Russia's $99,000,000 House

The Russian stock market is having a melt down and here in the good ol' U.S. of A Wall Street is in an utter panic over the bail out brouhaha, but that's not stopping at least one mega-moneyed Russian oligarch from dropping a chomper chattering $99,000,000 on a seven-plus story townhouse in Moscow.

No children, Your Mama did not key in the wrong numbers, that's $99,000,000.

According to a recent report from the big living boys and gurls at Baller House, the approximately 14,000 square foot townhouse is part of something called the Chistie Prudy (Clean Ponds) which appears to Your Mama to be a residential complex of obscenely priced apartments and townhouses in the center of Moscow and within walking distance of the Kremlin. The townhouse is reported to contain 5 bedrooms, 5 full and 3 half bathrooms, a swimming pool in the basement, a winter garden on the roof and an entire floor for the children because, apparently, really rich Russians prefer to keep the kiddies out of the way.

The billionaire buyer has not been named but according to a Moscow real estate agent, he's a low profile tycoon who is around 40 years old.

Let's put this purchase in perspective. According to Reuters India, the average monthly income for Russians is just below $700. A few clicks of the beads on our beloved and bejeweled abacus reveals that it would take the average Russian 11,785 years to come up with the $99,000,000 to buy this house.

Now that's just sad, ain't it?

Max Mutchnick Gets Lucky in Manhattan

SELLER: Max Mutchnick and Erik Hyman
LOCATION: West 11th Street, New York, NY
PRICE: $4,100,000 (maintenance and common charges: $2,847/month)
SIZE: 1,750 square feet, 2 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: This brilliantly warm pre-war home offers a sense of luxury and comfort at every turn. The meticulously designed South facing living room and formal dining room adjoin, looking over quiet and historic W. 11th Street in the heart of the Gold Coast. Superb eat-in kitchen for informal gathering. Two bedroom, both with en-suite baths.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: A little birdie we'll call Manhattan Mary recently whispered in Your Mama's big ear that Will and Grace co-creator and his unfortunately named man-mate Erik Hyman recently sold their Manhattan pied a terre for $4,100,000.

Most of the children will surely recall that over the last year or so Your Mama has discussed Mssrs. Mutchnick and Hyman's real estate comings and goings both ad infinitum and ad nauseum. But for those of you with memories the size of a garbanzo bean, we'll quickly recap:

Back in December of 2007 Misters Mutchnick and Hyman sold their exuberantly engineered house in Beverly Hills to talk show princess Ellen Degeneres and her newly wedded wifey Porta Di Rossi for a blistering $29,000,000. Then in June of 2008, the property mad men took their real estate and residual riches and scooped up tennis titan Pete Sampras' mansion on super swank Loma Vista Drive in Beverly Hills. Rumors and reports say that the real estate savvy gentleman managed to swing the 6 bedroom and 12 bathroom house for $16,980,000, a huge sum of money by any standards but nowhere near the $23,000,000 asking price. Someone in that family is clearly a very skilled negotiator.

Anyhoo, property records show the Misters Mutchnik and Hyman purchased a 6th floor unit in a reasonably posh, well maintained, and pet friendly building just of lower Fifth Avenue on West 11th Street in July of 2005 for $2,590,000. Listing information we managed to squeeze out of the interweb shows that that co-operative apartment measures (approx.) 1,750 square feet and includes two bedrooms and three bathrooms. (Yes children, we too can see that the floor plan shows 2.5 bathrooms.) The master bedroom includes four separate closets and a hotel sized bathroom large enough to turn a wheelchair, a nice feature for those of us in our advanced years. A confusing and catty wompus hallway runs between the master bedroom at the rear of the apartment and the impressive 38' long living and dining room space. A windowed kitchen is tucked up behind the dining room and appears large enough in which to put a small breakfast table, a rarity in most Manhattan apartments. For four million clams, we can only hope that kitchen has been stuffed full of very expensive and high grade appliances and cabinetry.

Although we know that many of you will loathe them with every fiber of your being, Your Mama l-o-v-e-s all them white walls which are perfect for hanging a small art collection and we love the pre-war proportions of the rooms. But for us, by far the most pleasing part of the co-operative apartment are the stunning herringbone patterned wood floors that have been given a lusterous and lovely finish. We can imagine the dee-light we would feel writhing around on those floors in our birthday suit, but that's really none of y'all biznes, is it?

Clearly the Misters Mutchnick and Hyman hired a nice gay decorator to come in and do up and do over their pied a terre in quasi masculine high homo style with Louis Vuitton trunks, zebra striped benches, well worn brown leather club chairs, velvet sofas and shiny lamp shades. Don't nobody misunderstand Your Mama. We'd live here in a heartbeat (cattywompus hallway and all), but we don't imagine anyone would mistake this for a heterosexual male's home.

What is perhaps most interesting about this sale is that the apartment was listed for $3,960,000 and Manhattan Mary swears it sold for $4,100,000. Although the apartment is listed as "sold" on Streeteasy, due to the fact that property records for the sale are yet to clear, we're unable to confirm that rather impressive (and surprising) $140,000 over the asking price number. If Manhattan Mary is right–and we think he is–Misters Mutchnick and Hyman got very lucky, didn't they?

Between the mortgage melt down and the bailout brouhaha it's interesting to note that some homes and apartments are somehow still selling for more than the asking price. In fact, according to the fine folks at Curbed, this is not the only apartment in the building at 15 West 11th Street that has recently gone to contract for more than the asking price. Yes, children, more.

As mentioned above, at the time of this discussion, prop records of the purchase have yet to clear so we were unable to suss out the buyer's name. We asked Manhattan Mary who the buyer is, natch, and he said it's just some billionaire with money to burn. Must be nice to be spending big as the Dow drops.

Your Mama Hears...

...that bling queen Kimora Lee Simmons has bought herself new house in Beverly Hills.

The children will recall it was only in August of 2007 that Miz Simmons unloaded her N. Doheny Drive manse and scooped up a new nest on guard gated Lime Orchard Road in the Beverly Hills Post Office that happens to sit right up next door to wannabe country crooner Jessica Simpson's California crib.

The children will also recall that nine months later, in early June of 2008, Miz Ants in Her Property Pants flipped the Lime Orchard Road residence back on to the market with an asking price of $7,750,000, a rather gutsy $1,850,000 price increase over the $5,900,000 she paid for the 5 bedroom and 8 bathroom house less than a year before.

Now we hear from a well connected tipster we'll call Danny Dishesdirt that the peripatetic Miz Simmons went out and dumped 8 figures on a 9,405 square foot house on a swanky Shadow Hill Way in the Bev Hills. The property was not listed on the open market.

According to Danny Dishesdirt, the bold, brassy and filthy rich dee-vorcée forked over $11,500,000 for what Mister Dishesdirt called a "tired 90s Medit. villa with a n/s tennis court."

Information Your Mama located on the property reveals that the model turned fashion dee-ziner's new walled, gated and humongously hedged house includes 7 bedrooms, 9 bathrooms, 4 fireplaces, a two story entrance hall, a mahogany paneled library, a ginormous screening room, a state of the art home gym, a wine cellar and an existing guest house. (Mister Dishesdirt also whispered in Your Mama's big ear that there are plans for a new guest house.) Your Mama is a little flummoxed that there does not appear to be a swimming pool on the property. Eleven million plus clams and no swimming pool? No thank you.

Your Mama, as well as several of the children, has already noted that the house on Lime Orchard Road has been removed from the Multiple Listing Service. Of course we don't have any idea why, but perhaps she's planning on staying put on Lime Orchard Road while the new house on Shadow Hill Way is gilded, glamorized, updated and upgraded to her her lavish standards? Could be.

As far as we know, Miz Simmons also still co-owns that outlandish monster mansion in Saddle River, NJ that she shared with her music mogul ex-huzband Russell Simmons which was last listed for sale with a wonky looking asking price of $19,888,000. The (approx.) 35,000 square foot mega-manse no longer seems to be listed.

Teen Aged Vanessa Hudgens Buys an Adult Sized House

BUYER: Vanessa Hudgens
LOCATION: Studio City, CA
PRICE: $2,750,000
SIZE: 5,200 square feet, 6 bedrooms, 6.5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Spectacular old-world Tuscan, architectural manor with Moroccan influences & city light views. Engineer w/ caissons into bedrock, amazing custom stacked stone, saline Pebble-Tech pool/spa, waterfalls, cabana, bbq island, hardwood & stone floors, the ultimate gourmet kitchen, Thermador appliances, windows, copper sinks, Arte de Mexico wrought iron & glass doors wine cellar.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Your Mama has long heard whispers and rumors that 19 year old High School Musical ack-tress/wannabe pop star Vanessa Hudgens was looking to buy herself a house in the Hills of Hollywood. The paps frequently photographed the dark haired gossip glossy favorite touring multi-million dollar properties and several reports came out that she bought this house. But, according to our sources, she did not buy that house.

In early August of 2008 while strutting her starlet stuff in borrowed clothes at the Teen Choice Awards, young Miss Hudgens rather brazenly announced to E! Entertainment's super slim red carpet reporter Juliana Rancic that she was in the process of purchasing her first house. Not long after that, Your Mama received a secret communique from a gal we'll call Charity Chitchatter who whispered in Your Mama's big ear that she'd recently heard from someone who would know that Miss Hudgens had closed on her new house.

So Your Mama quickly got on the horn and contacted a few folks we thought might know what is what regarding Miss Hudgen's real estate doings and sho enuf we soon heard back from our wickedly well informed source Lucy Spillerguts who told us that the teen aged millionaire recently dumped $2,750,000 on a big house in Studio City, CA.

Property records show that in early September, young Miss Hudgens completed the transaction for an approximately 5,200 square foot house in the hills above Studio City that listing information reveals includes 6 bedrooms and 6.5 bathrooms. Children, what in the world does an 19 year old gurl need with a 5,000+ square foot house with half a dozen bedrooms and 6.5 damn bathrooms?

Listing information also shows that in addition to all the bedrooms, Miss Hudgen's new abode includes a large entrance hall with a curving staircase where she can practice for her Norma Desmond years, living and dining rooms, a home office, a large gore-may kitchen that looks to Your Mama like it could be in just about any upscale tract house anywhere, a family room that opens to the rear terrace and pool deck, and a wine cellar which young Miss Hudgens will not be able to use for quite some time as she's not even old enough to buy liquor.

Other amenities of the teenager's three story abode include hardwood and stone floors, glittery views over the San Fernando Valley, three fireplaces, a three car garage where she can park her pricey Audi convertible, multiple terraces overlooking the back yard and all sorts of wrought iron detailing Your Mama assumes is an attempt to give the house a neo-Tuscan/faux Mediterranean/Moroccan mish-mash sort of vibe. Ack! Listen people, you can't just slap a tile roof on a house an fill it with wrought iron railings and call it Tuscan because we have been to Tuscany and we are certain there are not many (if any) houses in Tuscany that look quite like this. But then again, Miss Hudgens is just a bizzy teen aged ack-tress giddy and flush with fame and while she may well know a Louboutin from a Blahnik and True Religion from Rock and Republic, what does the gurl know about architecture? Seriously. We imagine her real estate agent could have told her this was High Gothic Georgian-style Center Hall Colonial Revival and what would she know, right?

Anyhoo, Miss Hudgen's terraced back yard features a beautifully blue saline swimming pool and spa where she can skinny dip in private after spending the afternoon slapping down the credit card at Fred Segal, a barbecue island, whatever that is, and a cabana where she and boy beau Zac Efron can quietly comb each other's hair and paint each other's toe nails in the shade.

If anyone were to ask Your Mama, which of course no one did, we think it might have been more financially prudent for young Miss Hudgens to purchase something a bit more modest in price and size. Certainly she could have found a cute three bedroom cottage in a solid Studio City neighborhood for 1.5 million, right? Afterall, the Disney people will eventually stop making High School Musical movies and then what is young Miss Hudgens going to do to make her mortgage? Sing? Pleeze.

Previous to scooping up her own celebrity style spread, young Miss Hudgens shacked up with her parents in the 2,385 square foot North Hollywood house prop records indicate they purchased in September of 2005 for $865,000. It must be kinda surreal to have your teen aged daughter buy a house worth more than three times the value of your own house. Not bad, just strange. Right?

Whatevs.

P.S. Thanks to one of Your Mama's children we stand corrected. Miss Hudgens is 19 going on 20 and not the 18 years old that we first thought (and reported). We used our fingers rather than our bejeweled abacus and we counted incorrectly. But whatever. She's still 19 damn years old, which is awfully young to be buying a 6 bedroom house. Imagine what it's going to be like for her roaming and rattling around in there all alone as the house creaks and groans as it settles on its caissons. It makes Your Mama lonely just to think about it.

Newman, Oldman, Deadman

NOOOOOOOOOOO!

How can that GOD of the cinema, Paul Newman, be dead? He is a Screen Immortal! Does that count for nothing anymore? (This is an important question, as I am a Screen Immortal myself. What's the point of my being an immortal if I can die just like ordinary nonentities, you know, like you?)

We were told that he was suffering from cancer for many months now, so we who loved him (Isn't that everyone?) must be glad he is out of the terrible pain he was in. They say he was gaunt. How is that possible? When did Paul Newman ever have a spare ounce on him? For a man who peddled popcorn and salad dressing, he was awfully damn skinny. I've seen fatter skeletons. He made Skinny hot. (Only on men. All you bony girls out there: eat something. You are not Paul Newman!)

Mmmmmmmmmmm.

What? Oh, I'm sorry.I got lost in a private fantasy for a moment. You see, fifty years ago, Paul Newman and Marlon Brando were It! They were The Top of the Line for sexy Hollywood hunks. Plus, they were also respected actors! How did that happen?

Just below them (Paul and Marlon were such tops!) were the second tier hot '50's boy toys, James Dean, Tab Hunter, and my darling little Sal Mineo.

Of the five of them, Tab may have been the least-highly regarded for his acting, but Tab has had the last laugh, because they're all dead, and Tab is still alive and well, and for a man in his mid-70s, still surprisingly hot, which is more than you can say for Tony Curtis.

(Why, I wonder, in bathing suit shots, does Tony always hide his crotch? Too much resemblance to a Ken doll perhaps? Not that I should be surprised to see Tony holding two bitches to his groin.)

Now I understand Tony's success working as a drag queen. He didn't need to tuck!

Robert Wagner is another handsome boy from the 1950s who is still drawing breath, and he was famously married to supremely sexy Natalie Wood, but he was always too bony when he took his shirt off. And of course, in his early career, he was Clifton Webb's "protegé".

And wasn't he the the fellow Marilyn Monroe once accidentally interrupted in flagranté, and said of him: "He'll be a star. He's fucking the editor." Well, maybe not, especially if he reads this. But please, what the hell is Robert and Tony and Rock Hudson and these other 1950s male starlets doing in this photo anyway? Playing poker? Playing Poke Him?

Wasn't I talking about Paul Newman? Well, when you have a topic as dispiriting as the death of Paul Newman, one tends to keep changing the subject. It's called "Avoidance."

Speaking of avoidance, I spent over 50 years trying to get into Paul's pants, but he kept giving me the brush-off. In fact, at times it was more like a hurl-off-and-flee-away. And what a flimsy, silly excuse he kept giving me. Get this; he kept claiming he was practising something called "Marital Fidelity." What the hell is that? A bizarre religious cult, like Shakers or Mormons? (Actually, while Mormons are big on Marital Fidelity, they allow men an unlimited amount of wives to be faithful to. Little Dougie's Mormon bishop great-great-grandfather, William Haney Hickenlooper, was faithful to all three of Dougie's great-great-grandmothers at the same time!) Paul Newman's bizarre insistence on only having sex with his wife seems to me like being Sexually Amish.

Paul would say to me of Joanne Woodward, while giving me the slip, "Why would I eat a hamburger on the road when I have steak at home?" Frankly, if you're feeling peckish while you're out and dinner is hours away, don't you hit McDonald's for a Big Mac or stop off for some pizza, no matter what is on ice in your freezer at the house? I usually have a fine wine waiting at Morehead Heights, but it's never stopped me from hitting a bar or 12 en route for a vodka martini to sustain me until I get there, even when I'm merely a block away.

And really, I'm willing to share. It's not like they were above some creative play. Look at this photo of a hot Newman Family three-way. Frankly, that extra bitch looks like a real dog to me!

And of course, in his memoir Palimpsest, Gore Vidal told of how, for a while in the 1950s, Paul, Joanne, and Gore all three lived together! Even The Mormons would have glanced at that askew. And Gore has remained close friends, "Family" if you will, with The Newmans ever since. How did they menagé that household? What was their "Design for Living"? Am I supposed to believe that Gore Vidal shared a home with one of The Sexiest Men Alive at that time, and never got up to bat? Or that Joanne was always included? She won an Oscar for The Three Faces of Eve; what about The Three Roommates of Malibu? Don't believe me? Check out this picture of Paul and Gore actually handling some impressively hung Italian hunk's balls! Those are some mighty impressive basket-balls!

Oh well, I guess if that's the way Paul swung away from Joanne (He did after all, only swear off hamburgers. He never said he was above a juicy hotdog slipped between fresh, hot buns.), I suppose I should be grateful I didn't end up married to him. But then, what woman wouldn't want to be married to Paul Newman? Well, one woman: Nancy Reagan. Lucky escape there --- for Paul!

Aside from being incredibly beautiful, Paul was also a really fine actor, who left behind an enormous list of great performances in fine films. The man had superb taste in scripts, and can't be blamed for The Silver Chalice, a particularly weird Biblical epic (I mean even weirder than most Biblical epics.) that he never stopped apologising for. He really could have let it go. Hollywood forgave him.

Anyway, Paul left us a tremendous film legacy. Like all movie lovers, his death has left me bluer than Paul's eyes, and they were the bluest ever. When I think of "Old Blue Eyes," I think first "Jack Benny," and then Paul. (Sorry. Sinatra to me was always "Chairman of the Bored.")

But Paul was only 83, barely out of diapers, or at least, not yet back into them. I'm 111, so 83 seems still boyish to me. What could possibly have given Paul a fatal cancer so young?

Puff, puff, puff.

Paul Newman is dead. My ex-husband Ernest Borgnine is still alive. Does anyone need further proof that there is no God?

Paul, you were what being a Movie Star was all about. Some did it as well, but nobody did it better. And that's The Verdict on Paul Newman.

Cheers darlings, if possible.

(The Newman Family suggests donations in his name to the Assn. of Hole in the Wall Camps. Information:http://holeinthewallcamps.org/)

Tony Gonzalez Lists House in Manhattan Beach

SELLER: Tony Gonzalez
LOCATION: 34th Street, Manhattan Beach, CA
PRICE: $3,999,000
SIZE: 3,465 square feet, 4 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Huge rooftop deck that runs the length of the property. Ocean views from the interior. Big master bedroom. Giant four car garage with bonus storage room. Great kitchen, den and family room area. Lots of character. Two blocks to the sand.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Just the other day, based on a contact from someone we call Princess Sandypants, we discussed and dissected the Manhattan Beach house of professional baseball player Derek Lowe. Then yesterday, Your Mama recently received a second clandestine communique from the obviously well informed Princess Sandypants letting us know that another professional ball player had listed his Manhattan Beach house with an asking price of $3,999,000. This time the the property peddler is a professional pig skin player named Tony Gonzalez.

Not knowing a thing about professional football other than that the muscular men are usually stuffed like sausages into very thin capri pants through which you can often see their jock straps, Your Mama did not have a clue who this Tony Gonzalez person is. So early this morning, we rather unwisely dialed up our hard living and ball obsessed pal Fiona Trambeau on the Skype wires for a little 411 on Mister Gonzalez. We should have known better than to call Miss Trambeau before noon. While Miss Trambeau was, uhm, indisposed this early morning and could do little more than hurl scathing insults at us for bugging her while she was, uhm, entertaining, she did manage amid her foul-mouthed ranting and raving to get across that Mister Gonazalez plays the tight end position for the Kansas City Chiefs.

Tight end? What in the hell is a tight end? Of course Your Mama knows what a tight end is, but what kind of luridly suggestive job title is Tight End for the Kansas City Chiefs? And here we thought football was only for gentlemen of the butch and burly persuasion. A quick search of the interweb also informed us that in his position as a tight end Mister Gonzalez holds several impressive sounding NFL records for such things as most single season receptions for a tight end and most career touchdowns by a tight end. Being such a record breaker, he probably makes a lot of money, right?

Anyhoo, just as Princess Sandypants promised, property records do indeed show that the 3,465 square foot house on Manhattan Beach's 34th Street was purchased by an Anthony Gonzalez back in January of 2003 for $1,575,000. Upon seeing that number and comparing it against the property's current asking price of $3,999,000, Your Mama immediately consulted our bejeweled abacus whose well worn beads revealed that Mister Gonzalez is attempting to double down on his real estate investment after owning the 4 bedroom and 4 bathroom property for less than five years.

Ordinarily Your Mama would say this is outrageous and unrealistic, not to mention a little greedy grabby. However, the Dr. Cooter has some good lookin' and wonderfully bronzed cuzzins who did very well for themselves when they recently sold (and bought) some choice Manhattan Beach real estate. So before all you Chicken Littles start hollering and getting all in a snit about the sky falling–and if you watch CNN, it does sorta sound like the sky might be falling–remember that people with money to burn on real estate have always paid high unholy premiums to shack up a short distance to the sugar sandy beaches of southern California. And children, this house is just two itty bitty blocks to the shore.

Now then, let's have a look see at Mister Gonzalez's house. Listing information shows that in addition to the probably little used living and dining rooms, the house includes a large master bedroom, three additional family/guest bedrooms, and a large family room/den area in which Mister Gonzalez has put, yes children, a pool table. If there's anything that Your Mama loathes more than a pot rack it's a prominently placed pool table. Put it in the basement, put it in the garage, put it in its own room where you don't have to look at the ass uglee thing 24/7, but people, do not put a pool table in the damn family room. Ever. Did you hear that bachelor men? Not. Ever. We concede that putting the pool table in the family room is better than the living room, but really, that only makes the sorry situation marginally better in our snarky book. And the wet bar area? Holy cow children that thing looks to Your Mama like an unhappy marriage between a stuffy British pub and a tourist filled Mexican Margarita bar in Puerto Vallarta and it only adds to our dire need for a nerve pill and a giant pitcher of gin and tonics to wash it down.

What about the kitchen you ask? Well, it's certainly trying very hard to look dignified and distinguished, isn't it? We would have much preferred to see something a little lighter in tone, a lot less carved and not nearly as serious...this is a house at the beach after all.

On the other hand, the reedonkulously gigantic roof terrace is dee-voon. We love the long views of the shoreline, we adore that bed thing with the shade making slatted canopy, it was smart to include a built in barbecue area and the Dr. Cooter would think he'd died and gone to heaven sitting in that hot tub guzzling wine and listening to the pounding surf in the distance. The kitchen can (and in our estimation should) be replaced, but this view, children, can not.

Seriously kids, considering its plum location, awesome view, decent size and the fantabulous roof deck and despite all that fussy cabinetry and all those bile producing "chandeliers," this is not a bad house. All that crap can be fixed. And let's be honest, if someone can pay nearly four million buck for a house, they can afford a smart architect, a nice gay decorator and few hundred thousand to fix all those punishable crimes of cabinetry and interior design. Plus, there is a four car garage. Four! Anyone who has ever tried to park anywhere near the beach knows that having all that parking on your property in Manhattan Beach is worth a pretty penny or two.

Given that Mister Gonzalez was raised up in nearby Huntington Beach, it's hard to imagine he's giving up a beach house for the land locked horizons of Kansas City. But maybe he is. Then again, maybe he's just trading up to a bigger an better house at the beach. Who knows? Your Mama certainly don't, so don't any bahdee go reporting that we do. Because we don't. We only know that this house is for sale.

Now then, Your Mama has to git. We've got a full day of meetin' and greetin' ahead of us.

Billy Baldwin Lists House in Bedford Corners

SELLERS: Billy Baldwin and Chynna Phillips
LOCATION: Chestnut Ridge Road, Bedford Corners, NY
PRICE: $3,895,000
SIZE: 6,400 square feet (approx.), 5 bedrooms, 7 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Long wooded driveway leads to 19th cent grand Carriage House. Exquisitely renovated. Generously proportioned floorplan defined by extensive millwork. Both LR (w/ fpl) & formal DR offer french drs to pergols-covered stone terr, gourmet EIK w/ top of the line appl, FR, onyx-topped wet bar & brass sink, beautiful glass-encl Conservatory, Pool/pool house, 4+ acres of beautifully landscaed property w/ speciman trees, stonework, rock outcroppings.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Although MTV Movie Award winning ack-tor Billy Baldwin has reportedly lived in the sleepy and uppity bedroom community of Bedford Hills, NY since 1995, the last Your Mama heard about this real estate doings he was dropping about fourteen grand a month to lease a very pretty house on S. Spaulding Drive in Bev Hills. See children, Mister Baldwin needed a Tinseltown crib in which to live while filming his role on boob-toob spoof Dirty Sexy Money as a very married politician with a secret tranny gurlfriend expertly played by gorgeously long legged actress (and real live tranny) Candis Cayne.

Now we hear from Aerialist Dave that Mister Baldwin and his wifey Chynna Phillips–a gal whom all the children will surely recall as the skinny blond gurl from 1990s sugar saccharine pop trio Wilson Phillips–have listed their 4.36 acre estate in Bedford Corners, NY with an asking price of $3,895,000. Records and reports reveal the country living couple paid $3,350,000 for the property in February of 2005.

Listing information indicates the main house was built way back in 1890 and includes 5 bedrooms and 7 terlits. Presumably this bed to bath ratio means that every bedrooms has its own private pooper, which Your Mama always finds appealing. The central entrance hall is both large enough to receive to receive multiple dinner guests at one time and to impress the pimple faced pizza delivery boy. The generously proportioned living room includes a fireplace and at first glance what appears to be a really nice row of three french doors leading to a terrace overlooking a rolling landscape. However, a second look reveals that the doors are not set center on the wall which, unfortunately, creates a cattywompus and visually distressing situation.

The dining room with it's faux-Chippendale style table and chairs looks like the sort of place where no one ever eats except on Thanksgiving and a large green den looks like where the Baldwin family probably gathers to watch the boob-toob and play Wii. This is another room that at first glance we sort of liked. Then that heavily patterned carpeting with the rose motif came into focus and Your Mama was mor-ti-fied. That might be okay in the 10-room Park Avenue apartment owned by a lacquer haired octogenarian, but we just don't think it's a very prudent choice for a young family. It's just so darn old lady.

Clearly many thousands of dollars was spent on high grade stainless steel appliances for the large kitchen and in fact there are separate SubZero refrigerator and freezer, an excellent feature for a growing family of five. However, Your Mama just cringes and cries like a baby over this kind of caucky brown raised panel cabinetry that looks like it's trying desperately to not look like a damn kitchen. And those massive corbels with the carved grape clusters on the center island just make Your Mama wanna puke. Sorry, but they do.

We recognize that this traditional style house and large leafy property will likely appeal to a lot of people. Traditional designs often do. It is indeed a very family friendly environment where all the well educated, well employed and well dressed residents are expected to keep up their lawns and make nice-nice over cocktails with the neighbors even if they can't stand the smell of each other.

However, Your Mama does not care for the Westchester suburbs, which for the geographically challenged, sit just north of New York City. It's a personal thing. It's not that we can not or do not understand why rich people want to raise up their kids in such a bucolic and upscale environment, and it's not that we don't think the rolling landscape isn't jaw droppingly beautiful, terrifically expensive and home to loads of rich and famous folks such as domestic diva and ex-con Martha Stewart and supah-fine 5-time Oscar nominated (always a bridesmaid, never a bride) actress Glenn Close. The posh suburbs are simply not our real estate cup of tea. Unfortunately Your Mama has read entirely too many gloriously bleak and deliciously depressing John Cheever short stories to make the notion of riding a commuter train from Mt. Kisco to Grand Central Station every day seem anything but soul crushing and suicide inducing.

Once upon a time not so long ago there was a strong and solid market among Wall Street types for this kind of traditional multi-million dollar estate. With the rather tenuous financial situation continuing to scare the buhjeezis out of all the bankers in Manhattan, Your Mama has to wonder if there are so many Wall Street huzbands willing and able to cough up nearly four million clams for all these expensive to buy and costly to maintain houses in quietly swank towns that dot the hills of Westchester County.

Are Brad and Angie on the Move...Again?

According to multiple reports from around the world, Hollywood's most peripatetic pair and their half dozen multi-culti kids (along with their large retinue of security guards, nannies, tutors and assistants) have recently decamped from the Chateau Miraval, their most recent rented home in the south of France, for a schloss outside of Berlin called the Palais Parkschloss.

Most reports say the Brangelina brood's new and temporary home sits on the shores of Wannsee lake on the outskirts of Berlin and includes a large house, a private helicopter landing pad perfect for getting Miz Jolie to the local 7-11 and back in relative safety, a private dock and a staff that reportedly includes 14 body guards, personal chefs and nannies. Nothing like the simple life.

If the Palais Parkschloss sounds familiar it might because it's the same high security compound that wacky Tom Cruise fellow was reported to have leased while in Germany filming whatever Mission Impossible movie was filmed in 2004. Your Mama will not waste money watching Tom Cruise movies so we don't have any idea if that was Mission Impossible 1, 2 or 3 and frankly we do not care. Apparently action film actor Steven Seagal also once rented (and caused damage to) the Palais Parkschloss. Steven Seagal? Whoop. De. Do.

Your Mama wonders if the paparazzi hounded family will ever return to the United States where they own a compound in the Los Feliz area of Los Angeles, an tennis court estate on the bluffs of Malee-boo, a big ol' house in New Orleans and a fa-boo ocean front compound near Santa Barbara, CA. They might have a few other places, but that's all our gin soaked mind can remember this early in the morning.

Photo: from Bild

We Don't Know...

...what's going on over there with Mister Big Time, but he's obviously having himself a world of hassle and heartache with the back end coding of his always juicy celebrity real estate blog. Your Mama wishes him all the best in getting up and running again very soon.

UPDATE: Leeza Gibbons

We're a little late to the rodeo on this one having been reported ages ago by celebrity real estate writer Ann Brenoff at the L.A. Times, but since this was one of the first properties Your Mama ever discussed on our little online endeavor, we thought we'd chime in with a wee update on the house that entertainment television talking head Leeza Gibbons and her estranged huzband Stephen Meadows have been trying to sell for a damn ice age.

The couple, who apparently went splitsville several years ago, first put the house on the market in August of 2005 with an asking price of $8,750,000. No (serious) buyers turned up at that price, which is a little odd whe you consider that was back when people were still buying up high priced properties like they were playing a game of Monopoly. Your Mama first discussed the 7 bedroom and 8 bathroom two-building compound on Courtney Avenue in December of 2006 when it was foisted back on the market with a reduced asking price of $7,995,000. After just a couple short months, a tipster we called Lucy Looselips whispered in Your Mama's big ear that the house had been sold...or at least been put into escrow...with a purchase price of $7,750,000.

But alas. Unfortunately for Miz Leeza and Mister Meadows, that buyer (and we hear at least one other) did not pan out. Now, the now longer a couple couple are making another go of it...not their marriage children, but selling their white elephant of a estate which listing information indicates includes three floors and approximately 11,000 square feet of vintage Mediterranean mansion with a two story guest house/studio that was built in 2000. The estate is now priced at $7,395,000.

According to listing information, the 1+ acre property was apparently once owned by maniacal mommie and hugely talented Academy Award winning actress Joan Crawford so we're is a little soo-prised some filthy rich queen with a wickedly campy sense of humor hasn't already come along and snatched this place right up.

Audrina Patridge Heads for the Hills

BUYER: Audrina Patridge
LOCATION: Bryn Mawr Drive, Los Angeles, CA
PRICE: $1,290,000
SIZE: 3 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: ...This new construction Spanish Villa has a spectacular view over looking the city! It has 3 bedrooms & two and a half baths, & a huge gourmet chef's kitchen. The kitchen features a separate convection oven, 6 burner gas stove, built-in microwave, wine refrigerator and side by side refrigerator, & a center island. The entertainer's patio is like a resort w/ built in BBQ, refrigerator...

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Back in late August Your Mama floated a (not very) blind item about a best friend battling gossip glossy favorite spending some of her not very hard earned reality show money on a new house in the hills above Hollywood. As many of y'all guessed correctly, the new home owner is none other than Audrina Patridge, dark haired gurl from The Hills, not the blond one who wants to be a fashion dee-ziner, but the one who aspires to be a mo-dell and ack-turuss. Yes, well, good luck with that baby gurl...

Anyhoo, we know that many of you don't care nuthin' about those cat fighting kitties from The Hills and if we're telling the truth–and we always do–Your Mama does not either. In fact we've never even bothered to watch the damn program. However, the cast members' comings and goings have become inescapable for all us gossip glossy junkies who are forced to read about Heidi and Lauren and Audrina in between stories about real stars like Brad Pitt, Halle Berry and British singing sensation Robbie Williams...who Your Mama also hears is buying a new house. But more on that later.

It's certainly no secret that Miss Patridge bought a new house. Oh no. As is typical with the publicity seeking lasses from The Hills, she's been yakking it up with all the paps and gossip glossies about how she felt like a guest living in the, uhm, guest house of Lauren's house in West Hollywood and how she needed more space for her clothes and accessories. Isn't that nice how her pee-pole have trained her to be so diplomatic? Most reports say that former BFFs Audrina and Lauren can't stand the sight of each other, but for all Your Mama knows, the whole hate each other thing could be made up for their stoopid show. Who knows? Who cares?

According to our source Lucy Spillerguts and confirmed with property records, Miss Patridge paid $1,290,000 for her newly constructed "Spanish Villa" on Bryn Mawr Drive that includes 3 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms, a gore-may kitchen with a window shoved up into the ceiling and more tile floors than in all of Spain itself.

What is most interesting to Your Mama about Miss Patridge's purchase is that as far as we can tell (from the listing information we saved all those weeks ago), the house was last listed at $1,199,000 which means that according to our beloved and bejeweled abacus the reality show personality paid more than the asking price for her new house with it's built-in microwave oven and resort like entertainer's patio. More! That, children, just isn't happening that much anymore.

There's really no point in discussing the rather bland and beige day-core seen in the photographs because that is clearly the work of Staging Lady in a Pink Toyota. And not some of her best work either. Your Mama hopes Miss Partridge has the good sense to hire one of her nice gay decorator friends to get up in there and work it out. The first thing Your Mama would suggest is to go out and buy some damn rugs to cover up some of that beige tile that has been laid down, seemingly, throughout the entire house. Who does that? Why? The builder couldn't have mixed it up with some nice dark floors in the living and dining rooms? Pleeze.

At least the place has some pretty nice views over looking the glittery lights of Los Angeles.

Property records also reveal that Miss Patridge's new next door neighbor is How I Met Your Mother actor Josh Radnor who paid 1.1 million clams for his house in June of 2007 for his 1926 Spanish style house with 3 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms.

Now then, let's move on and hope none of these other folks from The Hills bother to buy a house because Your Mama ain't got nuthin' left to say about them.

P.S. We stand corrected...this gurl's name is indeed Patridge rather that Partridge which is what Your Mama thought it was...shows you how much we know. Anyhoo...we've fixed it. The least we can do is spell the pee-pole's names correctly, right?

Here We Go Again...

SELLER: Britney Spears
LOCATION: Summit Circle, Beverly Hills, CA
PRICE: $7,900,000
SIZE: 7,453 square feet, 6 bedrooms, 6.5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Exquisite gated Italian Renaissance Villa w/approx 7,500 sq ft of luxury, 6 BD, 6 ½ BA, wet bar, library, den, chic dining rm, & grand foyer. Artisan quality finishes, dramatic high ceilings, millwork, stone & mosaic tile floors, & iron accents. Chef’s kit w/Viking appliances & breakfast nook open to spacious great room. Romantic Master w/fireplace, & loggia. Manicured grounds incl. pool, spa, arbor, & lush landscape ideal for entertaining. Offered w/select furnishings, accessories, & art work.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Oh lawhd have mercy on our snarky souls children because it looks like that poor Britney Spears gurl is on the move. Again.

All the children remember that the ex-Mrs. Federline dumped $6,750,000 on her big house on Summit Circle in the guard gated community called The Summit on a lark back in January of 2007. That was back when the lamb was hanging out with all kinda hooligans, creating havoc and getting into all manner of stoopid shenanigans while wearing that dumb ass pink wig and flashing her baby smooth baby maker all over Tinseltown. Remember those days children? Good times. Good times. Ack!

The 6 bedroom and 6.5 bathroom house where Miz Spears has been holed up mending her mind the last few months has been for sale so many times at so many different prices since she scooped the place up furniture and all that Your Mama can't be bothered to count, so pleeze don't ask us to.

What we do know is that the Mediterranean-ish manse is freshly listed with a real estate agent from way out in Calabasas, so perhaps the rumors are true that Miz Spears wants to move out to some guard gated community in the northwestern 'burbs of Los Angeles where she'll have some room to roam far far far from the camera snapping and crazy making crowds on Robertston Boulevard.

Ugh. We're not even sure we care anymore. Do you?

All we know children is that someone better be burning a whole lotta sage up in that house to be getting rid of all that bad juju that's been floating around poor Miz Spears the last couple of years.

Derek Lowe Tosses His Manhattan Beach Manse on the Market

SELLER: Derek Lowe
LOCATION: 19th Street, Manhattan Beach, CA
PRICE: $5,700,000
SIZE: 4,260 square feet, 4 bedrooms, 2 full and 2 half bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: ...Stunning Mediterranean style home filled with top of the line amenities. Easy stroll to sand, strand, ocean and downtown Manhattan Beach. Master suite with own ocean view, limestone deck, large walk-in closet and bathroom with heated stone floors. Top floor offers to living areas, gourmet kitchen, vaulted wood-beam ceilings and 2 ocean view decks.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Thanks to Princess Sandypants from Manhattan Beach (that's in Southern Calee-fornya children, not New York City), Your Mama has learned that Mister Derek Lowe, formerly of the Red Sox and currently pitching balls for the L.A. Dodgers, has put his Mediterranean style Manhattan Beach house on the market with an asking price of $5,700,000.

Naturally, not knowing a thing about sports, Your Mama phoned our good friend Fiona Trambeau, a boozy and brassy babe who knows more about men who play with with balls than anyone else Your Mama knows. When we mentioned that we had a few questions about this Mister Lowe, Fiona let out a hoot and a holler loud and long enough to take the top prize at the high-larious pig calling contest at the Iowa State Fair. Yes, she did and it about busted our ear drum.

Anyhoo, Fiona told us there are three things we should know about Mister Lowe

Number One: In January of 2005 he signed an eye popping 4-year contract with the L.A. Dodgers that pays him a whopping $9,000,000 per year.

Number Two: After two years as the only so-so starting pitcher, he was demoted to the number two slot for the 2008 season. Presumably that does not affect his fat paycheck.

And Number Three: Just a few short months after arriving in Los Angeles, the very married with children Mister Lowe began a lurid affair with a gal named Carolyn Hughes, a former pageant queen who covered the Dodgers for the folks at Fox. Each eventually left their respective spouses and reportedly shacked up in sin.

But children, as inneresting and fun as it is to snicker and act all aghast about cuckolding couples, we're here to discuss the real estate and property records show that Mister Lowe scooped up this 4,260 square foot house just a half block from the Pacific Ocean in July of 2006 for $5,000,000. Listing information provided to Your Mama by Princess Sandypants reveals that the house was built in 2006 and includes four bedrooms and five bathrooms. Some of the listed five bathrooms are half bathrooms, but until we hear from Mister Lowe's terlit gurl, Your Mama can't confirm how many of those are full and how many are half bathrooms.

In addition to all the bedrooms, there house includes an open plan living and dining room and a suburban style kitchen with all the granite and stainless steel hoozy goozies that rich people want nowadays. While we don't care for the cabinetry (we don't personally care for raised panels) and the carved corbels on the breakfast bar make us feel nauseated, we do appreciate that guests have a great spot to sit and get slowly and comfortably pie-eyed while the hostess prepares cheese on Triscuit hors-davors.

We do like that the floors in the master bathroom are heated since coastal mornings can be rather chilly, but we're concerned about that the short flight of stairs which could be very dangerous for someone like the sometimes clumsy Dr. Cooter who has a tendency to need to get up several times in the middle of the night to pee-pee. One small slip in the night and he'd crack his head wide open on the stone floor and then our night's rest would be ruined having to take him to the damn emergency room.

The two features that Your Mama likes best about this house are the three car garage (parking in these ocean front communities is murder) and the location on 19th Street just a few moments stroll to the sugar soft sand. What we don't like is that the three story house does not appear to have an elevator. This might not seem like an issue for all the spor-teef types out there, but for all the fat asses like Your Mama who would love to sit on a top floor terrace looking out towards the Pacific Ocean but don't particularly want to break a sweat to get up there, an elevator is a necessity.

The Emmys Blow!

If Ken Ehrlich ever tries to produce the Emmy Awards show again, tell Sarah Palin that he's a rogue moose who is teaching birth control and evolution to teenagers, and give her a helicopter and a rifle, because the Emmy Awards show he produced last night has got to be the worst Emmy show ever, and there is a lot of competition for that title.

Right off, hiring five "Reality Show" hosts to host this broadcast was the worst idea in the history of terrible award show ideas. If Allen Carr was still alive, he'd be saying, "Ha! My Snow White sings with Rob Lowe Oscarcast doesn't look so crappy now, does it?" Did you see that opening?

The Horror! The Horror!

Honestly, how smart do you have to be to know better than to hire Howie Mandell --- for anything?

(Full disclosure. Well over a quarter of a century ago, Little Dougie was friends with Howie Mandell. This was back before St. Elsewhere, when Howie was just a struggling stand up comic with a ghastly act. Dougie repents of this association now.)

The show opened with current TV personalities (Or, like Howie, anti-personalities) speaking classic TV catchphrases. Kelsey Grammar did Jack Benny's "Now cut that out." which is just what I said when I learned that Kelsey is giving money to the Republicans, I assume to help make the current economy even worse, prolong the war, and end gay marriage.

(Kelsey has a horrible new movie, called An American Carol, opening next week. It's a conservative screed made entirely by Republicans, and is being sold as a madcap satirical comedy, when it's really just dishonoring Charles Dickens, pissing on all that that notorious social reformer stood for. Avoid it like the plague. If you have a choice between seeing it or The Love Guru, see The Love Guru.)

Oprah Winfrey opened the show, looking disappointed that the Popess of TV wasn't accorded a standing ovation. When she said that TV could get people to buy books, she flashed a look so smug, I wanted to slap her. She ignored the tiresome fact that people are also supposed to read the books they buy. When her joke about the show not running more than a few hours failed to get a laugh from even one person in the massive audience, she laughed at it herself, to let us know it was a joke. It was the only way to tell. Oprah can do many things well. Comedy is not one of them.

And then Oprah destroyed forever whatever trace of respect her judgement has ever accrued, by saying, "And now I leave you in the good hands of your hosts for the evening." Remember, she was referring to Howie Mandell, Tom Bergeron, Jeff Probst, Ryan Seachrest, and Heidi Klum. I'll never trust a word from her mouth again.

All five of these unentertaining idiots came out and said how they had no material, and took a looooonnnnng time to do so. In the past, a funny host would do an amusing comedy monologue here, but these five boobs took an original approach. The guys babbled pointlessly about how they had nothing to say while Heidi, who was in drag (To blend in the with the guys, who were a drag.), stood there silently, thus coming across as the only person on stage you didn't want to shoot - yet. I soon realized that I did not have near enough vodka to get through this ordeal. Then, in a great moment for feminism, William Shatner and Tom Bergeron harassed, attacked, and stripped Heidi. Fortunately, they were running long, so they had to cut the rape. (It had run way too long in rehearsal, while they waited for the 300 year old Shatner to get it up.) Then they introduced Tina Fey and Amy Pohler.

I'm sorry, but Tina Fey and Amy Pohler are comedy goddesses. These five "Hosts" aren't worthy to park their cars or breathe their air. Their intro should have been, "And now, two people who SHOULD be hosting this show instead of us."

Thanks to YouTube and other such Internet entertainment rip-off services, everyone on earth has now seen Tina play Sarah Palin on last week's Saturday Night Live. They are identical twins, only Tina is brilliant, smart and funny, while Palin - ah - isn't. If only Sarah was doing a TV show, and Tina was running for vice president. but then, Tina can't run; she actually knows what the duties of the VP are, and believes in evolution. She's too qualified. Fey and Pohler would be America's Dream Team, and it's not their fault that they had to give Rainn Wilson's Emmy to Jeremy Piven. (Piven needs another Emmy like I need another husband.)

When they returned from commercial, just to class things up, they ran a lengthy Seinfeld clip about masturbation. Of course, the opening segment had clearly shown that the hosts considered masturbation to be entertainment. It can be, but not when it's them doing it.

Apparently Little Dougie has had a sex change he knows nothing of at some point in his life and must have been a little girl as a teenager, because Jeff Probst, who hosts the game show version of LOST, said of Farrah Spigot-Majors: "Including the very sexy poster of Farrah Spigot that every boy had." Little Dougie thought he'd been a little boy, but this is the poster he had in his bedroom:

Well, he admired Brando's acting. (I can't imagine why. I met, rehearsed, and insisted on being raped by Marlon back when I almost played Blanche Dubois in the long-forgotten movie this photo comes from. I'm the one who ripped his shirt off in the first place. But knowing Marlon as I did, Biblically, I can say that that mush-mouthed mumbler was no actor, which is why his career never went anywhere. You can read all about it in my memoirs, My Lush Life.)

Classical Shakespearean actress Teri Hatcher mispronounced the name of Zeljko Ivanek when awarding him an Emmy. In her defense, no one can pronounce Zeljkxo's name. His own mother can not pronounce Zeqlkjox's name. Apparently, when little Mr. Ivanghklzo was born, his mother was obsessed with giving her kid a name that, when placed on a red triple word square in Scrabble, would score in the high four digits. And Teri Hatcher doesn't always pronounce her own name correctly. Saying Zxqejlkome's Ivxadnaotch's name should have been handled by Howie Mandell. After all, on Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman, Howie played Mr.Mxyztplk, so he has experience with pronouncing the unpronounceable.

And then came Ricky Gervais. All hail Ricky Gervais. The man is hilarious. For five minutes, the show was suddenly funny and entertaining. I thought I'd accidentally changed the channel when I fell off my chaise reaching for the gin, and landed on the remote control. The man is Tina Fey with a penis, and 30 extra pounds.

Ricky ran a clip of his win last year, when they gave his award to Steve Carell who, on The Office, is the American Ricky Gervais. Then, to my lasting embarrassment, he freeze-framed on a giant screen behind him the unforgettable moment last year when I was gang-hugged by Steve Carell, Stephen Colbert, and Jon Stewart (Stephen King was unavailable.), and Ricky's Emmy was put to an unspeakable use. (That damned angel's wings are sharp!)

Ricky and Steve were the comedy highlight of the whole evening. Please, TV Academy, next year, have Ricky and Steve host, and send all the banter writers home.

Actually, they might just as well have sent the banter writers home anyway, as presenter after presenter complained that their bits got cut (I hate having my bits cut. Especially my naughty bits! Please, just take the chrome studded black leather straps off before passing through my Heavenly doughnut.) because the five hosts ran too long saying nothing. When my new BFF Kathryn Joosten (Another naturally hilarious person.) had her bit cut, I was ready to kill, but settled for a straight-up triple scotch. I would rather watch Kathryn Joosten nap, than listen to anything Howie or Heidi ever has to say.

Conan O'Brian, bless his silly hair and heart, also brought some genuine comedy chops that shamed the hosts. Oh hell, Lauren Conrad of The Hills has comedy chops that shame the hosts, and she hasn't yet mastered walking upright or breathing.

The indestructible cheerleader from Heroes, and some other faceless bimbo, presented Outstanding Writing for a Variety, Music, Circus, or Comedy Program, which went to The Colbert Report, for show #4501, beating out The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, for show #13050. Well of course it did. What was The Daily Show thinking submitting show #13050? That episode was a total lox. I tell you, if The Colbert Report had submitted show #1805, and The Daily Show had submitted show #17830, things would have been very different indeed. Maybe next year, they'll wise up.

Why did they cut so many presenters's bits? So Howie and Jeff could do a "Funny" piece on "The Accountants"? Even if you were an accountant, it wasn't funny.

Who was funny was Steve Martin. Actually, anyone named Steve was funny. But it turned out that Steve wasn't on this show. As you know, these shows tend to run long, and as it happened, the 1968 Emmy Awards Show wasn't over yet, entering it's 40th year, and Steve was out there to give Tommy Smothers his 1968 Outstanding Writing Achievement in Comedy, Variety, Scholastic Sex Education Film, or Pageant award.



Tommy then gave a wonderful, if a bit too halting, speech, that stood out from the evening's other speeches, by being interesting, and actually being about something important. So naturally they tried to stop him before he could make his final point. Apparently, when Tommy said, "There's nothing more scary than watching ignorance in action," although the thought is certainly true, somebody in the control booth thought perhaps he was referencing President Dubya (How could they get that idea?), and if there's one thing NBC can not have during a speech on the importance of Freedom of Speech, it's someone actually exercising Freedom of Speech, so they started sending people out to hurry him up and get him off the stage, to silence the truth (Actually he was making a point about the very nature of "Truth" itself, Talk about irony!) once again, and Tommy found himself in a familiar position, being censored on Sunday Night TV, this time on a different network. Well, old habits are hard to break. For that matter, old dogs are hard to housebreak.

You perhaps think it was just Tommy running long, and I'm being paranoid? Well I notice the band never played over Howie or Tom or Ryan or Jeff or Heidi, and with them, just saying "Hello." is "Running Long" in my book. (My Lush Life)

Another highlight was Josh Grobin singing a medley of that beloved endangered species: TV show theme songs, and proving himself an impressive mimic in the process, while astonishing America with the unknown fact that The Andy Griffth Show theme song has lyrics. (Did he really sing "Here's a story of a man named Brady, was busy with three boys of his own"? Given what the term "Gettin' busy" means nowadays, and that we now know Robert Reed was gay, this ill-chosen lyric certainly put a whole different spin on that cluster-comedy.)



But please Josh, I know he's available (He's always available!), but never trot out that grotesque old bore Ed McMahan. The only good thing about Johnny Carson's retiring was that we were supposed to be rid of Ed! Anyway, it's always nice to see a row of pretty chorus girls doing high kicks to Suicide is Painless. (Were you listening to those lyrics, Ed and Howie?)

This was followed by Alec Baldwin presenting the award for Hottest Actress in a Miniseries, Movie, Infomercial, or YouTube Clip, which meant that Sir Judy Dench didn't have a prayer. Laura Linney won as usual, and she should really hire a writer for her acceptance speeches. Right after she insulted someone named Mark Shower (He used to terrify Janet Leigh, which is the other reason Janet didn't show up.) by saying to him, "Mark Shower, you are my ballast..." (Ballast is what you drop on your way up.), she added, "I will look at this for the rest of my life and think of the great experience I had making John Adams." How indiscreet! In Revolutionary War Days, we never humped and told. Ben Franklin's reputation would have been in tatters if we had. Although, as I recall, Johnny Adams was a terrific lay.

And then came George Romero's horror masterpiece: Comedy of the Living Dead. No wait. It was just a Laugh-In cast reunion. Was this still the 1968 Emmys? Since Rowan and Martin are both dead now, they didn't bother to call it Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In, although that was the actual show title. You could hear the excitement in the room, as everyone there under the age of 45 collectively said "Huh?"

They trotted out the reanimated remains of Gary Owens, Ruth Buzzi, Joanne Worley, Lily Tomlin, and the non-reanimated remains of the late Alan Sues. Sweet Dick Whittington was snubbed once again, and clearly Goldie Hawn had better things to do. (And I guess George Schlatter wasn't considered worth honoring. Well, he merely invented the show, and ran it for every episode. Fuck him.)

Gary Owens, as per his usual habit, was wearing the painted plastic scalp of a life-size G.I. Joe doll, freshly lacquered, while some graffiti vandal had spray-painted a black mustache and goatee on him. Gary Owens is a friend and a darling man, the sole resident of his own goofy private universe, and I adore him, but really Gary, we all know you're 200 years old. Why have Tom Sawyer blackwash your head before public appearances? There's nothing wrong with some distinguished white hair on a man.

Joanne Worley's appearance was hard to judge hidden inside the wig/hat/Acacia bush that was eating her head. Her face was in there somewhere. She looked like Miss Havisham as played by a very elderly drag queen. Ruth Buzzi and Lily Tomlin both looked not a day older than in their Laugh-In days. I suspect they both have Dorian Gray portraits hidden away in their attics somewhere.

But it was Alan Sues who broke my heart. He looked and sounded like he'd clawed his way out of his grave to be there. Once upon a time, he looked like this:

He was never a sophisticated performer, but he had energy, and strength, and a genuine zany streak, as well as being the gayest sissy funnyman ever to invade every living room in America. Next to Alan Sues, Franklin Pangborn was John Wayne.

No more. Alan's force, his robust comic energy, even his crack timing, all were gone. He appeared frail, bewildered, and sad. Betty White was in better shape, and she's 100! Hell, I'm in better shape, and I'm 110! When he broke out his Uncle Al, The Kiddie's Pal character's catch phrase, "Kids, last night Uncle Al had a lot of medicine." for the very first time, you thought he actually meant real medicine. And he clearly needed more. I was too horrified to laugh. Little Dougie knew this man in his prime, and this fragile animated corpse was like a sick joke version of Alan Sues.

The award they were handing out was Outstanding Comedy, Variety, Music, Dog Show, or School Play, and it went to The Daily Show, who finally had had the sense to submit episode #17830. Jon Stewart's spontaneous display of affection for the cast of Laugh-In was doubtlessly genuine, and certainly classy, but when he began assaulting them, I was alarmed. I was afraid that if he grabbed Alan in a bear hug, that Alan's spine would just snap.


On the other hand, if given a choice, I'm sure that being hugged to death in the arms of a sexy young man like Jon Stewart (Jon, there's an orgasm with your name on it just waiting for you here at Morehead Heights anytime you want to stop by and collect it.) is exactly how Alan would like to go.

Okay, it was funny watching David Boneraz, whose career has been mostly playing extermely sexy vampires, try not to look insulted when co-presenting with The Hills's talent-free Lauren Conrad, who has a smaller brain than a microbe.

But David and that Conrad creature had the honor of presenting the first of three awards to The Woman of the Night, the magnificent Tina Fey. Frankly, Tina Fey and Lauren Conrad do not belong in the same cosmos, let alone on the same stage. Two more opposite pretty women do not exist, unless it's Sarah Palin and Hilary Clinton.

Tina is a golden entity of true magic. I worship her. This event existed to honor her, and how fitting that was.

Martin Sheen showed up on tape for the sole purpose of saying,"Excuse me? Where was MY West Wing Emmy? Oh, and he also made a lame plea for all people to vote. (for him - for an Emmy.)


Sheen said "Our show was never in any way partisan..." which was one of the funniest lines of the night. West Wing was a weekly televised rebuke to The Bush Administration. It was a wishful-thinking fantasy for decent people to watch and fantasize "This is what it could be like, if we had a qualified and decent man in the White House, instead of the evil clown who's in there now."

In any event, Marty encouraged everyone to vote, which is wildly irresponsible. Not everyone should vote this year; only people voting for Obama. If you're going to vote for McCain/Palin, do the world a favor and stay home. Hey, there's a Matlock running in ION.

In a brief Dragnet parody, Jeff Probst made you wistful for the dynamic acting chops of Jack Webb. When you can be outacted by Jack Webb, you're dead.

The Outstanding TV Movie, Miniseries, or Street Mime Set nominee Recount won several awards, which ironically put its makers in the weird position of having to be grateful to the Republican crooks who stole the 2000 election and then got away with it scot free. "Ah, gee --- Thanks?"

When Kirk Ellis won for writing the Outstanding TV Movie, Miniseries, Fashion Show, or Disney Theme Park Parade, John Adams, he did something extraordinary and, in the context of this show, revolutionary. He spoke intelligently and articulately about speaking intelligently and articulately. He spoke of the joy of getting to "Talk about a period in our history when articulate men articulated complex thoughts in complete sentences. They used words...." and then he was shut off in mid-sentence as the show rudely cut to commercials.

Hmmm. Could it be that someone thought he was drawing a parallel between presidents like Adams and Jefferson, articulate men who articulated complex thoughts in complete sentences, and our sitting president, an inarticulate dolt who fumbles out simple psuedo-thoughts in rambling, inarticulate fragments, a man incapapble of ad libbing a complete, grammatical independant clause? Was he being censored? Or did they just need more time for Howie Mandell, who was the person on screen when they came back from commercial? Either way: SHAME!

Howie Mandell did a tribute to M*A*S*H, which, given who was delivering it, was more of an anti-tribute, or time-filler. You know, time Kirk Ellis could have used to finish his intelligent thought. Then they brought out the two people most synonymous with M*A*S*H, Sandra Oh and Patrick Dempsey. Was this show assembled, or just free-associated?



Then out of the M*A*S*H tent came two more of the mainstays of the old 4077th: Don Rickles and Kathy Griffin. At least it was two people who are actually funny. Griffin was sufficently inspired by the military setting to order the audience to their feet for a frail-looking Rickles. You know Kathy, a standing ovation doesn't mean anything if it isn't spontaneous.


If Rickles was walking weakly, his comic force was not abated, and he killed. Again, one pined for him to have hosted. (Oh please let Don host. No remote trace of pomposity would survive with Rickles at the podium.) Rickles and Griffin handed out the award for Outstanding Reality Competition Program. (This used to be called Best Game Show.) Don announced the winner as "Herbie Dickman." If only they had let it go at that, but no. To Herbie's disappointment, it went, as always, to The Amazing Race, (What a racist show title! I'm picketing!) so Scott Baio went home awardless once again. Tell the truth academy; this category is really, Least Unbearable Reality show.

Immediately after that, Sally Field gave her son an Emmy for John Adams for Outstanding Founding Father. Thomas Jefferson was screwed yet again. Jefferson is the Susan Lucci of the Founding Fathers. When last seen, Jefferson and Dickman were out drinking together, and looking for "Comely blackamoors."

The one funny host bit in the whole show was Tom Bergeron dropping Heidi Klum on the floor. What a shame she wasn't permanently damaged. She looks brittle enough to shatter.


Wayne Brady, who apparently isn't retired, just tired (He is so over.), and Kate Walsh, announced Outstanding Guest Actor and Actress Who Aren't Good Enough To Be Awarded on the Real Show. Glenn Turman (Who?) won the Actor award, though I was rooting for Robert Morse, because I adore that wonderful, kind, thoughtful, fabulous, funny man, and Cynthia Nixon won the Actress award. I have nothing against Cynthia Nixon, but hearing the words "Nixon Won" always makes me cringe.


A guy named Greg Yaitanes won Outstanding Direction for a Type of Show Not Covered in Any of the Other Categories for directing an episode of House. I've never seen him before, and I've never watched House, but what a Hottie! Greg, when you decide to moonlight by performing in gay porn, let me know. Meanwhile, don't spend so much time waxing lovey-dovey about your wife. The last thing I want to hear about when watching such a hottie is his wife.

Matthew Weiner. who is not a hottie, nor even a lukewarmy, despite his having a gay porn name, when winning for Outstanding Writing of a Drama, Comedy, Musical, or Improv Revue, for an episode of Mad Men, which I believe is a spin-off of MADtv, could not remember the names of all of his mewling hellspawn, I mean children. --- DADDY!


Candice Bergan referred to her father as "a radio star," although I'm sure I saw him in a movie with WC Fields (Ah, darling Edgar. He could make me say anything when he stuck his hand in me.), and reminded us that her father invented the Emmys, chisling the first one out of stone. Alec Baldwin only accepted the Emmy she was handing out in order to hit on her.

They started getting really mean in the fifth hour. When Vanessa Williams and America Ferrera came out, they didn't even bother turning on their mikes.That gets my Emmy for Outstanding Technical Fuck-Up. They should have done it for Howie. Some ratty drag queen named "Glen" won Outstanding Actress in a Basic Cable Series, which showed that gender lines are really blurring in America, or at least in America Ferrera. (She's really a man too, isn't she?)

Then came the most suspenseful spot in any awards show, the In Memorium montage. I hang on pins and needles (Which is even more painful than it sounds. You have to be severely drunk!) waiting to see if I was in it. I wasn't. The crowd broke into spontaneous applause when it finished and they all realised that I am still alive. Thank you, Academy.

They did an odd thing with the In Memorium montage: They began it and ended it with George Carlin. Did he die twice? He was a devout atheist, so I doubt he had a resurrection. Is being dead twice the opposite of being "Born Again"? If so, then it was appropriate for George, who was virulently anti-religion. (It was nice that his second clip was part of one of his Religion-is-a-croc bits.)


In the In Memorium montage, Dick Martin's goofy line "Here's something you don't hear every day: Merry Christmas." made me laugh out loud, and then made me miss him all over again, and I started crying. Harvey Korman's clip made me laugh also. and George's of course. How bad are your hosts when the In Memorium montage gets more laughs than they do?

But given some of the folks in the In Memorium montage, they really need to follow my example on this flog, and institute two Dead Folks Lists, the We'll Always Miss You list, and The Good Riddance List. From this evening's group, I'd move William F. Buckley and Charleton Heston over to The Good Riddance List. They don't deserve to be in a memorial tribute with Alice Ghostly, Deborah Kerr, Abby Mann, and Mel Tolkin. (Tolkin was a wonderful writer, who never penned a word about hobbits.) Frankly, the thing that lived on top of Cheston's head pretending to be his hair should have been honored as well. It certainly upstaged Cheston in his clip from The Colbys.


By the way, both Hugh Hefner and Hilary Clinton appeared in the In Memorium montage. Neither is dead, although viewers of The Girls Next Door may dispute that, and it's Hilary's White House hopes that are deceased.

Eventually we came to the nadir of the evening, the awarding by Jimmy Kimmel of the Host Award for the five horrible hosts. Of course, I always expect the worst when Jimmy Kimmel comes out, and he did not disappoint. Speeches had been cut off, thoughtful intelligent remarks had been shut down, guest presenters had had their bits eliminated, all to make room for this ENDLESS, unfunny piece, just to give an award no one gave a rat's ass about, and they stretched it out over two segments!


Whoever was responsible for this, I hope that they are forced against their will to be stuck all next summer in the Big Brother house with an even sicker bunch of losers than the ratbags who were in there this past summer, and not be allowed to be voted out.

One of the five won it. I can't remotely care who it was, as long as it wasn't Howie.


Then out tottered Mary Tyler Moore, beloved by all who have never worked with her, dressed as though she were 30 years younger than she is. Mary's body however, hadn't gotten the memo. It was like seeing your grandmother in a bikini. Dear, wonderful Betty White, dressed far more appropriately, joined Mary in presenting this hour's award to Tina Fey, and Tina showed a genuine pleasure in being honored by these two icons, though in my own humble and always abject opinion, Tina towers over Mary.

Since they had been short on Republicans in the show (Not that you can ever have few enough Republicans) they trotted out Tom Selleck, wearing Cheston's old hair (Cheston left the thing that lived on his head to Selleck, and it gave birth to Tom's fake mustache. I swear the man was wearing a lip-rug! His head looked faker than Gary Owens's.You'd think Tom would just have some of his abundant chest fur transplanted upwards.) to present the final award, for Outstanding Drama Series or Street Theater. It went to a series no one watches, not even the people on it, but I hear it's good. It's heavily Tivo'd, just never watched.


Meanwhile, all the audience wanted was to kill the hosts, as painfully as possible.

As for me, I lifted a vodka martini in a toast to the comedic genius of Tina Fey. For all the boring crap in this 43 hour program, it was worth it to see her triumph. Let's hope her evil doppleganger has no similar evening of triumph any time soon.

Cheers darlings.