Moi and all my other straight male compatriots (Go Broncos!) are still reeling, nay, squealing about this past week's break-up of the moment. No, not Andre Agassi and Brooke Unibrow, and not even Wayne Gretsky and whatever baseball team he plays for. We're talking about the messy divorce between Pamela Anderson and her silicone! Seems the former Baywatch blow-up doll decided to go back to her original cup size -- which I will remind readers was not exactly contact-lense-esque to begin with -- and save herself back problems and horrific sag in the future. The other guys in the locker room say this is surely the end of Pammy's career, but I say she's fabulous!

After almost single-handedly warping the self-image of women by carving herself into a top-sided bimbo, Pam's decided to go legitimately buxom, and hopefully other bimbos will follow her example and throw their silicone implants into toxic waste dumps around the country, where they will remain for centuries for future archaeologists to discover and wonder what they were used for. (Religious artifacts? Stress toys?)

But it seems she's already too late to set an example for one burgeoning bimbette, the inconceivably popular Tiffany, I mean, Brittney Spears. The Post reported last week that Spears, a mere 17, has already received breast implants. This despite the fact that her natural boobies have barely burst forth. And, as my girlfriends say, she's certain to get a growth spurt around 20 or so, which means Brittney's going to get up one day and break in half. What I don't get is why go to so much trouble when you're career's going to be over in six months anyway?

My First Blind Item (I'm so proud!)

One fancy boy who will not be fazed by Pam's silly con is ... oh, I'm not telling! I don't believe in "blind items" -- no, not braille, though I don't believe in that either -- those vaguely worded over-the-top scandals with the names conveniently left out to protect the not-so-innocent. But sometimes it's a gossip's only defense against possible disbelief, so in this case I'm taking the hush-hush route. Seems a certain international singing sensation on the verge of making a HUGE splash in the states is scaring his major-label people half to death because he's gay (make that really gay!) and not afraid to use it. Seems, further, that the boy makes scenes wherever he goes including a certain professional "coming out" that he recently received on television. Marketing of this artist has focused on every strained detail of his life, except the romantic ones. If you don't know who this is by now, then you haven't been watching television. (He pops in, time and again, between your favorite TV shows.) I'd tell you his name, but I'm not done milking my industry source dry yet. As my mama Mary always told me: "Sure, burn your bridges, but set your fires by remote control from another state."

Misguided Angel

Remember back a couple weeks when I dismissed the possible coupling of Angelina Jolie and Timothy Hutton as a mere fluke? Well. Seems Angie and Timmy were all over each other at a Manhattan pub this past week, and their third wheel of a companion looked on in disgust! Tim, bay-bee, you scored; Angelina's the name being bandied around to become the third Charlie's Angel (after Drew Barrymore and Cameron Diaz) in a big-screen update. Personally, I hope they pick another candidate, Jennifer Lopez, instead. Imagine how hot THAT gun-totin' Angel's silhouette will be!

Speaking of odd couples making out, seems Tori Spelling was fastened with lip gel to fallen action star Jean Claude Van Damme at a resort in the Bahamas. They disappeared together, presumably to deconstruct Tori's boob job! If Jean Claude shows up on Sunset Beach within the next six months, you'll know why.

Mr. and Mrs. Popularity

I've been getting such a flood of letters that I actually had to hire a temp from the back pages of the Village Voice. (I didn't know you paid temps by the hour!) Anyway, after a courteous massage, the temp said I've been getting tons of mail about two current hotties: preggers darling Reese Witherspoon, and naughty boy Ewan McGregor. Sorry to say I've got no piece about Reese, whom I adore like a fellow Southern sister. What with Reese's impending marriage/birth vesselage to sculpted blondie Ryan Phillippe, she hasn't disappeared from the public eye, despite well- publicized attempts to keep private. (A reader informed me he thought Ryan and Reese may have gotten married secretly in Charleston, SC; my southern correspondants are checking into this.) I say the only scandal involving Reese is all yours if you actually walk this earth without catching her whammo performance in Freeway. The gal is sweet candy!

Ewan -- Sir Ewan in approximately 15 years, mark my words -- is everywhere thanks to enslaught of Star Wars:The Phantom Menace press. (Am I the only person who's only modestly interested in this film? I'm catching it on video!) He's certain to make some stateside appearances over the next couple months if he can wrangle out of his popular London stage appearance in "Little Malcolm And His Struggle Against The Eunuchs." Fans wanting to see his penis again will not be disappointed -- the boy drops trou at so much as a downward glance! -- though no touchy-touchy. Ewan's got a gorgeous French wife and a cute baby, Clara. (Didn't seem to stop him on the set of The Velvet Goldmine though, where he was making out with Christian Bale so passionately during one scene that -- oblivious -- they continued to go at it even when the director cried "Cut!"

His next film project will be a rock opera with Nicole Kidman (another newbie to the stage who likes to get naked!) directed by Baz Luhrmann, best known to 15-year-olds as Leo's director in Romeo + Juliet and to those slightly older as the producer of the tedious spoken word hit "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)."

Sightings

I went to see the four-and-a-half-hour Kevin Spacey vehicle "The Iceman Cometh" on Broadway, and -- since it's near impossible to get tickets and they're so damn expensive when you do -- the room was loaded with stars! Diane Sawyer was seen double-fisting glasses of wine -- hopefully, she was waiting for somebody; would hate to think the old girl likes to chug Chardonnay. As I was visiting the urinal in the men's room, I looked next to me and discovered Rob Morrow with some, um, southern exposure right next to me. I was pleased to see that he was as sullen as ever (that's ALL I saw, thank you beaucoup). After the show I spotted Darth Vader's aunt Martha Stewart wearing a smart green shawl and matching high heels. Lovely ensemble, though her face looked like she'd been in the kitchen all day. Soup's on!

Breakup Girl, who, like me, reads books and cocktail napkins, went to a party for a new CD called "Authors Sing!" and spotted novelist Amy Tan, who looked "stunning," plus Ray Blount and Oscar Hijuelos, who looked "less stunning." Yes, boss, but how did they sound?

A spy at the nearby Marriott was shocked to see none other than bird magnet Fabio -- with no noticeable facial scarring! ... meaning the bird that hit him on the roller coaster two weeks ago either 1) did more career damage than physical damage, or 2) made poor Windblown Man invest in hundreds of dollars of concealing cosmetics. Could Fabio be dousing his chiseled features in Estee Lauder?

Love advice, from me?

I've received a couple letters from fans asking ME for relationship advice, instead of going to the messiah herself, Breakup Girl. Though I'm flattered that you'd care, I mean honestly, I'm sitting here by myself at a bar, prying into the private lives of public figures. Would YOU trust my advice?

And finally, one curious reader actually wrote Breakup Girl asking "I was just curious, but somebody once told me that Gregoire is gay. Is that true?" It's all a horrible, horrible lie! Did you read that in a blind item somewhere? I'm actually so heterosexual that the government has told me to disguise myself as a homosexual, lest I create a panic. It's hard to squelch my butchness, but, bless my soul, I do try!

Until Ethan dumps Uma for me,

Gregoire

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