• Ego Makeover? Perhaps, shoulda known somethin' was up with Ty Pennington, back when I interviewed the Extreme Makeover: Home Edition's Constance Ramos. She was so coy, wouldn't really fess up what it was like to work with the infamously moussed Home-boy, only to blab it was impossible to get the damn mirrors away from that screaming southerner. Sounds sorta like a guy who could possibly piss off members of a sweet little unassuming American town, eh? EMHE is filming in Milbridge, Maine. And some locals ain't impressed: “He wasn't a real nice guy to work with,” revealed one Mainer. “Can't say that's a surprise.”
Santa Monica Police Department
But somethin' that sure was a shocker to moi was that Mr. Pee, we're told, was most festive while in town filming. Sorta reminds me of the time back in West Hollywood, May 25 to be exact, when Ty-love pulled what so many others have been busy derailing with: a DUI plea. Could Pennington have done an overpartied performance up in Bush country? Lindsay Lohan, look what you've gotten chic again, you Mercedes-eating idiot!
But hold on: We rang up Milbridge’s chief o' police, who said he had “no problem” with Mr. P, legal or otherwise, and other townfolk we tracked down found Ty to be “great.” So, what gives? Coulda been the rain that made Ty & Co. a crank-a-thon, as it poured for several days straight in Milbridge while Extreme was redoing the house being used for the episode. Or just T’s annoying coif, which‘ll get anybody feelin’ hairy, fer sure.
Alberto E. Rodriguez/WireImage.com
• Vampires for Sale? Desk Toledo, so crackerjack in its real estate scoops, informs us Tom Cruise-ites here at Awful that the mansion Tom and Katie purchased under another name is now again on the market. Just as well, as the only times Mr. and Mrs. C (version three) would use the $2 million pad was at night, so no one could see the odd couple with their pageboy do's and secret-agent trenches.
“A car would always pull up after dark,” dished DT, “and drop them off, silently.” Jeez. Sounds like perf nabes to this disco-blaring queen, but what the hell do I know about living in the 'burbs?
• Gives Great Bread! Whitney Houston must miss makin' out with that old slutty hubby of hers, somethin' fierce. Bobby's estranged hon just hit La Guardia in New Yawk. Must have been changing planes. Or just hungry for a succulent snack to munch on.
Ms. H, in a blazer, jeans and high heels, stopped by Nathan's Famous for a fresh dog, piping hot and delicious. Well, Whitney-babe sure thought it was, because my newest installed detective for things fake and phallic, Desk Weenie, trailed the damn bitch for practically the whole length of the terminal, trying to figure out what in the world the once-rumored drug taker was saying or doing (besides, I hear, looking “out of it,” like quelle surprise there, sis).
“Mmmhwahm,” Whitney said to her party, which included a dude and a gal, who seemed to speak Hot-Dog-ese beautifully (or at least pretended to). “Mwwhuumwhuah,” Houston contintued, and so on.
Houston, for the skeletal record, is still very, very thin. Good thing she's attacking those carbs, is all I have to say here—other than glad to hear the seen-it-all gal still looks pretty good with no cake on her puss.
• Driving Mr. Chintzy: Even though stars have megamoney, amazing houses and tons of green, some aren't the most generous tippers...This is a surprise? Hardly. Indeed, some celebs don't tip at all. Take Kelsey Grammer, for ince. The dude's got two Golden Globes, too many Emmys and a new show about newspeeps called Back to You, but he still failed to tip a driver recently. I know I'm disappointed, you?
Rogers and Cowan
The hired hand was way mad that even after helping Kelsey with his bags and waiting outside for a very long time, Frasier himself didn't even deign to give a dollar to his driver.
The Beckhams also allegedly don't tip, according to this same fancy-butt carrier, but maybe it's because they're British? Nice to know there are some celebrated hons, on the other manicured hand, who are mucho generous to service peeps: “Clint Eastwood is the best,” dishes one liveried worker bee. “Total class act and never has an entourage.”
Come to think of it, Eastwood's one of the few Oscar collectors we've seen backstage at the Academy Awards who actually likes to stay and dish awhile. Knew he was different.
Harrison Ford, shopping at Whole Foods, Santa Monica. Rumpled and disheveled in the veggie section, H.F. was solo. Calista, sorry to say, was not round to squeeze Harry's melons, which were sheathed in tan exercise shorts. A gray shirt and man sandals finished off the just-so unstudied ensemble. H-babe was gabbin' on the horn, too, talkin' about going to his son's Culver City eatery, Ford's Filling Station. What a good papa, just as devoted as that Texan peddler par excellence…
Leeza Gibbons is to selling whatever products she's always going on about, Bryant Park, InWhySee. This time round, Ms. Gee was filming an infomercial for a cosmetics line called Sheer Cover. L.G. was in a purple knit dress with a wide belt around her impressively svelte waist, not bad for a hon past 50! Coiffure was thick but stiff-looking, must hasten to add, always such the downfall with those Dallas broads. Simply a tangled mess, appearance-wise, would be...
Jon Lovitz, eating a burger by his lonesome at the Hamburger Haven, West Hollywood. Shame, as those mushroom jobs are meant to be devoured all party-like! Perhaps J.L. was telling the poor recipient of his cell call—in between mouthfuls—how delish it all was? Doubt it. He was probably complaining.
See, honoree Liz Taylor, who’s done more for AIDS awareness than you’ve done for Taco Bell sales, is getting an award—plus, she’s autographing, for auction, that famous Herb Ritts shot of her shaved head, taken when La Liz had her brain surgery.
Darling. Brit-babe. Please come on over and get the bidding started somethin’ fierce, ‘cause you’re the shaved rebel that photo was meant for, trust.
There's a terribly famous actress from another place, as it were (not Mars), who's currently stirring up the pot between her past man and her present man. Everybody's in such a dither as to what her agenda was/is with these wholly opposite dudes, it's all making the lesbian hon's plan work beautifully. That's right. She likes the shes.
(Oh, and no, the above does not let you all off the hook for tomorrow's Blind installment, which is so yummy, so sinful, so salaciously homo-laden, promise you won't mind the torture one more time!)