I Ain't One To Gossip, But......

Uh oh.

I hear a closet door opening.

Or, ahem, re-opening.

The National Enquirer is re-outing John Travolta--they got him the first time way back in the 80s by reporting his ALLEGED affair with gay porn star Paul Barresi--by divulging secrets found in a new book, You'll Never Spa In This Town Again, by one Robert Randolph.

Randolph says he has personally witnessed Travolta gettin' busy with some menfolk at various hot tubs and spas in Hollywood, and has passed a lie detector test.

Robert Randolph:
"I met John in 1998, after he had married Kelly. I believe the marriage is a total fraud because John is totally into guys and has been having sex with them behind Kelly's back for years."
Randolph, um, lays out the details, too.

But you'll have to read the book to get all the juicy insider info.

Still, the National Enquirer headline was a wee bit amusing, John Travolta Cheats on Wife—With Gay Men!

As opposed to cheating on his wife with straight men?

People magazine reports that after her arrest last week for cocaine possession, heiress, drug addict, fame-whore Paris Hilton has been officially banned from two resorts on the Las Vegas strip.

Spokespeople--and by spokespeople, I mean mafia insiders--for the Wynn and Encore resorts confirmed the ban to People magazine this week.

Hilton was arrested for possession of a controlled substance when police pulled over a car driven by her boyfriend, nightclub executive Cy Waits, after detecting marijuana coming from the vehicle. When a small container of cocaine was discovered in Hilton's purse, she was briefly detained at Clark County Detention Center before being released on bail.

Wynn Las Vegas also announced on Wednesday that Hilton's boyfriend, Waits, had "separated from the company and is free to pursue other interests."

Separated? Fired?

You decide.

Waits was recently promoted to Co-Chief of Nightlife Operations at Wynn Las Vegas and Encore, before his arrest, and Paris has had her own busy summer getting busted for drugs both here and abroad.

And more on the Paris Hilton, um, er, front.

Apparently she is her own drug mule.

A friend--and by friend I mean dealer--of Paris Hilton's says that she is notorious for stashing cocaine.......

In.Her.Vagina.

The source says:

“That’s why the first thing she asked the cops in Vegas was to use the bathroom. She knew it would be her only chance to hide the cocaine and avoid arrest. Paris is not as dumb as she seems. She's one of the most clever and manipulative people one can ever meet. And she thinks quick, just like she did in Vegas. She has cat like reflexes.”

Or drug addict like instincts.
The source also adds that Paris smuggles drugs in a lubricated condom before hiding it in her vagina when she has to go through airport security:
“That’s what I’ve heard from a very good source, she’s a pro at it. Paris travels all over the world and parties like a rockstar. I love her but she definitely needs professional help. It’s time she looks at herself in the mirror and realizes she’s not 21 anymore.”

Oh, but her IQ is still 21, right?

When former Saved By The Bell star, Mark-Paul Gosselaar, and his wife of 13 years, Lisa Ann Russell, announced their separation, and then divorce, earlier this summer, representatives--and by representatives, I mean people who valet his car--for the actor said:

"They have been separated for a couple of months. There is no third party involved. They are working on their marriage."
That's nice.

Except, it ALLEGEDLY isn't true.

A third party is involved and he goes by the name of Jeff Probst, host of Survivor.
That source--when not parking cars--says:

Lisa and Jeff were having an affair for A WHILE!""

And he said it just like that, in all caps!

In fact, Jeff Probst took Lisa Ann with him as his date to the Creative Arts Emmys and the Primetime Emmy Awards telecast this past weekend.

Survive that.

Oprah's former personal chef, and head 'mo at the Grand Old Oprah, Art Smith, married his longtime partner, Jesus Salgueiro, last month. And before the ceremony, Art, Jesus, and their 485 guests went on a four-mile run.

Art Smith:

"We had the runners, the joggers, the walkers. We had sweat on our shirts but nobody cared because it was beautiful. It was this big gay wedding. But it was a wedding made up our friends from all over the world."
Oprah would have come, but that whole running thing? Honey, no. Not even a banquet of Fingerling Potato Salad, Buttermilk Fried Chicken, Smoked Brisket and Barbecue Pulled Pork could get Oprah running toward anything but an express elevator to the buffet table.

Plus, I think Oprah's husband Gayle had to work that weekend.

Jerry Lewis is pissed.

At Lindsanity Lohan.

In a new interview with Inside Edition he says:

"I'd smack her in the mouth if I saw her. I would smack her in the mouth and be arrested for abusing a woman! I would say, 'You deserve this and nothing else' ... WHACK! And then, if she's not satisfied, I'd put her over my knee and spank her and then put her in rehab and that's it."

Then, as his brain kicked in and he realized that announcing on TV that he would beat the cocaine out of Lohan, he turned a bit more loving:

"She doesn't have the right to do to herself what she's doing. She's not hurting my business. What she's doing is hurting herself, and that hurts me. It hurts me for her."

And while Lindsanity hasn't commented, perhaps there was a party or something she had to get to, Lindsay's mom-Media-Whore-Drug-Mule-Manager is said to be "shocked"by Jerry Lewis' comments.

Of course, Jerry has no love for Paris cokehead Hilton, though he does seem to think that Britney is back on track.

Then he went off again:

I think they need a &$%#@& spanking! And a reprimand! It has nothing to do with [money and fame], it has to do that they have the intelligence of a box of rocks. A bag of snails will give you better answers than those people. I think a great deal of it is ignorance and crying for something other than love."

You're preachin' to the choir Jerry.

Circularity

Last night we watched Milk; great film, great story. It makes me want to re-re-read The Life and Times of Harvey Milk: The Mayor of Castro Street.

But this post is about the circularity of random thought; how I tend to start at one sort of innocuous point and then begin talking only to arrive back at my starting place. Like last night, as we're lying in bed, just about to go to sleep, I say:

Sean Penn was Harvey Milk and Emile Hirsch was Cleve Jones in the movie.

Yeah.

Well, Sean Penn also directed Emile Hirsch in Into The Wild, that movie about the kid that gives away all his money and travels the country and ends up in Alaska, where he dies?

What?

And remember when Cleve was talking to that girl in Milk, and saying he was taking her dancing at The Stud?

Uh....okay.

Well, I've been to The Stud. I didn't realize it was open way back in the 70s.

Oh, so what did you do at The Stud?

Funny story....one time we'd gone wine tasting in Napa, and a group of us decided to go into the city for the evening. Well, we wound up south of market and ate dinner at a little Italian place. Then Maria said we should go to The Stud. We all thought it a good idea except Robbie.

Who's Robbie?

The only straight guy in the crowd. Well, I was the only gay guy, and there was Robbie and Vicki and Diane and Maria--who I told you looks like Ramona from Real Housewives.

Okay?

So, Robbie says, "The Stud" sounds like a gay bar. And Maria and I say, "Oh no, it's not." So we walk down Folsom and we head into The Stud, with Robbie looking a bit more petrified with each step. "Are you sure it isn't gay?" he asked. "No." So we walked into The Stud and the first thing Robbie sees is some hot guy on the bar dancing in his tighty whities! He looked like he was gonna run, so I told him we'd have one drink and if he didn't want to stay then we'd go. He asked me what he should do if a guy asked him to dance or something.

And what did you say?

I said dance if you wanna dance.....and if you wanna do something, well, go ahead.

Uh....huh.....

And then, just down the street from The Stud was a place called The Paradise Lounge. It was a punk club for a while and then turned into a kind of throw-back-to-the-fifties nightclub. When it was punk, it was right after it was a YMCA, and they put a Plexiglas floor over the pool so you could dance over it.

That sounds cool.

It was until the yuppies came in. It went from punk to after work cocktails in about a week. But then as Paradise Lounge, they would have local bands play. One of them was The Fabulous Bud. E. Love Show.

Who's that?

Bud. E. Love was Jerry Lewis's alternate personality in the original The Nutty Professor. And this Bud E. Love at the Paradise had a whole sort of 1950s Vegas lounge act thing that he did. And right it front of the band was a tiny, tiny dance floor. Well, Bud E. was singing and this couple got up to dance and so Bud E. started doing that Sammy Davis Jr thing, that bow-chicky-bow-ka-chow, and he said to the band, "Bring it down fellas." And then he tapped the couiple and said "When Bud E. sings....Nobody dances!" Cracked me up.

Why are you telling me this. I'm tired.

Because like I said, Jerry Lewis played the original Bud E. Love.

So?

Jerry Lewis won an Honorary Oscar the night Sean Penn won for Milk.

So.

Sean Penn, Emile Hirsch. The Stud. Paradise Lounge Jerry Lewis. Sean Penn. Circularity.

Go. To. Sleep!