A Tale of Two Divers

It was the best of Olympics; it was the worst of Olympics. NBC was the network of wisdom; NBC was the network of foolishness. It was a week of belief; it was a week of incredulity. It was the mid-season of light; it was the mid-season of darkness. It was the convention of Hope; it will be the convention of Despair. We were shown everything; we were shown nothing. We were all going direct to Washington; we were all going direct the other way (China). In short, August 2008 was so far like a Dickens novel that some of it's drunkest authorities insisted that it be received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.


Strong piece of writing that. I loved Charlie Dickens. Dickens could put the dick in me anytime, and did. And before you say, "Oh Tallulah, you couldn't have had an affair with Charles Dickens. He was a Victorian. They hated sex." let me remind you that Charlie had 10 children by a woman he couldn't stand, and then had a passionate affair with an actress who was younger than him. Who do you suppose that was? Say what you will about me, I am slightly younger than Charles Dickens.



Where was I? Oh yes, China. I haven't posted much this month as I was in China on my honeymoon with Joshua Allen. When you're 111, and you're on your honeymoon with a virile 19 year old man, you have better things to do than flog, or floss for that matter!


But I was flattered to be asked to do some Olympic judging while I was in Beijing. It's not often anyone trusts my judgement. However, when it comes to judging hot young men, well darlings, I wrote the book. (My Lush Life)


My primary judging assignment was men's gymnastics, specifically, the Men's Synchronized Rhythmic Prancing About With Streamers event. But I also judged Best Versatile Gymnast. I judged them as tops, and gay porn legend Arpad Miklos judged them as bottoms. Here I am checking out the form of American gymnast Alexander Artemev, riding the Hung-Like-a-Pommel Horse.



By the way, didn't you miss listening to John Tesh at these Olympics? At the last Olympics, he incessantly referred to the pommel horse as "The Pee-Horse," and worse, the parallel bars as "Pee-Bars." Apparently he thought he was announcing water sports. I have one hard and fast rule (I mean besides, "If you're hard, I'll be fast."), when going to a Pee Bar, I always wear yellow.


Now here I'm judging overwhelmingly gorgeous French medal-winning gymnast Benoît Caranobe. Nothing is more exotic and erotic to me than a man whose name requires an accent mark I don't know the name of or need for. That's hot, or in the words of Paris Hilton: "Huh?"





Sometimes the gratuitous uniforms the athletes wear make judging their form difficult. Fortunately, Benoît had no compunctions about trying to escape from my room by scrambling up a rope like a rat up a rhododendron, while stark, staring naked. (He was stark, and I was staring.) I gave him a perfect 10, and he returned the favor, and then added two more for - well, "Luck" is three-quarters of the right word.




China is on the opposite side of the earth, where everyone walks around upside down. (I have flipped all these pictures over, so that they appear right side up to you. Don't be disoriented. Actually, having just returned from China, I am "dis-oriented." Or is the PC term now "Dis-Asiated"?) Australia is also upside down, and backwards as well. (And, like the island on LOST, China and Australia both exist one day in the future. It's wacky!) You see, in Australia, they have winter in the summer, and summer during the winter. Consequently, the Australian bobsledding team showed up in Beijing, expecting to compete. Since I have years of experience bobbing on good sports, and I love to be luged on, I was tapped to judge.

I love Australia, so I spent some future time in Sydney, visiting my dear old friend, Dame Edna Everage. Here's a picture I took of the world-famous Sydney Opera House. Isn't that a gorgeous, awe-inspiring sight?

Here's a shot my future ex-husband Joshua snapped of me in Sydney, shortly before Sydney was in me. I asked Joshua if it was for a souvenir, and he said, "Sort of. I'll call it 'Exhibit A' when we get to court." Oh well, my marriages have all tended to be short and sweat.

But in Australia I heard an Olympic tale you only heard part of on NBC. It's my tale of two divers.

No. not that diver. He's Canadian Olympic diver Alexander Despatie. He has nothing to do with my story, but he's so gorgeous, I couldn't resist showing a picture of him. No, my story is about these two men, Greg Louganis and Matthew Mitcham.

Once upon the best of times, it was the worst of times. In fact, it was 1988. In America, Ronald Reagan was in his last few months as president, and while that sounds good now, it actually meant that George Herbert Walker Bush was about to be an even worse president. (No easy accomplishment.) This year we have Hope; that year, we had Hype.


And in Asia, Korea to be exact (Which to my amazement, is not in the Malibu hills, like it was in M*A*S*H. Don't tell little Kent Levine. He thinks he was in Korea when he was writing M*A*S*H. Actually, he was in Century City.), they had an Olympics. And at this Olympics, there was a magnificent diver named Greg Louganis, who also was ridiculously beautiful.




It was Greg's third Olympics. Eight years before, when he was still just a teenager, he'd been on the American Olympic diving team, and won a silver medal. Still in high school, he had competed against the best divers in the world, and won a silver medal over all of them, while still too young to vote, drink, or have legal sex with an elderly movie star. So naturally, he came home feeling he was ...


...a LOSER! In the sick competitive mindset of sports, Second Place is Last Place. He had made an stunning achievement, so of course he told himself he had failed. Silver wasn't good enough. (Tell that to Phil Silvers, Greggie!)



So in Los Angeles in 1984, Greg achieved perfection, and won both of the men's diving gold medals. Every gay man in the world fell hopelessly in love with him. Except it wasn't as hopeless as they thought. Because Greg had a secret. He was a big old (well, actually, he was fairly young.) homo! But as an Olympic athlete in the 20th Century, he didn't dare come out. He'd read The Front Runner. He knew what happened to out gay Olympic athletes; they got shot on the finish line.


So in 1988, Greg went to the Olympics again, his goal this time to sweep the Olympic diving gold medals a second time! Could he do it?



And then a terrible thing happened during the springboard competition. Greg screwed up a dive, and hit the top of his head on the board, HARD! He ripped his head open and emerged from the pool bleeding.

Could he possibly still win that gold medal with his head freshly stitched up, barely holding his brain in? Yes! He could, and he did! He was amazing.

Between the springboard competition and the 10 meter platform competition, Greg returned to Los Angeles, to tape an appearance on a TV show called Evening at The Improv. As it happened, Little Dougie, who was besotted with adoration of Little Greggie, was at The Improv that night, for an Improv class he was taking there. He met Greg that night, and got his autograph on a photo, and somehow restrained himself from just offering Greg a blowjob on the spot. (It took every bit of self-control Dougie had, which isn't much, believe you me.)


At one point in the evening, Dougie looked out of an upstairs window when Greg Louganis was standing directly below him, and saw from above the terrible wound on Greg's cranium, a shaved rectangle with still-fresh stitches, like a sexy Frankenstein monster. The sight of it made Dougie weep. Dougie wanted to kiss it and make it better, or even lick it if that was what it took, or even if it wasn't.

And then Greg flew back to Korea. Could he do it? Could he sweep the diving gold medals twice, while wounded and jet-lagged? There was an obnoxious (By which I mean maddeningly polite) little teenaged Chinese diving prodigy there who was diving with uncanny perfection. On that final night of diving, Little Dougie, atheist though he be, was sticking a voodoo doll of the little Chinese boy full of poison-tipped pins to make him fail, so Greg could have his victory, but nothing worked. The kid was diving with heart-breaking perfection. No one could be more perfect than he. Language sticklers will note that "Perfection" is an absolute. It is impossible to be "More perfect".

Unless your name was Greg Louganis. At that last, last dive, with everything riding on it, the little Chinese boy already tasting the gold (Unsanitary!), Greg got up and did MAGIC! He was beyond perfection! 10s hardly seemed good enough. If Nigel Tufnel had been judging, he'd have gotten 11s. Instead, he won the gold, he swept the diving gold two Olympics in a row. He was a living refutation to the myth of heterosexual athletic superiority. And further, he had done it while suffering from AIDS! Almost no one on earth besides Greg and his doctors knew then that the blood he'd bled into that pool was swimming with AIDS. (HIV can not survive contact with chlorine. No other divers were endangered by his blood in the pool, but had they known, fear would have trumped knowledge, and he would have been a pariah.)

After those Olympics, Greg was an international hero, a celebrity, and also renowned for his incredible beauty, as more than one photographer noticed.





But he carried his secret still. He gave interviews in which he said idiotic stuff like, "I would never say if I was gay or straight. It's no one's business." which is, let's face it, a dead giveaway, because no straight man on earth has ever said that! Only closeted gay men ever make that dopey remark.

Meanwhile, Greg was taken advantage of by a "Lover," a louse who stole from him, abused him, cheated on him, lived off him, and even raped him. I'd name the bastard, but there's no need to sully this column with that shithole's name. He paid the full penalty. He died of AIDS, while Greg has survived into the era when the medications were found to save the lives of him and so many others.


And the day finally came when Greg found the courage to be the hero he'd been called for years, to realize that his achievement was his forever; that no bigot could take it from him, and that what he could do now was to inspire other frightened young people, and show that he was the living proof of the lie of heterosexual superiority. So Greg wrote a wonderful book, Breaking the Surface, and came out, for once making a big splash, instead of vanishing into the water with barely a ripple, as was his custom. Some people come out to their friends or family in private; Greg came out on Oprah. He showed the world that a gay man, a gay man with AIDS no less, had still been the diver that no one, literally no man on earth, could surpass! Dougie was only one of the thousands of gay men who stood in lines to shake his hand, get his book (And also Dougie's copy of Greg's Playgirl nude centerfold) signed, and thank him with tears in Dougie's normally cynical eyes.





I know that this picture looks like Greg living every gay man's dream, feeling up Mario Lopez's abs (Well someone has to!), but actually, Greg is coaching Mario here on diving form for when Mario played Greg in the TV movie of his life. Talk about full-circle; now a straight man was pretending to be gay to emulate Greg!






This lovely young man isn't reaching for the skies because he's being mugged. That's Australian diver Matthew Mitcham celebrating winning the gold medal for 10-meter platform diving in Beijing.


Matthew didn't see Greg's win in Korea, because he was only 7 months old when it happened. But Matthew more than anyone else, is living Greg's legacy. No one deserved to win one of Greg's medals more.


Because Matthew Mitcham is gay also. But he was able, thanks to Greg's pioneering trek 20 years before, to be an out and proud gay Olympic diver! We have still a long way to go. This year, Matthew was the only openly gay male athlete at the Beijing Olympics. The other 10 out Olympians there (out of 11,028 athletes. Statistics tell us that there were around 1,100 closet cases.) were all lesbians.


When Matthew announced on Australian TV that he didn't have the money to bring his male lover, Lachlan Fletcher, with him to the games, Johnson & Johnson's Athlete Family Support Program gave him a grant to pay for Lachlan's trip. Bless Johnson & Johnson. (Wait a minute. "Johnson and Johnson"? No wonder. "Johnson and Johnson" is the very definition of gay male sex!) Buy their band-aids. Cut yourself daily. Shave recklessly, so you'll use more of them.


Matthew's last round was a nail biter. The Chinese (Possibly nice people, but let's face it, commies!) had won every diving gold medal in Beijing up to that point, and their completed sweep was expected as surely as Michael Phelps's future Wheaties box and trip to Disneyland. Matthew had trotted out most of his favorite, special dives, such as these:



But Zhou Luxin (Place that across a triple word square, and that name will win the Scrabble gold medal!) was in first place, 34 points ahead of Matthew. Matt's medal dreams seemed destined for The Bronze Age. But the gods of Louganis smiled that night. Of course, if they'd had my POV, they would have had to smile!

Luxin fouled up his last dive, and then Matthew came out and did magic, practically tying himself up like a pretzel in mid-air, like flying oragami, and doing it with such beauty, grace, and perfection, that he scored four 10s, for a total score of 112.1, the highest single-dive score in Olympic history! He stopped the Chinese sweep dead in the water, and won the gold for Australia! He cried. His lover cried. Little Dougie came.


Great story, isn't it? (Except for the last three words.) Over the course of The Olympics we heard many such stories. We saw every gold medalist's family members (I saw so much of Michael Phelps's mother, I'd know her on the streets, were I walking them again.), their wives, husbands, lovers, pets, agents, hunchbacked assistants, and even endured photos of their mewling hellspawn, I mean adorable babies. (When a hot gymnast wins a medal, the last thing I want to see is a picture of his child by some other woman! And that goes for a certain American gold medal triathelete too. You're just 30 years away from being Bruce Jenner on that aweful Khardashian show, my friend.) NBC told us some of those stories a billion times over, as I complained about in my previous posting, The China Thunderdrome.


But, although NBC let us see Mitcham's win, not one word of his story was told to America. Nothing about his being openly gay, nothng about Johnson & Johnson paying for his boy friend to accompany him just as they did for the spouses and squeezes of the straight athletes. Not one single shot of Lachlan in the stands watching, let alone hugging his lover in triumph. Nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe his was not the super achievement of Michael Phelps (Who, come to think of it, seems to be dating his Mom. Where's his girl friend? Cloud Cuckooland?), but Matt had a great moment, and is a fine young, mildly effeminate man of exceptional courage following in Greg Lougains's trail. And his tale is a damn sight more interesting than a lot of the boring blather and endlessly repeated cliches we were told ad nauseum.


SHAMEFUL, NBC, SHAMEFUL!


Now, to be fair (I hate being fair! What am I? The Fox News Channel? No. Because I'm fair and unbalanced.), NBC has since apologized for the "Unintentional" snub. "Unintentional" my latest liver. Even the Headless Indian Brave could see that it was a homophobic decision on NBC's part, and he doesn't even have eyes! They had all the info there, right along with the info they had on EVERY SINGLE ONE of the other 11,000 athletes! They CHOSE to ignore it. And then they apolgized in a magazine article statement. Not exactly reaching the mega-gigantic audience that was watching the meet on TV. That's like apologizing on Big Brother. No one sees it.


But Matthew has forgiven them, as we see here, as he apparently audtions for a Melbourne production of Jesus Christ, Superstar. Whether I ever forgive them is another matter altogether.



But Matthew's win, and his courage, and the shining, inspiring, heroic example he has set can never be taken from him. He is truely worthy of splashing in Greg Louganis's wake. It is a far, far better thing he's done than he has ever done before, and it is a far far better glory he has earned, than he ever earned before.


(Nice ring to that. You know Charlie's first draft of A Tale of Two Cities began "It was a good time; it was a bad time." and ended with "The thing I'm gonna do now is a whole lot better than all the stuff I've done previously.")


Before I head off to the wet bar, a word about John McCain's hilarious Vice Presidential pick. Two days ago, nobody but the 327 idiots who live in Alaska, I assume because they're wanted for crimes back in civilization, had ever heard of Sarah Palin. Now she's "Shattering the glass ceiling," although if you shatter a glass ceiling, you run the very high risk of being cut to ribbons by the rain of razor-sharp shards. Why, she's the first woman ever to be a major party's candidate for --- oh wait a minute. Geraldine Ferarro. Ah, but Sarah is the first wildly-unqualified female to be a major party's VP candidate. She's an inspiration for dunderheads and idiots everywhere.


I mean honestly; she admitted on TV a very short time ago that she has no idea what the Vice President even does! Sweet Bleeding Greg Louganis, even dopey Dan Quayle, a moron of the first-quality, knew better than to publically admit he didn't know what the job entailed! What a chowder brain. Sarah, I knew Dan Quayle (Though only Biblically), and you're no Dan Quayle. (Wait. That sounds like a compliment.)


John McCain, the man who thinks Iraq and Afghanistan share a border (It's a border so wide, they gave it its own name: Iran.), has been taking shots at Barry O'Bama (soon to be our first Black-Irish President), as being unqualified, and then he picks a person next to whom O'Bama's politcal career is longer than the late Strom Thurmond's? She's Governor of Alaska, for Dicken's sake! Is that even an elected position, or is it something that is passed around the citzenry in turns, like jury duty? Isn't that like being a park ranger, only with less responsibility? She'll be a big help with the igloo-mortgage crisis, and negotiating treaties with Inuits. She'll be calling for blubber to be an alternate source of fuel.




I'd prefer Michael Palin, and he's not even an American! The Republicans are obviously banking on her (Does she even use our currancy, or does she still trade with wampum?) to pull in disgruntled Hilary supporters. Yes, people who supported Hilary so vehemenetly that they're still pissed she lost will naturally ignore their leader's having made it abundantly clear that she is throwing the full weight of her support behind O'Bama, and instead rush to vote for a woman who is idealogically Hilary's opposite, the enemy of all Hilary stands for. Why do the Republicans think Hilary supporters wanted Hilary in the first place? (This is obviously an extremely mysterious concept for Republicans, who don't understand why everyone doesn't loathe her the way they do.) Do they think it's all about her vagina? Because clearly Hilary's vagina doesn't even do that much for Bill, and vaginas have no bigger fan than Bill Clinton. (Well, maybe bigger, God knows he's overcompensating for something, but none more enthusiastic.) And a womb is pretty much all that Sarah and Hilary have in common, if that.


They say that "Nobody doesn't like Sara Lee." Did McCain get confused, and bring home the wrong Sarah? He looks like the kind of man who comes home from the store, only to have his wife say, "I wanted tulip bulbs, not light bulbs, you clothead!" The man doesn't even know how many houses he (his rich wife) owns.


McCain has been accusing O'Bama of being an "Elitist," out of touch with the common man. First off, what's wrong with wanting the best and the brightest for president? Isn't the president supposed to be smarter than everyone else? Who wants Joe Schmuck, who's never read a book for pleasure, running the country? (There's one big difference between McCain and O'Bama: O'Bama actually wrote his own books. McCain's books were written for him. There's some doubt he's even read them.)



But also, how many "common people" don't know how many houses they own? Ask any normal person on the street how many houses they own, and they won't even have to stop and think before they answer: "None! I did own one, but that was before 8 years of President Bush destroyed the housing market. Why do you think I'm on the street? I live in my car. It's like a house, because with the cost of gas what it is after 8 years of letting a couple of oil men run things, I can't afford a tank of gas either." And common people have to work for what little money they have, rather than simply marrying a rich woman, who inherited her money. That's how Republicans define "working for money." Waiting for a rich daddy to die and leave them a fortune is hard work. Just ask Dubya. He's still waiting for his obscenely wealthy daddy to die. (As are we all.) Which reminds me, McCain's economic plan boils down to "A tax cut for my wife."


McCain may like Sarah Palin, he may love his hot, rich wife, and perhaps even for more than just her father's money, but don't forget who his real True Love is:




Cheers darlings.

Your Mama Hears...

...from the Mistress of Malee-boo (and confirmed by another very reliable source) that it was two-time Oscar winning and controversial Catholic Mel Gibson who scooped up sex addict actor David Duchovny and his wifey Tea Leoni's Malee-boo mansion that appeared on the market in mid-June with a $12,000,000 asking price and then poof! disappeared like a wisp of smoke in the ocean breeze.

Given that he already owns at least two properties up in Malibu's guard gated Serra Retreat, the liquor loving Aussie and father of seven (seven!) who reportedly raked in an almost unimaginable $210,000,000 in 2004 needs another damn house in Malibu like he needs, well, like he needs to be hanging around Moonshadows.

Property records and reports indicate that the wildly rich Mister Gibson also recently purchased a 400-acre cattle ranch in Costa Rica for a whopping $25,800,000.

But the property maven has also been selling off some of his primo properties. Last year he took in a whopping $28,000,000 when he sold his ocean front mansion and an adjacent lot on Broad Beach Road and he's also had his gigantic Greenwich, CT estate on the market with an asking price of $39,500,000, but we've read and heard through the gossip grapevine (but can not confirm) that it's been sold.

Those are some pretty high numbers, but if you're Mister Gibson, it's all just water under the real estate bridge, right?

Another $70,000,000 Penthouse Hits the Market

A new insanely (and probably unrealistically) priced property has hit the market with a fat $70,000,000 asking price. But children, this time it's not in New York, Palm Beach or Los Angeles, but in Your Mama's old San Francisco stomping grounds.

According the good folks at the San Francisco Chronicle, real estate tycoon Victor MacFarlane has decided to sell his massive and unfinished penthouse located atop the super swank St. Regis Residences San Francisco. The condo-tel project towers over the corner of 3rd and Mission Street right next door to the magnificent Museum of Modern Art and di-rectly across the street from the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts where our good pal Falsetta Knockers sometimes dances and prances for all the well heeled performance art lovers living in Quake City.

Moneybags MacFarlane famously scooped up all three of the (unfinished) pricey penthouse units at the St. Regis back in late 2005 for a reported $30,000,000, which at the time was the highest price ever paid for a condominium in San Francisco. And like so many rich and/or famous types, he's changed his real estate mind just three years later.

Seventy million San Francisco clams with buy some filthy rich biznessman (or woman) a behemoth building topper that sprawls across (approx.) 20,000 square feet, includes four terraces, and features 360 degree views through the aluminum framed windows including the 22-foot high glass openings in the corner living room. If a deep pocketed buyer acts quickly they will be in the advantageous position of being able to choose finishes and day-core.

According to the SF Chronicle, the penthouse is currently scheduled to include an entrance foyer with a winding stair case and a 2-story waterfall (which sounds like a bad idea to Your Mama), six bedrooms, 7 full and 4 power rooms for a total of 11 terlits that we imagine will require at least one full time gurl to keep pristine, four fireplaces, 2 offices, a 13-seat movie thee-ay-ter and home gym with sauna and steam room because no one spending this kind of money for a penthouse wants to pump iron with hotel guests or view a film with all the common people at the AMC Metreon located just a block away.

Although Mister MacFarlane's company, the eponymous MacFarlane Partners, reportedly received a default on a one billion dollar debt and recently laid off 15 employees, his publicist told the S.F. Chron that Mister MacFarlane's decision to unload the penthouse was for lifestyle reasons and not business related. Uh-huh. Okay.

Anyhoo, Your Mama sits slant eyed with cynicism about this whole thing and we thinks we smell a man who might be looking for a little real estate publicity. Given that highest amount of money ever known to be paid for a residence in San Francisco (single family or condo) is $32,000,000, we think Mister MacFarlane's price is a little, well, bloated. But then again, what do we know? Perhaps some Asian potentate or high-tech titan will come along looking for all the free publicity and billionaire back slapping that will come along with purchasing a penthouse for an amount of money equal to the G.D.P. of some small countries.

Photo: Darryl Bush for the San Francisco Chronicle

A Real Estate Tale of the Quarterback and the Supermodel

BUYER: Tom Brady
LOCATION: Chalon Road, Los Angeles, CA
PRICE: $11,750,000
SIZE: 3.6 acres of dirt

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Lest any of the children have forgotten, superstar quarterback Tom Brady and his Brazilian born supermodel gurly friend Giselle Bundchen are super rich. So rich, in fact, that the pulchritudinous pair buy and sell real estate like they're playing with Monopoly money. Which they sorta are when you consider that 31-year old Mister Brady earns well over $6,000,000 a year tossing an oblong ball for the New England Partriots–not to mention millions more in endorsement deals–and 28 year old Miss Bundchen reportedly earned a mind numbing $35,000,000 last year making her the highest paid moe-dell ever. And to think that gorgeous Linda Evangelista used to brag about not getting out of bed for anything less than ten grand. Pfuff!

Anyhoo, the comely couple's latest property acquisition is reported to be a 3.6 acre piece of dirt located in the very expensive guard gated Brentwood Country Estates, which happens to be where governator Arnold Schwarzenegger shacks up when he's not up in Sacramento trying to get the damn budget passed. Your Mama will have more on that prime piece of property later, but first let's have a look-see at some of the good looking and deep pocketed couple's other recent real estate transactions.

Miz Bundchen, a dee-lishusly curvy but still seriously skinny size 2 (okay, maybe she's a 4 when she's bloated) who is probably best known for marching down the Victoria's Secret runway in her skivvies with absurdly giant angel wings strapped to her back, sold her house on Devlin Drive in the hills above Hollywood last year for $3,980,000. Soon after she also changed Noo York City addresses when she decamped from her West 11th Street penthouse triplex to a townhouse in the formerly boho West Village where Miss Mannequin lined up all her Louboutins and Lanvins and had her new boy beau Tom Brady move in too. This was after he dumped his then pregnant baby momma Bridget Moynahan and before Miss Single Mommy responded in kind by giving her boy child her last name and not the Brady surname. Oh what a tangled web we weave...

Meanwhile, back when Mister Brady was still dating that poor Miss Moynahan, he bought an approximately 3,000 square foot apartment in the north tower of the insanely expensive Time Warner Center in order to be closer to a not yet preggers and New York based Miss Moynahan. When he unexpectedly learned he was to be a baby daddy Mister Brady unceremoniously threw Miss With Child over the rail for the hot Brazilian bra model and very quickly put his three bedroom and 3.5 bathroom love nest back on the market with a $16,500,000 asking price. There's a lesson in this sordid brouhaha about the importance and necessity of birth control, but that's really another discussion for another day, isn't it?

Mister Brady had a tough time unloading his 70th floor spread at the Time Warner so he reportedly leased it out to a filthy rich financier at sixty grand. Per month, children, per month. His temporary tenant must have moved out recently because the apartment is back on the market with a new and much higher asking price of $18,290,000. Although it ain't been easy to sell the Time Warner digs, the cleat clad pigskin passer had better luck off loading his high-class condo in the dee-voonly detailed Burrage Mansion located in Boston's Back Bay which he sold in early 2008 $5,285,000.

Unfortunately Miss Bundchen hasn't had such good luck selling her above mentioned triplex penthouse on Manhattan's West 11th Street. First she put the 2 bedroom and 2.5 bathroom building topper out for lease at $29,000 a month and then slapped it on the market with an absurd and rather insulting asking price of $10,900,000. Without any buyers flocking to scoop up Miss Bundchen's over-priced aerie, the Hudson river view condo was taken off the market. It recently reappeared with a much more believable and far less consternation producing $5,900,000 asking price.

Are the children still with Your Mama because we're fi-nuh-lee getting to the new stuff.

Thanks to several of Your Mama's Boston babies, we learned from the good people at Boston.com (via gossip juggernaut TMZ), Mister Brady recently forked over $11,000,000 for the last undeveloped and buildable lot in the Brentwood Country Estates where boob toob super producer Kevin Bright (Friends, Joey) owns a 10,000+ square foot house next door to the five acre Schwarzenegger/Shriver spread on a guard gated section of Chalon Road.

According to listing information provided to Your Mama by Our Fairy Godmother in Brentwood, Mister Brady paid $11,750,000 for a 3.6 acre plot of prime Brentwood property that includes a 1.6 acre flat pad and lovely canyon and ocean views. Although TMZ claimed Mister Brady declined the plans for the approved 20,000 square foot mansion because it was not big enough, listing information actually says the approvals are for an 11,500 square foot Mediterranean style home designed by an award winning architect. Not sure why that discrepancy in square footage, but we have a hard time believing that Mister Brady wants a house that's as large as either of those numbers.

Call Your Mama a real estate cynic, but we sniffsan investment and not a new home for Mister Brady and the wildly rich super model. So in two years when there's a brand spanking new and never lived in 14,000 square foot mansion sitting on this lovely lot with and asking price of $22,000,000 or more, the children will recall that we called this one like a damn professional real estate referee. And what if in two years Miss Bundchen is livin' up in Brentwood pushing out baby Bradys? Well children, it would not be the first or last time Your Mama was wrong about the residential machinations of rich and famous folks, would it?

Hamish Linklater Lists His Nest in Eagle Rock

SELLER: Hamish Linklater
LOCATION: Mont Eagle Place, Los Angeles, CA
PRICE: $675,000
SIZE: 3 bedrooms, 1.5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: 1958 Traditional sited in prime Eagle Rock hills. Sweeping views, high ceilings, clean lines. Light and airy living room with panoramic mountain views. Large formal dining room offers awesome vista views. Entertainer’s delight. Three spacious bedrooms, 1.5 baths, renovated eat-in kitchen. Character, detail, beautiful hardwood floors throughout. Attached 2-car garage.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Sorry children, but there has been some sort of snafu with the internets this morning so we haven’t had any access to the online all morning. We struggled and dialed and shouted and pleaded. It took 5 hours and two and a half Bloody Marys to be restored. Needless to say, Your Mama is half crocked and it's barely past noon. Anyhoo, enough of our troubles...

Your Mama well understands that most of you probably haven’t got a clue who this Hamish Linklater person is and why his house would be included on our little online endeavor about celebrity real estate. Well, to be honest, Your Mama didn’t know a thimble full about Mister Linklater either when we were first contacted by East Side Edna about his modest and not particularly priddy house in Los Angeles’ Eagle Rock neighborhood which he recently put on the market with an asking price of $675,000.

As soon as we had access, Your Mama consulted the always informative interweb where we learned that thirty-something year old Mister Linklater is an actor–and new daddy–lucky enough to have a regular role on the usually funny and often under-rated Julia Louis Dreyfus driven boob toob program The New Adventures of Old Christine.

For those not intimate with the highways and bi-ways of at the northeastern end of Los Angeles, let Your Mama act as your tour guide. The Eagle Rock neighborhood, once a bit scrubby and some say dangerous, sits north and east of arty farty Silver Lake, south and east of Glendale, north of the somewhat revitalized downtown and southwest of polished Pasadena.

Some folks Your Mama knows appreciate Eagle Rock for its out of the way location, more modest than Silver Lake housing prices and great views. It’s basically a big hill of a ‘hood, after all. Others we fraternize with fear for their luxury automobiles when in the area and some of our snobbiest buddies and biddies think twice before going east of Western Avenue and would never even dream of going to Eagle Rock. Ever.

Anyhoo, Mister Linklater and his wifey Jennifer certainly goes to Eagle Rock and according to property records has been schlepping to his hilltop home since September of 2004 when he and his wifey Jessica purchased their 1,510 square foot house for $515,000.

Listing information for Mister and Missus Linklater’s non-celebrity style house shows it was constructed in 1958 and includes 3 bedrooms and 1.5 bathrooms. Other features includes a living room with peaked and beamed ceilings, a dated looking brick fireplace and a skinny red rug that Your Mama is 100% positive would be happier in a hallway somewhere. The dining room is the very definition of ordinary and like the living room has been "decorated" with a rug that is simply too small for the room. Do not even get Your Mama going on the laminate flooring or that tawdry twenty nine dollar Home Despot chandelier. Pleeze. There is not excuse for that shit. Seriously. Someone should have advised Mister and Missus Linklater to get themselves to Ikea where they could have purchased a five dollar paper shade that would have been a major improvement.

Clearly some misguided individual tried to add a little sparkle and panache to the (0ut)dated kitchen with the multi-colored tile back splash. But at the risk of sounding like an asshole (which we recognize we sometimes do), it's a little like putting lipstick on a pig. It's still a pig, children, and to make matters worse it's a pig with a befuddling beige tile floor.

The bathroom tile on the other hand is a lovely shade of tur-qwaze and Your Mama thinks we could probably work with that bit of retro bizness if it's in as good of shape as it appears to be in the photograph. Our online research turned up the information the Mister Linklater is an avid gardener. You certainly wouldn't know it from the easy maintenance and rat friendly ivy covered front yard, but it's clear someone has taken some time to lay out some bark and flagstones in the back yard areas in a thoughtful manneer.

Listen children, Your Mama knows that most of you will skewer this house like it was a dripping chunk of lamb on a shish-kabob, but Your Mama actually thinks that someone with a modest budget and an eye for style could work wonders on this house. Really, we do. Honestly! Your Mama would recommend starting with the kitchen, natch. If the bank account did not allow for a gut reno, we do believe we could make do with with a new floor (beige tile looks like a janitor's closet), some upgraded appliances (believe it or not Sears carries some nice looking mid-priced models), new cabinet hardware (something from Lowe's will suffice), some paint for the cabinets (let's try painting them black for fun) and a trip across town to Wertz Brothers in Santa Monica for a funky, fine and affordable table and chairs where guests can sip Two Buck Chuck from Trader Joe's while the hostess spins out some homemade hummus.

Until we hear di-rectly from Mister Linklater–and we don't expect we will–we can only guess at why he'd sell his unimproved house in a lagging market. But he's recently had a new baby and perhaps the Missus Linklater isn't interested in spending the next two years humping the Bugaboo stroller up and down the full flight of stairs leading to the front door. And maybe, just maybe, the last four years on the boob toob have put a fair number of pennies in his pocket that will allow him to move on to something a little, well, better. Both are good enough reasons for someone to want to move, don't the children agree?

YOUR MAMAS UPDATE: Well lo and behold, Mister Big Time and Your Mama are mining the same part of town today and he also discussed Mister Linklater's Eagle Rock nest too. But good ol' Big Time also uncovered the $1,362,000 house in Los Feliz are of L.A. that Mister Linklater and his wifey Jessica bought. Bravo Mister Big Time!

Tony Romo Settles Down Near Dallas

BUYER: Tony Romo
LOCATION: Dowling Drive, Irving, TX
PRICE: $699,900 (list)
SIZE: 5,551 square feet, 6 bedrooms, 4 full and 2 half bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: $10,000 to buyer. Stunning contemporary home. White marble floors, beautifully landscaped backyard. Pool and spa and outdoor entertaining area. Huge rooms with soaring ceilings. 6 bedrooms plus study, three fireplaces, Luxurious master bath. Ready to move in?

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Oh dear jeezis in heaven, say it ain't so. Not only did Dallas Cowboy quarterback Tony Romo buy an ass uglee mini-mansion in suburban Dallas, TX, he's reportedly asked his current gurly-friend, the recently down on her singing and acting luck Jessica Simpson, to renovate and decorate the marble floored monstrosity. Whaaaat?

Your Mama will agree that poor Miss Simpson may need to explore some new career options, but based on the dee-pressing day-core that we saw in the Calabasas crib she shared with ex-huzband Nick Lachey, we are not convinced that interior decoration is one of them. But then again, what does Your Mama actually know about anything? Perhaps her design sensibilities have matured after all those years hanging around with her nice gay hairstylist Ken Paves.

Anyhoo, according to the sassy and well connected real estate gossip queen Candy Evans who pens the Dallas Dirt blog, the ball tossing beefcake recently scooped up a 5,551 square foot house on Dowling Drive in a town called Irving. Not being overly familiar with the Dallas/Fort Worth area, Your Mama has to consult the internets to learn that suburban Irving sits smack in between (and a little north of) the sister cities of Dallas and Fort Worth. The house was listed at $699,900 and Miz Evans, a Lonestar ladee who usually gets it right, reports that she hears through the Dallas gossip grapevine that Mister Romo paid, "about $670,000" for his new Dallas area digs.

A quick peruse of online maps and listing information provided to Your Mama by Debbie Dallas, Mister Romo's new residence sits inside the guarded gates of a community that overlooks of the Cottonwood Valley Country Club and includes 6 bedrooms and 4 full and 2 half bathrooms, family friendly numbers Your Mama imagines Jessica Simpson's biological clock finds thrilling.

Listing information also indicates there are 4 separate living areas, 2 dining areas, 3 fireplaces, and a 3-car garage. We presume (and hope) that Mister Romo will have the entire house over hauled before moving a single piece of furniture into the place and he is certainly not responsible for the rather bee-zarre 1980s interiors. However, Your Mama can't help but look and look and look at the photographs of the unusually articulated house the way people on the freeway can't stop themselves from rubbernecking as they slow down to pass a bloody car wreck.

The all white, marble floored and double height entry hall leads into the all white and double height living room which also sports glistening Iraqi palace style marble floors and a cock-eyed view of the backyard swimming pool. The dining room features even more marble flooring and a distressing view of the neighbor's shingle roof which is only pitifully obscured by a pink flowered bush. All of which is only made worse by the floor to ceiling mirror clinging to one wall. Holy cow! Now children, in what era did diners actually wish to watch themselves masticating meat and sucking down red wine?

Into the gleaming and glaring all white and porcelain tile floored kitchen where dark glasses are required in order to make omelets and unload the dishwasher we find a suite of, surprise!, white appliances white counter tops. It should come as no surprise that the adjacent family room is also an all white and tile floored tragedy.

But it's in the master bedroom where the full hideosity of Mister Romo's new nest come to its full and obscene flower. Not only has the floor been covered in glossy and slippery black 12 x 12 inch tiles, for some unknown reason a large black bathtub has been sunk right down into the middle of the damn floor, a potentially perilous and possibly lethal set up about which we would think the building code people would gone ballistic. But alas, there it is in all its dubious glory, the "her" bathroom in Alexis Carrington's master suite.

The back yard does feature a modestly sized swimming pool, but we're concerned that there is not currently enough foliage for Miss Simpson to sunbathe in the buff without being seen and possibly photographed by the horny and hormone soaked teenage boys who live in the 'hood.

The bad news for Mister Romo is that it appears to Your Mama that he will have to spend considerable coin doing over every single inch of this place in the renovation that Miss Simpson will allegedly oversee. The good news is that even a non-designer singer/ack-tress like Jessica Simpson will have a tough time making it any worse.

Now somebody, please, point Your Mama at a celebrity owned house in Dallas or some other Texas town that looks good. We know there are some seriously cultured, educated and design savvy folks living in the Lonestar State who know how to do up their Texas sized mansions and colossal condominiums in a high and enviable style. Or at least they know which nice gay decorator to hire to pay for said style. So bring 'em on.

Mike Piazza's TriBeCa Bullpen on the Block

SELLER: Mike Piazza

LOCATION: Hudson Street, New York, NY

PRICE: $6,800,000

SIZE: 3,012 square feet, 2 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms

DESCRIPTION: Featured in Elle Décor, this large, light-filled duplex was designed for entertaining. With large formal area, three outdoor spaces and easy flow, this loft is the perfect setting for everything from intimate barbecues to large-scale parties. Custom-designed by renowned architects Stas Zakrzewshi and Marianne Hyde, the white and bright space features narrow plank, long length American walnut floors...



YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Your Mama knows we're a little late to the rodeo on this one since it's already been reported in every New York based celebrity real estate column. However, our fine and foul mouthed friend Fiona Trambeau would julienne Your Mama's fat ass like it was a damn carrot stick if we did not also discuss recently retired professional ball player (and former Met) Mike Piazza's Manhattan doo-plex that recently appeared for sale with an asking price of $6,800,000. (This listing has since disappeared which would seem to indicate it's either listed on the down-low or it's already got a deal.)



Although she will deny it with every shallow Kool Menthol breath she has left in her beleaguered bah-dee, if there is anything that athletics luvin' Miz Trambeau is more obsessed with than balls, it's Mister Mike Piazza's balls. See children, despite his seemingly happy marriage to a priddy Playboy playmate and Baywatch babe named Alicia Rickter who recently pushed a Piazza papoose through her baby maker, Miz Trambeau is one of the many who will not let go of all the lurid rumor and gossip about Mister Piazza's alleged (and denied) predilection for the sexual company of men. We know nuthin' and aren't inferring or insinuating anything, we're just sayin' those rumors are out there and for better or worse, Fiona believes them.



Anyhoo, ever since 2005 when the hard ball catcher filed for free agency and effectively ended his ball playing career with the New York Mets, every baseball fanatic and real estate gossip in Noo York City has been sitting on pins and needles wondering if the well regarded, often gossiped about and much ballyhooed ball player would give up his penthouse real estate stake in the trendy (and extremely expensive) TriBeCa neighborhood.



Property records and recent reports reveal that Mister Piazza purchased his prime penthouse on the 8th and 9th floors of his Hudson street building in November of 2004 for $4,215,874 Records and listing information show the dee-voon doo-plex measures a modest 3,012 square feet. In addition to the 2 big bedrooms and 2.5 bathrooms, the long and narrow nest includes a living room with a built in media center and fireplace, a too narrow dining room that unfortunately does double duty as the entrance hall, a compact but well equipped stainless steel kitchen that would have our house gurl Svetlana screaming with conniptions, a study/home office that is really nothing more than a wide hallway leading to the first floor bedroom where there is not a solid wall to be found to place an actual bed.



But children, even with all its obvious floor plan flaws Your Mama is giddy and goose pimpled with glee about Mister Piazza's pad. First of all, we recognize that the narrowness of the center section is dictated by the size and shape of the building itself and there's little that can be done with that thin bizness except make sweet lemonade from the building's architectural lemons. Which is, we think, exactly what the clever architects did with Mister Piazza's penthouse. They opened up the ceiling above the dining room space to harness light and give the super slim room some high-drama, they added an impressive but somewhat scary looking glass bridge leading to the largest entertainment terrace that includes a built in barbecue for summer time chillin' and grillin', they very smartly cut away at the back corner of the second floor creating a spectacular and perfectly private garden off the master bedroom and they had the good sense to tuck away and virtually hide the first floor services, which include a pantry, washer and dryer, half bathroom and a wine vault. Although they give Your Mama (and Svetlana) heart palpitations, we're gonna give the difficult to keep fingerprint free stainless steel kitchen a pass because that shiny stuff was all the kitchen design rage when this nearly perfect penthouse was put together in 2004.



A few other features that have Your Mama swooning and hyperventilating with dee-lite are the amazing (and costly) long length American walnut floors, the custom floor to ceiling windows and the peek-aboo opening in the wall opposite the master bathroom shower which allowed Mister Piazza to lather up his nood body in private and still catch a glimpse of the lower Manhattan skyline. Our one concern with the master bedroom is the apparent lack of closet space. However, there does appear to be a stair in the back of the small walk in that leads to somewhere. (Anyone know where?) Your Mama can only hope it leads up to a closet large enough to fit all of Mister Piazza's uniforms and leather chaps. We tease.



Mister and Missus Piazza are in the midst of a real estate whirlwind having recently listed his 3,300 square foot South Beach bachelor pad for $4,900,000 and picked up a more family friendly $10,000,000 Miami mansion which reportedly measures 9,600 square feet with 8 bedrooms and 100 feet of waterfront.

A (Not Very) Blind Item

What best friend battling gossip glossy favorite is spending $1,200,000 of her not very hard earned reality show riches to scoop up a 3 bedroom house of her own in the Hollywood Hills?

Details to come children, but Your Mama already knows that most of you will not care for the house...or the so-called ack-turus.

Turns Out Justin Long Is Bi-Coastal

BUYER: Justin Long
LOCATION: Holly Oak Drive, Los Angeles, CA
PRICE: $1,999,000
SIZE: 3,388 square feet, 3 bedrooms, 3.5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: On a quite cul-de-sac in the prest 'Oaks' former celebr modern Span home desig by "SBY Designs" surrou w/ lushly landscp grnds & canyon vs & city lights. Enter thrg a sumptuous courtyard into the elegant foyer cont to the 2 story LR w/ soaring ceilings and Span tiled firel or enjoy the priv of the loft/FR. The hallway leads to the fom DR w/ Gourmet kitchen w/ top stnls stl appl. 3 ensuite BR which incl the lrg Master BR w/ beam ceil, Span-tiled BA w/ step down roman bath shower and the secluded deck.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Your Mama just hates to be left out, so since just about every gossip glossy and celebrity real estate junkie in the country seems to be yakking about ack-tor and Apple computer spokesman Justin Long, Your Mama thought we'd jump on the bandwagon and join the par-tay.

In the immediate aftermath of his public split with thirty three year old Tinseltown titan and Hollywood scion Drew Barrymore, Mister Long was reported to have dropped a good sized wad of his Mac money–the unit was listed at $2,425,000–on a 2 bedroom and 2 bathroom condo in the Blue building, a newly constructed condo complex on Manhattan's once gritty and drug infested now gritty, drug infested and obscenely trendy Lower East Side.

Then, just this last weekend we learned from Mister Big Time that thirty year old Mister Long recently put his house on La Cuesta Drive in the Hollywood Hills on the market for $1,495,000. Your Mama is befuddled and perplexed as to why Mister Long would want to sell his fully renovated 1,334 square foot 2 bedroom and 2 bathroom cutie with its good old fashioned kidney shaped swimming pool since records (and Mister Big Time) reveal he only purchased the place in April of 2007 for $1,400,000. It looks to Your Mama like someone just might loose a little moolah on this transaction.

Anyhoo, all the gossips and snarky scuttlebutts prolly figured Mister Long was packing his bags and heading back to Noo York City to mend his broken heart. But that does not seem to be the case. Thanks to the always well informed Lucy Spillerguts, Your Mama has learned that Mister Long has not given up living in Los Angeles, at least not entirely. See puppies, according to property records, back in May of 2008 the often grinning and kinda goofy Mister Long forked over $1,999,000 to buy a new West Coast crib in the Los Feliz area of Los Angeles. It makes sense to Your Mama that he would maintain an outpost in the movie capital of the world given that the in demand thespian has at least seven (yes, seven!) films scheduled to come out between 2008 and 2010. No wonder he can afford multi-million dollar houses on both coasts.

Located on Holly Oak Drive in the gated and quietly glitzy Oaks section of Los Feliz, Mister Long's new nest sits on a quiet and curvy cul-de-sac in the same upscale neck of the woods where Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie maintain a three property compound and luvable Flipping Out freako Jeff Lewis is having a bit of trouble unloading his money maker on Valley Oak Drive.

Listing information shows Mister Long's modern Mediterranean style mini-manse measures in at a respectable and modest 3,388 square feet and includes just 3 bedrooms, each, thankfully, with its own private pooper. An additional half bathroom is perfect for guests not liked enough to be asked to spend the night. Other amenities include a courtyard at the front of the property with a built in barbecue, a two story living room, a family room inconveniently located in a loft space, a dining room with a pleasantly peaked ceiling that begs for a different chandelier to be installed and a gore-moy kitchen that looks a little too upscale Lake Tahoe A-Frame ski chalet for Your Mama's personal taste and includes one of those pot rack contraptions that always upsets Your Mama's sensitive design equilibrium to the point of needing to take a nerve pill.

Interestingly, Mister Long appears to have had more outdoor amenities in his previous residence, including a swimming pool and easily accessed grassy areas whereas the rear of his new nest has a rather foreboding and the lawn is only available to those with the musculature wherewithal to deal with a very long and at points perilous flight of stairs. Your Mama could probably do this on a good day, but Your Mama's Mama and Mama Cooter would unfortunately be confined to interior spaces and the small terraces at the rear of the house.

Mister Long's new house sits across the street from a 4,860 square foot house that property records reveal is owned by John Bailey, the man who happens to have been the cinematographer for the not yet released film He's Just Not That Into You, which stars both Justin Long and his ex-gurly gal Drew Barrymore (as well as Ginnifer Goodwin, Jennifer Aniston and Jennifer Connelly).

Michael Bolton Can Live Without "Dalle Acqua"

SELLER: Michael Bolton
LOCATION: Kings Highway North, Westport, CT
PRICE: $11,000,000
SIZE: 9,623 square feet, 6 bedrooms, 6 full and 2 half bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Spectacular waterfront on sparkling Nash's pond surround this exceptional Tuscan inspired residence and spacious guest house with a private, gated drive leading up to the gracious porte cochere. Enter into the luxurious & grand formal entry with imported Italian marble floors and an abundance of custom, imported hand-carved mahogany wood. The meticulously crafted mill work is carried throughout the home including the screening room, elegant dining room, exceptional chef's kitchen and sumptuous master suite with veranda...

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Your Mama knows just four things about soft rock balladeer Michael Bolton. Number one is, of course, that mystifying misfortune of a mullet he sported for way too many years–a follicular fiasco that he's, thankfully, resolved. Number two is that he sings sappy and swelling songs about love and loss that (fortunately) do not get played on the radio stations to which Your Mama and the Dr. Cooter tune in. The third thing we know about Mister Bolton is that he's been engaged to Desperate Housewives dee-va and Tinseltown survivor Nicollette Sheridan for a looong time, long enough that one has to wonder if they're ever going to get married. And the fourth tidbit we can pull up from the depths of our gin soaked and sleep deprived mind is that Mister Bolton has long bedded down in the high-toned town of Westport, CT, which the children will recall is the very samy hoity toity hamlet where big bad Martha Stewart shacked up at her television famous Turkey Hill home before she spent a little time in the clink and subsequently moved to her gigantic estate in Bedford, NY.

Now, thanks to the Westport Wailer, we've learned a fifth thing about Mister Michael Bolton, which is that he's recently put his 2.71 acre estate in Westport, dubbed Dalle Acqua, on the market with an asking price of $11,000,000.

As far as Your Mama can piece together with property records, listing information and 411 received from the Westport Wailer, the Bolton estate is located on Kings Highway North and is comprised to two single and separate lots. The larger lot, at 1.51 acres, sits well off the road and includes a 9,633 square foot main house with 6 bedrooms and 6 full and 2 half bathrooms overlooking the resort style swimming pool and alluring Nash's pond beyond. Property records show that the 50-something year old crooner and father of three purchased this piece of his real estate pie in May of 1991 for just $975,000.

Property records reveal the smaller lot, which measures 1.2 acres and fronts Kings Highway North, was purchased in January of 1992 for an undisclosed amount of money and includes a smaller 5,375 square foot residence with 4 bedrooms and 5 full and 3 half bathrooms. Listing information refers to this as a "spacious guesthouse" and Your Mama hears (but can not confirm) from the Westport Wailer that this smaller residence is also utilized as Mister Bolton's music studio.

Although Your Mama is not so much impressed by the faux-Tuscan style of the mansion nor are we particularly pleased with the day-core on display in the photographs and we are generally of the mind that porte cocheres are better left to hotels, we're not revolted either. That is except for the kitchen, where some misguided individual has made the egregious and unforgivable mistake of putting fake greenery atop the kitchen cabinets. Regular readers of our little online endeavor will surely recall that this upsetting botanical bizness violates Mama's decorating rule #827 which clearly states, "No phony foliage allowed. Anywhere and ever. Particularly on top of kitchen cabinets that do not reach the ceiling." Listen hunnies, please, just say no to that nonsense. It really does not look very good and serves no purpose whatsoever. It just means you gotta pay the cleaning ladee extra to climb on a damn ladder to dust that silk shit.

The other considerable concern we have with Mister Bolton's crib is the high number of terlits that need to be cleaned. If the property records are accurate and to be believed, there are sixteen poopers on this property which means, of course, that the owner needs at least two full time gurls with scrub brushes tied to their hard working hands to maintain a high gloss on all those terlit bowls at all times. Given the high cost of finding good terlit gurls who are willing to walk from the main house to the guest house in the high humidity of a Connecticut summer and the bitter cold of an East Coast winter, these 16 terlits might be a real deterrent for a deep pocketed buyer.

Outdoor amenities at Mister Bolton's spread include a fully lit and not quite north-south tennis court, a putting green (an amenity that Your Mama finds utterly bo-ring), a piazza (which we like), a swimming pool reached down a wide and royalty worthy marble staircase, formal gardens, sprawling lawns and a teeny tiny dock on Nash's pond perfect for launching canoes, smoking doobies and keeping an eye on the the natty neighbors across the slim body of water.

Your Mama hasn't a clue what Mister Bolton will do once he unloads his big estate in Connecticut but the children will recall of course, that Miz Sheridan recently and reportedly forked over $4,320,000 for a large and private house in the gated and suburban Los Angeles community of Hidden Hills that she snatched up from a-list lezbeeuns Melissa Etheridge and her wifey/baby momma Tammy Lynn Michaels. So Maybe Mister Bolton is headed for Hidden Hills where he and Miz Sheridan can have other resident celebs such as preggers Lisa Marie Presley, publicity luvin' dee-vorcee Denise Richards and Bruce Jenner and all those big bootied Kardashian behatchas over for brunch.

As far as we know, Miz Sheridan also continues to own the house on Roscomare Road in the hills above Bel Air where she lived with her previous huzband Harry Hamlin. That was back when Mister Hamlin was still a young and noo-bile television hottie and heart throb and long before he married leviathan lipped daytime drama ack-turus and clothing boo-teek owner Lisa Rinna.