Celebrities Sunny-Side Up

It was almost impossible, but we're takin' a brief break from bitchin' to dote on all the delightful things in T-town we aren't hating on—yep, all four of 'em. Don't worry, we'll return to our grumpy goss quicker than Lindsay Lohan returned that fur coat, fer sure. Plus, which celeb's style is surprising and whose is just plain scary? Read on!

Move Over Monday Moaning

Welcome to week two of Ted and Jon's far-away love holiday, and I hope all of you and your moms had a magnificent Mother’s Day, or as I imagine “Mother of the Year” Dina Lohan might call it, “Day-Long Happy Hour!” With all this joy being thrown at me every which way, I couldn’t in good conscience come up with a list of things I loathe—gotta take some time out now and then to sniff some chrysanthemums, n’est-ce pas? So here’s our first (and prolly only) Love List. Back to more bitching tomorrow, trust.

Brand-New View:  Finally, a tell-all with something to tell! We thought Kathleen Turner’s tome was a page-turner...until she had to take back her too-amazing-to-be-true Nicolas Cage dognapping anecdote. Hopefully Barbara Walters sticks to her salacious stories, including a two-year affair with an African-American politician, and all the behind-the-scenes scandals at The View. With tales like these, Barb should be the one interviewed more often.

Iron Strikes Gold:  I knew naught about Iron Man walking into the theater, since I consider both superhero movies and comic books as substandard ways to fill my time. No offense to you graphic-novel geeks out there, but the genre just doesn’t do it for me. But I was filled with genuine glee to discover a well-written and well-directed flick, starring atypical action celebs like Robert Downey Jr., Jeff Bridges and Gwyneth Paltrow. Not only was Iron Man number one at the box-office, it gave me hope that a summer pic without pirates, pimped-out childhood playthings or a three-hour running time could be successful.

Happy Hilton:  I originally detested Paris and Benji as a couple—the pair's PDAs would make Drew Barrymore and Justin Long puke. Their whole relaysh came off like a ploy to keep their names in the news (as if Par-poo ever had a problem doing that). And who the ef gets a diamond ring with the initials of the babe or boy they're bangin’ after just a few measly weeks? But I’ve either grown used to their constant frolic-and-flaunting hand holding, or maybe I've just been worn down. P.H. claims that her clubbing days are done and that she and B.M. stay in and play Monopoly. (You so know Par always grabs the terrier as her game piece; she can’t keep her mitts of any mutt in her eyesight.) The other Madden bro sure knew how to housebreak Nicole, and anything that keeps Paris indoors and off the streets is a friend of mine.

Brit Me Baby One More Time:  We aren't joyless jerks who would shoot bullets Wild West-style at someone’s feet just to be entertained. So we’re so glad to see Britney Spears back on another ep of How I Met Your Mother, surely making every network exec at CBS uncork a bottle of champs as they prepare to swim in their inevitable river of ratings. And B-doll actually showed her butt up to a custody hearing! On time! Wearing clothes that fit her! Without driving over a pap’s foot! B.S. has exchanged jaunts to Rite Aid in favor of the gym, some true-blue baby steps back to the “Slave 4 U” Spears we still see in our dreams—the one who wore two pairs of panties, one under and one over her jeans, just to be safe.

Curious? Confused? Missing Casablanca?

Got a burning Q you desperately need put out and can't wait for Ted to get back? Don't stop, drop and roll, email Becky and she'll do her best to answer all your angry letters and quippy comments.