, but this time at the stage door, claiming to be Paula Abdul. At first, the Crusty Old Stage Manager objected that I looked nothing like Miss Abdul, but I told him how I had tripped over my pet Great Dane, Baskerville (He's so hard to notice), and had landed on the floor face first, so I was completely smashed, and thus unrecognizable. The Crusty Old Stage Manager bought that one, since I had fallen face-first onto the floor no less than three times just while telling him about it, and anyone even casually glancing at me from 100 yards away could see that I was undeniably smashed. "I'm terribly sorry, Miss Abdul," the Crusty Old Stage Manager said, "I didn't realize it was you. You're so much more sober than usual. Gosh; you look much younger in person."

So now, not only was I backstage at the Kodak, but I was being escorted to Paula's dressing room, which in her case, is really an undressing room. I found it's mirror opens up like a door, and when you pass through the looking-glass, it has a secret passage to the male contestant's dressing room. On the wall in the passageway, I found "The Phantom loves Christine" written in lipstick inside a heart in Lon Chaney's handwriting, which is particularly amazing when you consider that the Kodak Theater wasn't built until 70 years after Lon died.

After watching through the one-way mirror as Brandon Rogers changed his underwear, I charged into the room, determined to teach Brandon what pleasuring an American Idol was all about. However, no sooner had I made a flying tackle of young Brandon, than we were hustled out to shoot the above photograph. So I never got rogered by Rogers. "Drat!" as Bill Fields always said when he found I'd polished off his Jack Daniels while he was in the men's room.

Once back in Paula's dressing room, I found some Mormon sugar cubes lying about in plain sight, sewn into the lining of a coat placed in a secret compartment inside a locked drawer in the wall safe. I assume they were Mormon, as they had the initials LDS stamped right on them, I think. I can be a tad dyslexic if my vodka isn't fresh-squeezed. Anyway, I dropped one into my gin and lemon, which was a teensy bit tart, and drank it down.

My old chum Bette Midler dropped by just about then, on her way to sing The Breeze Beneath My Knees, or whatever that ghastly song is. She was drinking a cup of coffee for some reason (WHAT, I ask you, is the appeal of coffee? Not only is it's stench unbearable, not only is it's taste revolting, but the damned devil's brew will sober you up! Just thought I'd warn any coffee virgins out there. One place you will never run into me is a Starbucks.), so I thoughtfully dropped the other cube into her coffee without mentioning it to her, and she went out to sing her number, which may explain a lot about that performance. Who knew coffee could make you sing flat?

But as Bette was out destroying her formerly peerless musical reputation onstage, things grew hazy, and I became dizzy and disoriented. This, in and of itself, isn't alarming. In fact, it's desirable. Clarity is vastly overrated. But as the world whirled around me and I reached out to Brandon for support, I must have blacked out. On the upside, I missed the rest of Bette's song.

When I woke up, I was lying on a tropical beach. I might have been alarmed then, but frankly, this isn't the first time this has happened to me. Read chapter 24 of my semi-best-selling autobiography, My Lush Life, to learn of another occasion when I drifted off in Hollywood, and woke up in Hawaii.

This island paradise was not Hawaii however, even though it looked exactly like our 50th altered state. I knew it wasn't Hawaii, because Little Kent was nowhere to be seen, and there were no hula-dancing Sanjayas either. What was there were tents, a polar bear, and the remains of an airliner. What there was not, was an open wet bar, although everything else was wet. I looked in both of my hands, and they were empty! My drink was --- was --- LOST!

Fortunately, I found the liquor stocks were still intact in the stewardess station in the plane wreckage. What a lifesaver! As it happens, this not being my first disaster, I am more prepared than a Boy Scout. (What a myth that is. Never in all my years, have I found a boy scout to have a condom when needed.) My Joan Crawford "Drill Me" pumps easily convert into flats, the better for staggering about on sand, and the removeable high heels become martini glasses. But still, there were no olives. Reduced to barbarity already! I felt like the Lord of the Flies, only I saw no flies anywhere to unzip and lord it over.

I was just settling in with my third drink, when Dr. Jack Shepherd came running out of the woods (How did I know his name? Another mystery!), being chased by the foulest-tempered column of second hand smoke I've ever seen. If anyone ever tells you that second hand smoke doesn't kill, you tell them to ask Mr. Eko. Jack was hollering something about how "The Others" were coming.

"Well, hold up a minute, Jack," I said, "Give me a second to floss and undress, and we can be coming too."

"No time!" he screamed, although a real man makes time.

"Besides," said Benry, who was tied to a nearby tree, his bloody face bearing testament to the rough sex he'd been indulging in (Not my thing at all.), "If you get pregnant on this island, you'll die."

"Darling," I said to Benry, "If he can get me pregnant, I will die --- of amazement! I'm less than a week away from being 110. My meno hasn't just paused. You can stick your arms and legs outside of the vehicle, because it's come to a complete halt."

"But," Benry replied, tremendously talkative for a man spouting blood from his mouth, "The island heals people. Just ask Locke or Jin."

"Well unlock that gin and break it out, darling." I said, "Get enough gin into me, and I'll do both of you. I'm just kidding. I'll do both of you anyway. But I'm not kidding about unlocking the gin."

"No time," said Jack, "We have to get to the transmitter."

"I have time." said Tom Sawyer, who was whitewashing a nearby fence. Noticing that Sawyer was every bit as yummy as Jack, and actually in better shape, I was only too happy to show him some of my own personal Dharma & Greg Initiative. Sawyer was "Up" for it, in every sense. He pressed my buttons, and our good vibrations could have knocked 20 airliners out of the sky, though that would have hopelessly overcomplicated a plot that's already impossible to follow.

But then my cell phone started jingling the Heat Crazed title song (My first hit record and my personal theme song.), and Jack yelled, "He's done it. The ringbearer's quest is ended. Frodo has cast the ring into the underwater hatch, and we're saved!"

"Fabulous darling," I replied, "Why don't we celebrate with a three-way shag, while Benry just watches?" But before I could lift my heels back into the air, something I can usually do very rapidly, we flashed-forward, and suddenly Jack and I were on a bridge over the Mighty Los Angeles River, where a terrible car wreck was occurring just off-camera, which is the cheapest way to stage an accident. Jack, suddenly unconvincingly bearded, grabbed me by the shoulders and said, "We have to give back!"

Although giving back isn't my usual thing (as opposed to Little Dougie, who lives for nothing else.), I remembered just a few weeks ago, when American Idol Gives Back raised millions of dollars for all the adorable African children waiting to be adopted by American film stars, by giving back on a huge scale. Everyone in Hollywood is into giving back, although Ryan is still denying it. We're naturally generous that way.

For instance, here's a shot from an episode of the lovely TV series Six Feet Under, of some nice Hispanic merest whisper giving back to Ricardo Antonio Chavira, who plays Carlos Solis on Desperate Housewives. Ricardo is, in my humble and always abject opinion, the hottest of the Desperate Husbands.

I can only assume that during American Idol Gives Back, Little Simon Scowell and Extremely Little Ryan Seechest were giving back right and left. And now, here was Dr. Jack telling me "We have to give back." As I said, it's not my preferred way of making ends meet, but on an island where my fried eggs might turn fertile, and pregnancy is always fatal, perhaps it's a good idea. True, we weren't on the island any more, but you never know when one might flashback to it, so why take chances? As Jack requested, I turned around, and reached for my toes.

And suddenly, here I was, back at Morehead Heights again, lying on my chaise, mouth open, empty vodka bottles scattered all around, the TV running, the Headless Indian Brave snoozing on the settee. What had happened? Where had I been? Where is that island? Why are The Others so nasty? How does eye-patch guy always recover from his numerous deaths? (Is he a cheerleader? He's certainly no hero, the hobbit-drowning swine!) How does Hurley stay so plump on an island? How could Melinda not have won? Who's the better lay, Jack or Sawyer? Why did the judges put Sanjaya on the show in the first place? If it's only been a couple weeks, why is Walt suddenly so much bigger? I'm Lost!

One thing I am certain of; this is the last time I get drunk with Hiro Nakamura, even if his father is Mr. Sulu, who has given his fair share of back over the years, I assure you.

Cheers darlings.