UPDATE: Rachel Hunter

Back in early February of 2007, Your Mama came across a 5 bedroom and 5 bathroom house up in the hills of Hollywood on N. Crescent Heights Boulevard that carried an asking price of $3,600,000. We had a devil of a time sorting out ownership and by the time we managed to figure out that the house was owned by ex supermodel and Rod Stewart ex wifey Rachel Hunter, it was late May and the asking price had been karate chopped to $2,995,000.

The property lingered on the market for quite some time with the lower price and then, POOF!, it vanished, apparently unable to attract a ready, willing and able buyer. The 4,078 square foot sort of Tudor style house (which is now be marketed as an "English country farmhouse" evaporated from our mind until just the other day when, KABLAM! the property popped back up on the MLS with a new asking price of $3,250,000.

Whhaaat? Please.

All due respect to Miz Hunter and her pee-pol, but what's the thinking process behind re-listing the property with an increased asking price after it languished on the market for a good long while at a lower price? Are we missing something?

Hoo-righ-ah Who?

BUYER: Olena Franchuk
LOCATION: No. 17 Upper Phillimore Gardens, Kensington, London
PRICE: £80,000,000
SIZE: Big.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Your Mama predicts that in 36 hours or less no one will remember or even care whether Hourieh Peramam, the recent and alleged buyer of the gaudy Toprak Mansion, is an actual person or some kind of bizarre ploy for marketing the uglee-ass pile on The Bishop's Avenue in North London, because £41,000,000 is loose change for Olena Franchuk, the new and undisputed queen of hideously expensive London real estate.

Hold on to your Vivienne Westwood britches bitches because according to a report in the Daily Mail, the Ukrainian bizness woman and pal of Miss Sir Elton John is believed to have dumped a hair raising £80,000,000 on a huge detached house in the hoity toity Kensington area of South-West London. Yes, you read that correctly kids, that's £80,000,000, a breathtaking 158,756,800 clams to those of us across the pond in the good ol' U-nited States where a good New York City townhouse can still be snapped up for well under $50,000,000.

Contracts are reported to have been exchanged in the last few weeks and if the purchase is fully executed, the sale price of the 5 story house on Upper Phillimore Gardens will shatter the previous record high when Indian born steel baron Lakshmi Mittal forked over a stunning £67,000,000 for his 12 bedroom behemoth on heavily secured Kensington Palace Gardens.

Miz Franchuk's new digs have recently undergone a reported £10,000,000 overhaul which included installing an underground swimming pool, gym, sauna and private cinema. There are "at least" 10 bedrooms and a secure panic room, a feature that is becoming de rigueur in the lavish homes of the freakishly rich. Look closely and you can see the interior spaces appear to have been extended under the entire back garden and all the way to the mews cottage at the rear of the property, which is included in the sale. That's some serious and impressive engineering iffin we say so ourselves.

Miz Franchuk, a well known ladee among big money international philanthropic types, is the daughter of a former president of the Ukraine and the wife of 40-something billionaire bizness man and may-jor contemporary art collector Viktor Pinchuk.

Now puppies, Your Mama certainly has no problem with rich people living up in nice houses. Hell, we're rich and living up in nice houses. However, we do confess that in our little pea brain there's something unseemly and, frankly, vulgar about anyone paying $160,000,000 for a single house that is likely to be occupied, at most, only a few months of the year. We know Miz Franchuk and Mister Pinchuk pledge generously with their time and money to a myriad of charitable causes including AIDS education and research, and we credit them for their good works. But could they not have found a nice house for $60,000,000 and spent the other $100,000,000 curing cancer or feeding every starving child in the Ukraine for many years to come? Just a thought.

(Your Mama would like to thank the many people who forwarded up information and links to this story.)

Kylie Minogue Moves On

SELLER: Kylie Minogue
LOCATION: Mount Wellington Road, French Island, Australia
PRICE: $1,800,000-2,000,000 AUD
SIZE: 221 acres, 4 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Thanks to a leg up from Lovely Luiza from Down Under, Your Mama is pleased to present our first ever discussion about a property in Australia. Hoots and hollers all around. Your Mama apologizes in advance that we simply don't know very much about the Australian property market, so at times we're bound to sound like one of those moe-rons who insist on talking about things they know nothing about.

Princess Luiza linked Your Mama over to an Australian news item which announced that Australian singing superstar and cancer survivor Kylie Minogue has put her French Island hideaway on the market "for tender," which Your Mama thinks is Australian for a sealed bid but very well may just mean "for sale." See kids, we're already sounding like an ignoramus, but try to give us a bit of leeway because Your Mama not wise to the real estate lingo particular to that part of the world.

Listing information indicates the toothy pop phenom is asking between $1,800,000 and $2,000,000 Aussie dollars for the 221 acre property, which translates to roughly to about $1,700,000-1,885,000 US dollars. Since Your Mama has no idea how to look up property records in remote regions of Australia, or any part of Australia for that matter, we'll have to rely on recent press reports in which "insiders" whispered to reporters that Miss Minogue and her then beau-friend, the hotsy totsy Parisian born ack-tor Oliver Martinez, bought the property three years ago for just 400,000 Aussie. The big spread, which they called Beauciel, sits on a high point of of the island with long, wide, and serene bay views over the virtually untouched terrain of French Island.

Naturally, Your Mama had never even heard of French Island, but a little research on the internets and we discover that the virtually unspoiled island is an eco-traveler's paradise sitting smack in the middle of Western Port Bay just 60 kilometers from Melbourne. The island, accessible only by ferry, was once home to the somewhat famous and cushy Mcleod Prison Farm, but now claims just 80 permanent residents as well as scads of potoroos (rat kangaroos) and the largest Koala population in Australia.

After purchasing the two parcel property, the now split couple are said to have dumped another million (or so) Aussie dollars on house renovations, landscaping, and the addition of solar and wind power, something that Your Mama is quite surprised not to see more rich and famous people doing since they are in fact the ones with the pockets deep enough to forge an environmentally friendly path in a world with increasingly decreasing non-renewable resources.

In the after math of her successful battle to beat breast cancer three years ago, Miss Minogue and Mister Martinez retreated to this remote hideaway to recooperate without having to deal with long and unforgiving lenses of the paps being shoved in their faces every time they tried to go to the post office or the grocery market. However, it seems pretty obvious from the lack of personal objects in the residence that the Aussie superstar has already packed her Louis Vuitton cases and decamped from French Island in favor of another secluded getaway that does not remind her of Mister Martinez or The Big "C." Who could blame her?

According to listing information, in addition to the 4 bedroom and 2 bathroom main house, the recently fenced and mostly self sufficient property contains organic fruit and vegetable gardens, plenty of room to run sheep and cattle, a walled garden made from corrugated iron and reclaimed century-old timber that protects a small grove of fruit trees, large rainwater storage tanks, and a restored chicory kiln that houses a back up diesel generator.

Although Your Mama and the Dr. Cooter would have to ferry in all sorts of furniture because, all due respect Miss Minogue, what's currently in the house hurts our eyes and offends our delicate sensibilities, we could happily whittle away a few isolated months every year at Beauciel puttering around the organic gardens and sitting on the large bay view decks with a stack of books and a big pitcher of gin and tonics. The only question for us is would the Australian government allow us to fly in our long bodied bitches Linda and Beverly as well as our sour tempered pussycat Sugar? Because even though that cat is a real bitch, we couldn't go anywhere for that long without him.

Why Is This Man Smiling?

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UPDATE: Affleck and Garner

Looks like the $22,500,000 behemoth on S. Mapleton Drive in hoity toity Holmby Hills that all the blogs and gossip glossies (see #3) including Your Mama thought Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck were in the process of buying is back on the market.

Perhaps that explains why the real estate seeking couple were out looking at high priced properties in Malee-boo last week.

Just Jack's Shack

SELLER: Sean Hayes
LOCATION: S. Rimpau Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA
PRICE: $8,950,000
SIZE: 5,765 square feet, 4 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Gated English Country home in great character is located in the most desirable part of Hancock Park. Ivy covered walls and English gardens welcomes you to this absolutely captivating home. Spacious living room, formal dining highlighted by rich dark hardwood fls and French windows. Wonderful gourmet kitchen complete with top of the line appliances opens to family/media room with f/p overlooking pool and patios. Luxurious master suite, separate guest house & outdoor f/p w/ al fresco dining area.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Jack McFarland may have been an out, loud and proud mincer and a major mooch on the television juggernaut that was Will & Grace, but the real life Emmy winning actor Sean Hayes does not speak publicly about his oft rumored gay ways and he clearly does not need that uptight Will Truman's money anymore. That's right children, as you can plainly see from the glossy photographs of the meticulously maintained and stuffy doctor day-core in the Hancock Park house he just pushed out of the pocket listing closet and onto the open market with an $8,950,000 asking price, Mister Hayes eats, sleeps and washes his wigs in big, fat Will & Grace residual checks.

Property records for the Rimpau Boulevard property are a little fuzzy, but it appears that Mister Hayes purchased the 5,765 square foot house in November of 2001. At this point and time we are not sure precisely what amount Mister Hayes paid, but we do know, thanks to Our Fairy Godmother in Bev Hills, that that house was on the market with an asking price $1,575,000 at the time Mister Hayes coughed up the cash.

Listing information for the "Country English" manse indicates there are 4 bedrooms and 5 bathrooms, which is an awful lot of terlits for one man to keep clean. But then again, Your Mama is quite certain that Mister Hayes does not spend much of his hand and knees times scrubbing terlits, if you know what we're sayin'. Perhaps that dirty job is left for a slim hipped and broad shouldered cleaning man with a tool belt full of cleaning utensils and hair care products.

In Your Mama's humble and entirely meaningless opinion, this place looks a bit too much like the long time residence of a couple of well heeled, dignified, and late model Jaguar driving grandparents who know a thing or two about cruising on the Queen Mary and not the home of a rich and famous actor who publicly pretends to know nothing about cruising, queens or men called Mary, oh-kay?

Your Mama means no offense to Mister Hayes or his nice gay decorator man-friend who did this place up because there's really not much wrong with the sensible, Connecticut furniture showroom day-core...except for the upsetting and inexcusable quartet of pear pictures from IKEA hanging over the breakfast table. What in the world is wrong with people's minds that makes them want to put up pictures of pears in the kitchen? Your Mama's decorating lesson #47 is no pear paintings allowed anywhere on any premises

Now kids, fun as it might be and all appearances aside, Your Mama does not want to get jump into the fracas and fray that surrounds Mister Hayes and the rampant speculation about what sort of person he likes to see laying out nekkid by his pretty in ground pool. We recognize it ain't nobody's bizness but his. But, we'd be dying if we we're lying about this inquiring mind wanting to know.

Anyhoo, Your Mama does appreciate the wainscotting in the stair hall as well as the dark paneling in the faux-manly office from where Mister Hayes conducts his show bizness as well rings all his gurlfriends to invite them over for game night in the big green family room adjacent to the kitchen.

The master bedroom includes a fireplace for romantic evenings, a men's club style bathroom with twin Carrara marble topped vanities, a steam shower large enough for Mister Hayes to invite a few well built friends to sweat out the booze, and naturally, there's a huge closet fitted with custom cabinetry.

Your Mama has no official or even whispered word on why Mister Hayes would shed his Hancock Park real estate skin for some other property, but we speculate it could be because he was denied permission to erect an 8 foot wall at the front of the property which would have keep all the queens in sky high heels from peering in his windows at night. Whatever the reason, it's certainly not because he doesn't have the money to maintain this place. Wherever he may land, Your Mama wishes him a happy home and we sincerely thank him for so perfectly playing the high-larious, lovable and gay, gay, gay Jack MacFarland on primetime television.

UPDATE: Suzanne Somers

Looks like the always entertaining and forever blond actress, writer, cancer survivor and unlikely tycoon–yes, babies, she is a tycoon–Suzanne Somers and her huzband Alan Hamel have had a real estate reality check on Le Baux de Palm Springs, their 70 acre hideaway tucked up into the hills overlooking Palm Springs, a town Your Mama and the Dr. Cooter luv to visit but where even the young people are old enough to collect the social security.

Even though the exuberantly decorated 10 bedroom and 9 bathroom property came flying on to the market with all manner of press and publicity, the Duke of Ormonde whispers in Your Mama's big ear that "no one has even bothered to tour" the quirky compound with it's hair raising $35,000,000 price tag.

Now puppies, we don't know if "no one" means only one or two looky-loos or if "no one" means not a single soul wanted to see the Somers/Hamel residence at the original asking price, but hopefully for Miz Somers and her big white teeth, the new and improved asking price of $27,500,000 will bring out a few deep pocketed desert dwellers looking for a new home to park their fleet of customized golf carts.

UPDATE: Michael Jackson

Oh lawhd have sweet mercy children because an unnamed Michael Jackson source is out yakking and spinning to all the press people that the gigantic loan that Fortress Investments holds on Neverland Ranch is being refinanced and the 2,600 acre property* will not be sold at auction on the steps of the Santa Barbara county courthouse on March 19.

Refinanced? Whhaaat? Do we smell that krazee talking Raymone Bain?

We have no doubt that Mister Jackson and his people are furiously spinning their rolodexes and working the phone lines looking for a lender damn fool enough to refinance a $24,000,000 loan secured against a property owned by a man who does not work, has no significant income, and who is leveraged plumb up to the top of his wig. Just who gives those kinds of loans anymore besides someone involved in organized crime? Seriously, who?

Now listen here all you Michael Jackson fans who are goin' to scream and yell about how the one time King of Pop earns big royalties from his recordings as well as income from his significant stake in the Sony/ATV music publishing catalog: Zip it! We do not want to hear your nonsense. The 25th anniversary release of Thriller isn't doing as well as hoped and a pop star with proper income does not squat with his three children and that Raymone Bain ladee in the big houses of rich friends or camp out in Las Vegas hotel suites comped by the hotel's generous owners. Get real.

Here's the thing children, whether The White Lady is able to get Neverland Ranch refinanced or sold by some other means, it's clear to anyone with eyeballs to read the writing on the wall, Michael Jackson's fat lady of real estate has done sung. Long ago.

Now then, Your Mama has done worn our fat fingers to the nubbins the last few days so we're off to mix a big pitcher of gin and tonics and drink ourself into a stupor while we watch all those lovable freakos on Project Runway. We suggest y'all do the same.

*Some reports say the property spreads over 2,900 acres.

A Little Afternoon Reading

Our lovely and crack research maven B.S. Beaverman sent us a link to New York property website The Real Deal which details a fascinating story about the tawdry circumstances surrounding the sale of a 12-room pre-war Park Avenue apartment in New York City.

The story is far too complicated for Your Mama to encapsulate in just a few words, but here are a few teasers to entice the curious to read the whole saga: Lord Conrad Black, the FBI and Sotheby's International Realty.

Go!

John Stamos: The Next Downtown Dweller

The summer scene around the roof top pool at the Eastern Columbia just got a little bit hotter. According to the good people at Curbed LA, prime time's Emmy winning ER beef cake John Stamos is the latest celebrity to snap up a condo at the big blue building in downtown Los Angeles. According to Curbed's tipster, Mister Stamos will be bunking one of the three penthouse units that are currently (and rumored to be) in escrow.

If true, he'll be able to borrow sugar and French things from neighbors Johnny Depp and his baby momma Vanessa Paradis who have purchased at least one of the penthouse units in the Kor Group condo conversion. If Your Mama were John Stamos and/or Catholic– which of course we are not–we'd be working our rosary and praying there's a secured garage attached because as nice as Miss Kelly Wearstler did up the lobby and as dee-luxe as the roof top pool may be, this is no place to be street parking your Porsche after a long night at Villa. At least not according to our always saucy pal Lucy Spillerguts who regularly roams the rough and tumble streets around the Eastern Columbia.

Now children, this is off topic and we know his career is way too hot for this, but does anyone besides Your Mama ache to see Sexy Stamos poured into a pair of impossibly tight pants, waving his big arms and swiveling his hips around the stage on that awful and too embarrassing not to watch Dancing With the Stars program? Think about that for a minute before you answer.

Rock It Like A Rockefeller

SELLER: Your Mama does not know actually, do you?
PRICE: $27,500,000 ($8,620.88/month maintenance)
LOCATION: 810 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY
SIZE: 2 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Originally Nelson Rockefeller's apartment, this property features a 47' living room with remarkable Park views, West and South. Large formal dining room and library with full bath. Currently the apartment is configured as a 2 bedroom master suite with a double staff room and family room. Could be converted back to a 4 bedroom + library.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Thanks to a little birdie we'll call The Viking, Your Mama has learned that a little piece of New York real estate history has hit the market with a $27,500,000 price tag for what amounts to a large and well located one bedroom apartment overlooking Central Park in a not quite a-list building on Fifth Avenue. The full floor co-operative apartment on the 12th floor of 810 Fifth Avenue has a storied history, so bear with Your Mama as we educate all the children who don't study historical high society real estate deals in New York City.

From the mid-1930s through the early 1960s, oil heir Nelson Aldrich Rockefeller, who went on to become Governor of New York State and later Vice President of the U-nited States, and his first wifey Mary Todhunter Clark Rockefeller owned and occupied a tremendous triplex penthouse riding atop 810 Fifth Avenue. The young and really rich Rockefellers hired modern architect Wallace Harrison to design their gargantuan aerie and they paid Parisian decorator du jour Jean-Michel Frank to do up the day-core of some of the 30 rooms. The Rockefeller penthouse was reportedly filled to the brim with cutting-edge furniture and fiercely contemporary artworks by folks like Fernand Leger, Henri Matisse, and Hans Arp as well as gilded consoles by Giacometti, loads of Louis XV-style furniture, and acres of candy colored carpets, which certainly sounds, uhm, colorful.

In 1962, after pushing out and raising up 5 children, the couple went splitsville and the Missus took the top two floors and the Mister kept the entire 12th floor for himself. A very short time later, Mister Rockefeller found and married another ladee named Margaretta Fitler Murphy, but everyone just called her Happy. After the big nuptials, Mister Rockefeller and his new wifey purchased another full floor co-op in the neighboring building at 812 Fifth Avenue which they combined with the former triplex's 12th floor of 810 Fifth which provided the couple and the two children they would have with nearly 12,000 square feet of Fifth Avenue fabulosity. The floors of the two units were not at the same height so a half staircase had to be installed to connect the combined units. The stairs were located behind what is now a bookcase in the library at 810 (see plan here.)

Because the first Mrs. Rockefeller lived upstairs, and perhaps to selfishly spare him any unnecessary drama, Mister Rockefeller reconfigured his combined units at 810 and 812 so that he and Happy could enter through 812 Fifth while First Wifey continued to use the entrance at 810, thus eliminating any chance encounters or a possible fracas between the two well married women as they waited for the lift with its white gloved operator.

The fixer upper duples with 17 rooms (some reports say 12 rooms), 6 bedrooms, and a 1,200 square foot wrap terrace was eventually sold to healthcare honcho John Foster who famously sold it on to music mogul David Geffen for $31,500,000 after the fussy co-op board–which at the time included socialite Jan Cowles and philanthropist Elizabeth Rohatyn, wife of financier and former Ambassador to France Felix Rohatyn–dragged their feet but eventually gave the West Coast based billionaire the gilded and difficult to come by stamp of approval.

Then, of course, as anyone who follows New York real estate knows, the fickle and obscenely rich Mister Geffen turned around and quietly put the duplex back on the market without ever moving in or making any alterations to the duplex. Property records (and multiple reports at the time) reveal that the duplex was quickly purchased by the Blackstone Group's Pete Peterson for $37,500,000, a man whose alliterative name Your Mama delights in and approves of highly, natch.

Anyhoo, let's get back to the full floor unit on the 12th floor of 810 Fifth Avenue. At some point, and Your Mama confesses we don't know when, Nelson and Happy sold their combined units which were incorporated back into their respective buildings as single units. It is the lowest floor of the original Rockefeller triplex at 810 that is currently available to purchase by any rich, well connected individual able to finesse, charm and woo their way into the hearts of the co-op board.

Although the full floor units at 810 Fifth were originally configured with 4 bedrooms, 4 bathroms, a library, and 4 itty bitty staff rooms flanking a servant's hall, the current layout of the 12th floor features nearly 48 feet of paneled living room overlooking Central Park with two fireplaces, a wet bar, and some seriously tired and uninspired day-core. To the east sits a good sized but unfortunately Peptol Bismol pink dining room, and to the north, a paneled library with an attached guest bathroom and a kitchen adequately sized for Lucinda the staff gurl to comfortably whip up poached eggs and blinis.

The mammoth master suite consists of two large rooms. Presumably one is meant to be a bedroom and the other a private office, sitting room or a boudoir. Don't y'all just love that word? Boudoir...boo-dwar. It's boo-lovely rolling across the lips. Anyhoo, the two rooms are separated by twin walk in closets, dual dressing rooms and a master bath with his and her terlits and bidets. Now how elegant is that that in this co-op the owners need not wash their private parts on the same bidet?

Interestingly, the staff suite is joined to the master bedroom through a walk in closet. Your Mama assumes this back door bizness is so that good ol' Lucinda can discreetly slip into the boo-dwar (or whatever that room is) and leave the ladee of the house her morning mood pills and the man of the house his before bed bourban without disturbing them as they dress, poop, and/or fornicate in other areas of the multi-room master suite.

There is an additional bedroom in the apartment which is really part of the staff suite and not suitable for the sort of high-fallutin' guests that are likely to be dragging in and out of an apartment like this in their Valentino gowns dripping in doo-dads from Van Cleef & Arpels. In addition to a private bath and bedroom, the staff suite also has what is called on the floor plan a laundry slash family room. Now does anyone really see the owner of this apartment settling into a long night of reality television in the same room where Lucinda launders the sheets and hand washes the under garments? No children, Your Mama does not see that happening either.

Clearly, the apartment's day-core is in dire need an update at the least and more likely the new owners will have to give the place a total overhaul directed by one of the better nice gay decorators who ply their trade in the rarefied air and better addresses along Fifth and Park Avenues. This particular brand of high-klass interiors are not Your Mama's forté, however, we're just certain our good pal The Social Butterfly can hook the new owner up with a well preserved and impeccably mannered gentleman decorator who for a large fee would be more than happy to squire the new owner(s) of this apartment around to all the better shops and showrooms in Paris.

Former residents of 810 Fifth include William Randolph Hearst Jr. and the notorious and much maligned Richard Nixon. In addition to the aforementioned Rohatyns and Jan Cowles, other current residents of the building are believed to include board president Eric Sheinberg (former partner at Goldman Sachs), art patron Maureen Cogan, former Archer Daniels CEO Dwayne Andreas, and records indicate the building's newest super rich resident is Lazard Frere's William von Mueffling who forked over $25,000,000 for the 10th floor apartment in July of 2007.

Here's the question for all you New York old money types, arrivistes and also for all the service class that cater to the well to do along Fifth Avenue...who currently owns this place? Unfortunately that is a name we've yet to be able to ferret out. Email Your Mama with your dirt.

Say Bye Bye to Neverland Ranch

Veronica Hearst is not the only famous and formerly rich person grappling with the soul crushing and credit wrecking world of foreclosure. Fortress Investments, the long suffering lender who holds the multi-million dollar mortgage on Michael Jackson's once beloved Neverland Ranch, has reached the end of their patience rope with the financially strapped and fallen music icon.

According to the always well informed celebrity gossip Roger Friedman who pens the Fox 411 column, Neverland Ranch has been foreclosed on and is scheduled to be sold at auction on March 19 unless The White Lady manages to scrounge up $24,525,906 and 61 damn cents. And quick.

If the 2,600 acre ranch on Figueroa Mountain Road in the Santa Ynez Valley is auctioned off on the steps of the Santa Barbara county courthouse, the sale will include "every single thing that is or isn't nailed down" including furniture, fixtures, appliances, and "all merry go round type devices." It would be fascinating to know what objects and personal items Mister Jackson left behind when he fled Neverland Ranch in shame and humiliation in June of 2005 after being acquitted of child molestation charges.

No one, including Mister Friedman and Your Mama, thinks Mister Jackson can or will do anything to stop the sale. The man is broke and hideously leveraged as it is. We presume he will spend the next few weeks praying that the sale produces enough dough to pay off Fortress so he can finally wash his hands of the uglee affair. If the auction does not produce a satisfactory bid, Fortress is likely to take possession of the ranch and list is with a local realtor, a turn of events that will have every real estate gossip in the world salivating and hoping to swing a seat on the press tour.

Poor Michael Jackson. The man was once a musical force and prodigy who sat on top of the world, and now his entire world is collapsing around him. Your Mama hopes he's on the horn right now trying to convince Tito or LaToya to let him move in with one of them because the Dr. Cooter is adamant that The White Lady and his trio of cute kids can not, under any circumstances, come live with us.

In Other London Property News...

UPDATE LATER SAME DAY: Well kids, as you've all noted in the comments section, this alleged purchase by Simon Cowell was some kind of a dirty hoax perpetrated on all the good real estate gossips and Your Mama is pissed. The only thing true about the report is the Mister Cowell already owns a house in Holland Park. Blah, blah, blah. Sorry to feed the children rotten food, but sometimes we get poopy information.

...It is being reported that resident American Idol sourpuss Simon Cowell dumped a huge wad of his reality television moolah on a posh house in the hotsy totsy Holland Park area of West London. In addition to the on the decline American Idol, Mister Cowell has a piece of several other lucrative pies including the original signing contest Pop Idol, as well as The X Factor and Britain's Got Talent.

Apparently Scowlly Cowelly coughed up £40,000,000 for the Grade-II listed home and has embarked on a significant renovation that includes installation of or work on a swimming pool, spa, kitchen, car park and something called an underground extension. Is that a basement, or is that some kind of James Bond style underground tunnel that will allow Mister Cowell to enter and exit his pricey pad without being seen by the other stinking rich millionaires in his new hood?

Stateside, Mister Cowell has spent the last few years on a full scale renovation of a 9,335 square foot mansion on N. Palm Drive in the Bev Hills flats.

Thanks to the good people at Glitterati Gossip for hooking us up to this one.

Your Mama Hears...

...That Jennifer Affleck and Ben Garner (or whatever their names are) are keeping their real estate agent very bizzy. All of Your Mama's sources still say the a-list couple did indeed buy the humongous Holmby Hills house we discussed a few weeks ago, and now we hear they're out touring high priced properties in Malee-boo, including a newly built $25,000,000 mansion on the cliffs of Point Dume (pictured above) that features 7 bedrooms, 11 bathrooms, private beach access, a home thee-ay-ter, 2 family rooms, a kitchen with two of everything, and a detached guest house for their growing army of personal assistants and nannies.

Your Mama sees a new S-Class Mercedes in the future of their lucky real estate agent.

A Little Mid-Week Mish Mash

1.
In an interesting twist to the stunning foreclosure sale of Veronica Hearst's (now former) Palm Beach play pen Villa Venezia, freakishly rich retired professional golfer Greg Norman sat with the representatives of New Stream Capital as they bid and bought the 28,000 square foot mansion at auction for just $22,000,000. Mister Norman, who was recently embattled in a public and bitter dee-vorce and is now engaged to tennis ace Chris Everett, has reportedly been on the hunt for a Manalapan mansion to call home and some rumors say he may be one of the eight parties said to be interested in purchasing Villa Venezia from New Stream. Why else would he be there, right?

2.
Your Mama has received confirmation from a well placed and confidential source who yesterday whispered in our big ear that recently rehabbed rock star Richie Sambora did indeed buy the Calabasas crib of San Diego Padres pitcher Randy Wolf. Good thing the place is walled, gated and secured because Mister Sambora does not need that wild eyed Denise Richards collapsed and crying on the front porch anymore. (We tease. Your Mama has no idea if Miz Richards ever resorted to such hysterics, but we do think she's wild eyed.)

3.
Did the once high flying celebrity real estate agent Joe Babajian finally get a deal on his Trousdale Estates domicile that he's been trying to unload ever since he was indicted on hair-raising charges of fraud, money laundering and other nefarious and naughty activities?

Joebab's fully and meticulously renovated house on Carla Ridge in the eastern edge of the Bev Hills was first listed at $6,995,000 and almost immediately reduced to $6,895,000. Recently, the asking price was karate chopped to $6,595,000 which must have brought in the buyers because the listing is now marked, "Looking For Backup." The possible sale no doubt comes just in the nick of time for ol' Joebabs to hand over a giant retainer to Thomas Mesereau, the high profile and high priced attorney reported to be representing Mister Babajian in his trial scheduled to begin in July, 2008. Stay tuned because this one just gets more interesting.

4.
Poor little faux rebel rocker Avril Lavigne. Not only is the kohl-eyed pop princess reportedly having a devil of a time getting all the mommies of pre-teen gurls with black nail polish to cough up the cash for tickets to her current concert tour, she can't seem to get her former residence in the guard gated celebrity enclave of Mulholland Estates sold either.

We're starting to think The Spitter left some seriously bad juju in the house that scares the money of potential buyers back into their bank accounts. Has the listing agent considered having the house "cleaned" they way that kooky Jeff Lewis from The Bravo TV's Flipping Out does? Think about it. Nothing else has worked and desperate times call for desperate measures.

Miss Lavigne, who in 2006 got married in a big white princess dress to Sum 41 front man Deryck Whibley, first listed the 6,894 square foot house a looong time ago (too long ago for Your Mama's booze addled brain to recall) for nearly $7,000,000. Over time, the asking price was cut, whittled and chopped to it's current asking price of $5,800,000. At least two (we hear three) buyers stepped up to the plate and then backed down. The house remains unsold like Av's concert tickets and meanwhile she and Deryck still gotta pay the fat mortgage on the house they bought last year in Bel Air.

5.
Russ Weiner, founder of Rockstar Energy Drinkand spawn of right wing radio wingnut Michael Savage, is also having trouble unloading several high priced properties in the Hills of Hollywood. Three properties to be exact. First there was the four story flesh colored house on Franklin Avenue that was originally priced at $3,995,000 (maybe higher?) and has been languishing on the market for a real estate eternity at $3,500,000. Then came "The Fortress" on curvy and swervy Sunset Plaza Drive which has also been on the market for a lifetime. Last week, the price of the architecturally intriguing property was chopped from $11,900,000 to $9,900,000. (Your Mama thinks the price of this house started in the neighborhood of $14,000,000, but we just can't recall and we don't have time to look. So one of you people look for Your Mama and let us know. Thanks.)

Then came the icing on the cake which is that monstrosity on Sierra Alta Way that Mister Weiner bought in September 2005 from the humorously named NBA basketball player Carlos Boozer for $8,600,000. Hoping to cash in on the white hot real estate market, Mister Weiner and his people first put the 17,893,000 square foot pile of uglee on the market at a delusional $22,000,000. Is anyone surprised that there have been several price reductions and just last week the asking price was slashed to $15,900,000?

The bleeding heart children should have no fear and lose no rest that even if Mister Weiner manages to off load all three of these properties all at once, he'll be homeless. Oh no. The young and exuberantly rich fixture on the Hollywood party scene also owns one of the more modest spreads up in super swank Beverly Park.

UPDATE: Veronica Hearst

Hold on to your britches children because Veronica Hearst's real estate shit has finally hit the fan and the Manhattan-based socialite is screwed six ways from Sunday as far as Your Mama can tell. Now puppies, before any of you get your moral panties in a bunch, we are not dancing on Miz Hearst's real estate grave. The ladee bleeds just like everyone else and her financial woes are nothing to be gleeful about. However, Your Mama has been following Miz Hearst's trail of foreclosure tears for quite some time and we need to see the story through to its inevitable and uglee climax.

According to the Palm Beach Post, the dirty deed has been done and the 28,000 square foot, 52 room Villa Venezia was auctioned off in a foreclosure sale for just $22,000,000. The children will recall from previous discussions that Villa Venezia is the palatial Palm Beach pile for which Miz Hearst plunked down a hefty $29,870,807 just a couple of months before her huzband and newspaper scion Randolph Hearst died in 2000.

Over the years Miz Hearst borrowed heavily against the property, presumably to pay its $375,000 yearly tax bill and to maintain her lavish lifestyle of private jets, Couture Dior and $100,000 tables at charity galas. The buyers of the estate that stretches gracefully from the Atlantic Ocean to Lake Worth are New Stream Capital, the plaintiffs in the foreclosure proceedings who happen to be the very same outfit that holds more than $40,000,000 in mortgages owed by The Widow Hearst.

According to a recent and eye popping article in the New York Daily News, Miz Hearst has been very bizzy selling everything that isn't glued down or already mortgaged in an effort to scare up some cash. And it looks like she's gonna need all the pennies she can find in the sofa cushions because the ladee reportedly put up her full floor co-op in a swanky Fifth Avenue building and her 45-acre estate in New Castle, NY as collateral against the massive mortgages in the event the foreclosure sale of Villa Venezia did not produce enough to pay off New Stream, which of course, it did not.

Since Villa Venezia sold for just $22,000,000, Miz Hearst remains in deep financial doo-doo with New Stream for another $16,000,000 (or more), and as such they can force the sale of her other collateralized assets in order to recoup their money. Oh dear. So get ready children, because unless the bible scholar sells a boatload of baubles and rare books or finds a benefactor to loan her another $16,000,000, Your Mama expects we'll see New Stream go after at least one of Miz Hearst's other properties to pay off her still considerable debt. These people at New Stream are clearly done messing around and waiting for Miss Missy Socialite to restructure her debt, hawk her jewelry or find a rich huzband. They want their damn money and they're gonna do whatever it takes to get it.

Someone better tell the high fallutin' board at Miz Hearst's co-op because the big spending Widow Hearst reportedly did not get permission to pledge her unit as collateral. And you can't pull that shit with a co-op kids, at least not without stirring up all manner of uppity co-op board rage. Those are sure to be some angry-ass rich people up in 4 East 66th Street if they are forced to deal with a foreclosure and property auction that might allow an undesirable element to swoop in and scoop up Miz Hearst's 7,000 square feet (approx.) of dee-luxe Fifth Avenue dee-lishusness.

If Your Mama were the betting type we'd wager our long bodied bitches Linda and Beverly that that the high net worth residents are already meeting in secret to pool their resources in the event they need to purchase the full floor apartment at auction. In fact we would not be the least bit soo-prized if the co-op board's people have already approached Miz Hearst's people about quietly selling her shares back to the co-op at fair market value. We speculate kids, so don't go reporting that like we know what we're talking about.

Anyhoo, it must be some relief for Miz Hearst to finally unload that white elephant in Palm Beach even if she's still has a lot of hot financial coals to walk across before she can slip her feet comfortably back into a pair of 5 inch Louboutin heels. In the mean time we sincerely wish Miz Hearst fortitude and some good damn advice from her top notch attorneys who Your Mama hopes are telling her to sell everything, pay off New Stream, and buy herself an elegant little one bedroom at The Sherry Netherland with the left over cash. That is if she can get passed the board at The Sherry now that she's a financial hot potato.

Another High Priced Summer Rental in Malee-boo

OWNER: Mark Burnett
LOCATION: Malibu Road, Malibu, CA
PRICE: $80,000/month (summer season)
SIZE: 3,375 square feet, 3 bedrooms, 4.5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: A feast of extraordinary craftsmanship and taste on prestigious Malibu Road. This beautifully furnishes home features hand chiseled beams and cabinetry, old world wood flooring, walls of stone, bi-fold doors opening to the ocean, large media room, state of the art electronic, water walls, custom fixtures and lighting, courtyard living room with fireplace, romantic master suite with fireplace, private patio, sitting room and stunning master bathroom, spa and sauna.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: A few weeks ago Your Mama recommended all you people who rent high priced summer homes in Malee-boo hurry up and hop in your hoopdies and head on up the PCH to secure your summer digs before all the folks with more money and time on their hands snap up all the good properties leaving you with only the moldy, barnacle encrusted shitty shacks sitting on a pile of rocks with no beach.

Have no fear all you filthy rich and procrastinating Angelenos itching to stand on the back deck and scope out ol' Paris Hilton as she prances in a pair of size 11 flip flops or watch that Heidi Montag gurl make a bikini-clad fool of herself on the beach, high priced rentals continue to pop up on the market and several are yet to be rented. The fine folks at The Malibu Real Estate Blog recently posted an article which indicated that there are at least five available properties in the $80-100,000+/month price range in the guard gated Malibu Colony and along the sandy stretch of beach on Malibu Road alone, grab your fat checkbooks and GO! because Your Mama will not accept any invitations to some cheap ass rental you had to take because you were too damn lazy too git out to Malee-boo in February to locate a good house.

Property records reveal that one of the ocean front properties currently available to lease in that sky-high price range is owned by Emmy winning reality television super producer Mark Burnett (Survivor, The Apprentice, Are Your Smarter Than a 5th Grader?). If the children use their noodles, they may recall that Mister Burnett is betrothed to Touched By An Angel ack-tress Roma Downey, who has put up an ocean front home she owns in the Malibu Colony celebrity enclave up for lease at $100,000/month for the summer season.

As it turns out, these two real estate rich Hollywood types are able to lease out two prime ocean front properties rather than use the houses themselves because they are lucky and rich enough to live in yet another ocean front estate on the cliffs hovering over posh Paradise Cove that Mister Burnett bought fully furnished in April of 2005 from hoity toity house flipper Sandy Gallin for more than $25,000,000. We hear from the always snappy Kenny Kissentell that the house sits so high on the bluff that these two drive a golf cart down a grassy path to the beach.

Anyhoo, property records reveal that Mister Burnett purchased this house on desirable Malibu Road in April of 2004. It is unclear to Your Mama if the Tinseltown titan ever used the house himself or if it was simply an investment. Listing information and property records show the house measures in at a modest but decent 3,375 square feet and has 3 bedrooms and 4.5 bathrooms, a bed-to-bath ratio that gives the Dr. Cooter goosebumps of joy but causes our house gurl Svetlana to quiver with anger calculating just how much time she'll have to spend on her hands and knees with her head in a terlit rather than sunbathing on the back deck.

The three story "contemporary" residence features a courtyard entrance with a fireplace, which could be nice for those nipply evenings when the wind kicks up off the ocean, and many of the rooms lead to ocean side decks or, like the family room on the lower level, small terraces tucked away from the eyesight of the beach combers and paparazzi that have taken to roaming the sands of Malee-boo hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the Duff sisters sunbathing topless or smoking a fattie with the behemoth balled musician Cisco.

If we're being honest kids, and we always try to be, we do not like this house with it's angular and funky roof lines unhappily married to that turret thing at the front of the house, and while we know almost nothing about ancient Chinese secrets, there just can't be anything harmonious about the Feng Shui of the ocean side elevation. Although we do love a white slip covered sofa almost as much as we love our long bodied bitches Linda and Beverly, we don't love half a dozen or more all shoved into one room, and we're certainly not keen on the overall Shabby Chic invites the Dalai Lama to dinner day-core.

The good news is that Malibu Road is less trafficked and thus less noisy than the PCH, the views are undeniably lovely, there are flat screen TVs mounted on the walls in ev-er-ee room (which is a real bonus for reality TV junkies like Your Mama), and unlike some other stretches of ocean front homes in Malee-boo, the neighbors on this section of Malibu Road are less likely to have 24-hour armed security who will question your guests and insist they move their Range Rover back four inches so the bumper won't hang over the property line of their high profile employer.

Your Mama already knows that a good number of you are gonna whine about the ridiculousness of spending so much money for so little space (blah blah blah), and most of you interior design know it alls will not like this house any more than we do. So the question is not what's wrong with the house, but rather, who do you think should cough up the big bucks to rent the place? We're going to say Jaime Pressly, who loves Buddha day-core, but might not have the extra money to lease a beach house until she manages to unload that place of hers in Tarzana.

The Scariest Oscars

As the sexy and hilarious Jon Stewart pointed out, this year, The Oscars were going to psychos, serial killers, murderers, and fiends, and the acting awards went to people who played psychos as well. They even gave an Honorary Award to Robert Boyle (Look out Bobby; that award means you're DOOMED!), Alfred Hitchcock's production designer, the man who designed Mount Rushmore! (It is, after all, just a movie set.) They were the scariest Oscars since the year of The Silence of the Lambs.

Stewart incidentally, said that to figure out your Stripper Name, you take your pet's name and the name of the street you grew up on. This makes Little Dougie's Stripper Name Godzilla Palos Verdes Drive West. I spent my childhood on the road in vaudeville, so my Stripper Name would be Snatches Route 66.

I saw Wesley Snipes in the audience, nice to see his bail was extended.

Let's get to the good news right away: overwhelmingly sexy Spanish superstud Javier Bardem won Best Supporting Actor. Here he is, enjoying his award.

Now that's an award I can get behind! Or in front of. Which ever he prefers.

Javier was babbling obscenities to his Mom in Spanish from the stage (I'm assuming they were obscenities, as my Mexican housekeeper, Contracepción, fainted dead away as he said them.), which seems an odd way to accept an award. But not as odd as then making out with his mother on international television, in front of millions of viewers worldwide. Ew! Put those tongues away, Bardems. Actually, Javier's mother, Pilar Bardem, is a movie star herself, with over 100 film credits in Spain. I like that Javier is willing to make out with elderly female movie stars! I think he should be encouraged to make out with elderly female movie stars, the older the better! He should come over to Morehead Heights and make out with this elderly female movie star all night long! But not with your mother, Javier. In fact, if your mother is anything like mine was, biting would be more appropriate. Anyway, a note to Regis Philbin: Rege, it's JAVIER Bardem, not Xavier Bardem, as you blunderingly called him to his face at the beginning of the show. I know you're old Rege, but I'm older, and I know his name. It's Oedipus Bardem.

Now I am normally loathe to agree with Faux-President Dubya about anything, but maybe he's right about immigration. Perhaps a fence should be erected, or some other drastic steps be taken, to keep foreigners out of America, because last night ALL the acting awards went to foreigners! What's the matter Oscar, don't you think Americans can act? Maybe Oscar needs a trip to Guantanamo Bay, to have his patriotism tested.

When they ran the Oscar history montage, and we saw Charlie Chaplin again accepting his honorary award, Little Dougie pointed out that that was the same year Jane Fonda won Best Actress for Klute, or as he put it, when Charlie Chaplin won an Oscar for playing a little tramp, while Jane won for playing a big one.

Dider Lavergne and Jan Archibald won Best Make Up for making Marion Cotillard convincingly look French, which would be more impressive if she weren't actually French. At least it prevented us from seeing ads that referred to "The Oscar-Winning comedy Norbit." I shudder at just the thought. Fortunately, Eddie isn't stewing at home, awardless. He picked up three Razzies on Friday. Congratulations Eddie. Well earned all.

Amy Adams sang Happy Little Working Song, a parody of Whistle While You Work, without the animated animals who are the whole point of the song, thus allowing us to see that, without the animated animals, it is completely pointless and unfunny. I'll give her this, she didn't look nearly as embarrassed as she should have.

Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson presented an award wearing a tuxedo that completely covered up his talent.

Of course, we all enjoyed the dream montage gag, where we saw a number of people wake up screaming. Oddly enough, each and everyone of them was waking up from the same dream, one in which they find themselves hearing the dreaded words "George Dubya Bush has just been re-elected to a third term!"

The second nominated song, Raise It Up, was energetically performed by the Not-Mormon Tabernacle Choir. You can tell they're not Mormons, because black Mormons are rarer than honest Republicans, or liberal Mormons.

When The Mozart of Pickpockets (Who, incidentally, is hated by The Salieri of Pickpockets.) won Best Short Film, Phillippe Pollet-Villard began speaking in French to Javier Bardem's mother, but she wouldn't give him any tongue. That's all for her boy.

The annoying Jerry Seinfeld Bee from that movie no one over three years old saw gave Best Animated Short Film to Peter and the Wolf. I must again point out that Walt Disney made this film in 1946, so they took their sweet time about it. Stop-motion animator Hugh Welchman went up on stage to accept Walt Disney's Oscar holding his Peter in his hand. Why didn't Javier do that?
Here's a picture of Dustin Hoffman admiring Tilda Swinton's agent's butt! Watch out WGA. Tilda ad-libbed a speech funnier than most of the evening's scripted banter.

When Josh Brolin was reading the nominees for Best Screenplay Adapted From Another Medium, he mispronounced novelist Ian McEwan's last name as "McKuen," instead of saying it correctly: Mc E Wan, exactly as it's spelled. It is, of course, Little Dougie's last name also, so he was bitching and moaning, saying, "Do you know how insulting it is to have one's name mispronounced on The Oscars by Barbra Striesand's step-son? Fuck you, Jock Broling!"


The annoyingly helium-voiced Christian singer Kristen Chenowith sang another nominated song from Enchanted, (A film I grew less interested in seeing every time one of it's songs got trotted out.) the first line of which (and entire premise of) is "How does she know you love her?" Well, I've always found that his erection is usually a large clue. And if it isn't, then who cares if he loves you?


Halle Berry and Sir Judy Dench presented Best Sound Editing and Best Sound Mixing. (Does anyone besides sound men understand the difference between these two awards? Is there a difference?) Halle and Sir Judy both looked the best they have in years, and Sir Judy has even grown a nice little beard, so people will stop mistitling her as Dame Judy. Both awards went to The Bourne Terrarium, so obviously the Academy can't tell the difference either.


Nice to see that Colin Ferrall's hair has grown back since he shot his sex tape. In fact, it's grown back too much. Colin, a little trim would look nice.


It became obvious that Best Actress was going to go to the Frenchwoman, when the award was moved up 90 minutes from it's usual honored position near the end of the show, to be sandwiched in between the sound Oscars, and the editing Oscar, three awards that ought to be given out at The Technical Oscar Ceremony (So-called, because they're only technically Oscars at all), the non-broadcast awards better known as The Boring Awards. If they keep giving Best Actress to French women in movies no one saw, they will end up getting moved to The Technical Awards Ceremony as well.


Incidentally, Best Editing (That's the award they give out while you're in the bathroom.) also went to The Bourne Aquarium. Who could have seen that sweep coming? For a few minutes, it looked like Jason Bourne's movie might pull off the biggest upset of all time, and win Best Picture even though it wasn't nominated. But by now, Jason Bourne would have forgotten all about it.


They ran a montage of clips from every one of the 79 previous Best Picture winners. What the hell is The Greatest Show on Earth doing in that list? That movie blows! For that matter, Mrs. Miniver, Going My Way, The Sound of Music, Oliver, Rocky, Ordinary People, Dances With Wolves, Braveheart, and Gladiator, are all, to varying degrees, lame also. Gone With the Wind, COULD have been a great movie, only they ruined it when that whore Vivien Leigh was miscast as Scarlett O'Hara instead of me. I will never understand the Oscar given to Hamlet, an incomprehensible Scandinavian ghost story, the only foreign language movie ever to win Best Picture. By the way, did you know that Billy Wilder's Best Picture winner, The Apartment, is known in England as The Flat?


Gray's Anatomy's Dr. McDreamy was introduced as "The versatile and handsome Patrick Dempsey." I had no idea that Dempsey sometimes bottoms!


The laugh was on the winners of Best Documentary Short Subject. The award was announced by American soldiers in Baghdad. The winners had to go to Iraq to pick up their awards. Then the award went to a film about lesbians, which means the army shouldn't have been asked, and shouldn't have told. I see dishonorable discharges in the future. But how lovely to have an award presented to a film about anti-gay discrimination by members of an organization that officially discriminates against gay people. It was a good thing the American soldiers didn't also announce the winner of Best Documentary Feature, since it was about the use of torture by our boys in Guantanamo Bay. "And the winner is a film about what inhuman fiends we have become under George Bush."


I'm pleased to announce I was not included in the Dead Stars Montage once again. Sadly, neither was Emily Perry, Brad Renfro, nor Roy Scheider. Oh well, it's not like Roy was ever in any good or successful movies.


Okay, about Diablo Cody, winner of Best Original Screenplay for Juno, a movie about my Internet server. First off, am I supposed to believe it says "Diablo" on her birth certificate? Why not just name the kid Satan? But maybe it's her Stripper Name. Maybe she has a kitty named Diablo, and lives on Cody Street. Hey, if Little Dougie could perform a decent lap dance (Isn't "Decent Lap Dance" a contradiction in terms?) he might have a film deal too. You have to love her tasteful tattoo, and her good taste in wearing a sleeveless gown so the whole world could enjoy her soft-core, pin-up, arm-porn. Anyway, here she is, showing the class synonymous with strippers, by fellating her Oscar for the cameras. Gotta love the equally tasteful skull-and-crossbones earrings too.



My favorite Diablo moment was when Harrison Ford offered her the envelope with her winning name card, and she snatched it from his hand, turned her back on him, and strode offstage. I couldn't do that no matter what Harrison Ford was handing me. He's Harrison Fucking Ford! I'd at least shake his hand! Preferably, I'd grab him, drag him backstage, and show him what he's missing with that bundle of sticks, Calista. I suppose that, as a former (I'm assuming the "former") stripper, she's used to meeting stars, but this wasn't Jeremy Piven or Andy Dick. This was HARRISON FORD! Oh well, pearls before writers. At least she's a writer who gets laid. There's a rarity. And it was classy of her to thank the other nominees, I assume for losing.

Well, class was reestablished a moment later, when Queen Elizabeth knighted Daniel Day-Lewis with his second Oscar.



Best Direction? Do I have to do that joke again? The winner was "Down," which is the direction Cody and I prefer to go.


Extremely openly gay producer Scott Rudin not only thanked his male lover, but called him "Honey" from the stage. Perhaps this is why he won for producing a movie which, in my hastily scribbled notes, is called merely "No Cunt". Hmmm. Someone should have said that to Jane Fonda a week ago.


I need some sleep - well - some vodka, and then some sleep. Wake me for next year's ceremony.

Cheers darlings.