Thank you all for participating in last week's "G Spot Sweepstakes," in which your challenge was to find three glaring errors in the column! The grand prize for this fabulous contest was a round-trip ticket to glamorous New York City where you would have stayed for three days and two nights on the futon in my living room/kitchen/parlor/salon/kitchen. New York winners would have received an alternate prize: a one-day Metrocard fun-pass and a handful of stolen credit cards!

The winning mistakes, of course, were

1) the misspelling of Marc Anthony's name (you didn't think that with Breakup Girl's love for the salsa superstar that I'd actually spell him wrong on purpose?)

2) calling Rosemary Clooney the mother of George Clooney (and not, clearly, the aunt), and

3) the mention of Michael McConaughey, as opposed to percussionist Matthew.

I thank the many thousands of you who sent in their answers; yet, unfortunately, no one found all three of the mistakes, so no prize can be given. Maybe next time!

Ahem, now onto the "news"...

The Way She Was

Last night, Breakup Girl (still frazzled from breaking in her alter ego's new Chelsea offices) and I (still frazzled from opening an ornery jar of dill pickles) whisked ourselves to the East Village's Dominion Theatre to catch an intimate cabaret showcase by Barbra Streisand. That's right. Babs in all her eccentric, marvelous glory. Of course, since everything is so virtual these days, she was played by internationally-acclaimed impersonator Stephen Brinberg, who is actually better than the real thing. On top of a cavalcade of classics, Brinberg also delivered such oddities as "Close To You" and "Home On The Range," done up in that trilling, overdramatic style that Barbie is so known for. The room was filled with forty-something semi-famous fabuolas who were more familiar with her oeuvre than we were -- though as BG and I are personally well-acquainted with the conventions and travails of divadom, we enjoyed it so immensely that we stayed for hours at the tuna tartare and gouda-bedecked after-party, hoping in vain for another glimpse of the faux galactic celebrity.

Well, What If She Doesn't Wanna?

I hope none of you accidentally sat through that horrible Chris O'Donnell movie this weekend, but if you did, I have yet another rich bachelor looking to get hitched. Master Puffster, the Puff Daddums, the puffiest of the suga' dads, announced at his 29th birthday party this past week that he would love to make "Waiting For Tonight" vixen Jennifer Lopez his puffy momma, his nuptial sweet nasty. Conveniently for Puff, Jenny was in LA for the week making a movie -- you know, her day job -- so he may be all talk. (Especially since I heard she just bought a new apartment out there.) She did make a video for Puff, however -- dressed up like Marilyn Monroe, whispering "Happy Birthday," you know, that whole old-as-stale-cake thing. Some of the other guests who saw the semi-Latina sync to the oldies included Mary J. Blige, Jay-Z, and Li'l Kim, wearing a few random shreds of cloth.

Puff really does seem smitten with Jen (so much so that he's actually being charged by the NYPD of assaulting a fashion publicist who dared -- dared! -- talk to the singer). The publicist claims that while chatting her up, Puff sashayed over and popped the him in the cheek. The police were called, and the victim purported fear for his life. I wouldn't be as afraid of Puff hitting me as I would of him sampling me in one of his unoriginal lite-rap tunes.

Further proof that Puff is aggressively ghetto fabulous? The Daily News reports that Puff and his clan "bum-rushed" the door at a recent exclusive party at the China Club, nearly crushing the doorman underfoot. This just minutes after Jay-Z and his all-in-black-leather-and-designer pack were denied entrance! Talk about dying to get into a party!

Boiling Love

Wait, did I say last week that Mariah Carey and Luis Miguel might be kaput? Cancel that! At least, they appeared happy according to The Post, which reported the two of them livin' it up in a hot tub in Capri shortly before Mary completed work on her latest album, "Rainbow." Apparently, her hotel rules stated that only one person at a time could be in the hot tub. But that's no fun! So the "Heartbreaker" songstress crept over to her Latin boy toy's bubbling tub ... and rub a dub dub! The flirty Ms. Mariah does claim she's still madly in lust over her passionate Lu, but could she, like, maybe bring him into the sun light occasionally? She's yet to make a major public appearance with him. Maybe at all the award shows she'll be going to .... oh, wait a minute, she's Mariah Carey. She doesn't win awards! (Do you all remember when she was up for 11 Grammys and had four dresses ready to change into so she would look different each time? She didn't win a single one! Hys-TER-ical!)

Sexiest, My Foot!

People Magazine dabbled in surrealism last week when it gave its Sexiest Man Alive distinction to "Runaway Bride" costar Richard Gere. While Gere is not unattractive, I'd hardly say he deserves such a glowing honor in the place of younger, hotter, sexier stars. For instance, when the announcement was made, Taye Diggs had the two top-grossing films at the box office, "The Best Man" and "The House On Haunted Hill." Diggs is eight trillions times sexier than Gere because, unlike Rick, he's decades away from Viagra. Besides, Ole Silver Head had his day back when he flaunting his stuff around in "American Gigolo." Does being older necessarily make him sexier? Granted, who among us would throw him out of bed? What do you think? ["That a woman his age would never get that award?" -- BG]

American Ugly

I am about to sway your opinion of Kevin Spacey. Though he's one of this country's finest actors, he can be a bit of a primadonna, as divulged in this little tale told to me by a very reliable source. A couple of years ago, my source and her girlfriends were enjoying a few drinks standing at the bar of a swank Los Angeles nightclub, when Kevin Spacey sauntered in with an anonymous buxom blonde. ("But, Gregoire, what about all those supposed gay rumors?" you may be asking. I never said that Kevin, in his current incarnation as Big Hollywood Actor, was a homosexual. Of course, whatever you may have done in your past and whatever photographic evidence may exist to prove it is an entire different matter.)

Anyway, one of my spy's party was wearing a backpack which would occasionally graze against the back of Spacey's date. After a few moments of this, the date turned and told the friend to stop. Of course, as human nerve endings do not extend to our portages of choice, the person unknowingly continued with this gentle annoyance. This attracted the attention of Spacey, who firmly and loudly told this person to stop. When the person with the bag proceeded to explain that she didn't realize what she was doing, Spacey angrily aimied a list of expletives at the stunned women (including "a bunch of the c-words, and I'm not talkin "cuties," my friends!).

Naturally, the women, shaken at being cursed at by an Academy Award winner, moved to another area of the bar, though my spy reported that Spacey later saw her at the bar ... and blew smoke in her face!

I present that tale to you first, so that this next little tidbit will seem all the sleazier. Apparently Kev was present at Veruka restaurant last week when Lisa Ling and Star Jones from "The View" playfully mimicked the Lucy Liu/Calista Flockhart smooch from "Ally McBeal." Spacey was so aroused that he asked the two to do it again, which they did!

Space, dearest, we get that you're heterosexual. Now when will you stop acting like a 12-year-old heterosexual?

Reaching The Highest Plato

And finally, faithful readers will remember that I revealed a few weeks ago that my mother was a close friend of the "real" mother of late "Diff'rent Strokes" actress, Dana Plato. She assailed my matron with such tragic stories as the time Dana came over for Thanksgiving only to leave the table repeatedly to use the restroom and come back absolutely oblivious to the little white dots of cocaine that seasoned the front of her black sweater.

Well, Dana does indeed live beyond the grave! Her "other" mother -- the mother who presumably raised her -- is going to open a museum or restaurant in her dead daughter's honor. Here's the catch: this certainly rich collection of Dana artifacts will be displayed ... in the very Oklahoma trailer home where she was found dead! The place will be called Dana's Place or Dana's Café, and I presume it will have such delicacies on its menu as chicken Drummond-sticks, Todd Bridges' stolen-recipe ribs, Arnold shortcake, and Kimberly's surprise (black cake with a powdered sugar sprinkle). How about we all convene upon this place when it opens next year, and I'll have my first Gregoire Live at the very spot that our fair Dana suffered the fatal, last cancellation of her life? Shall we make it a date then?

Because the world don't move by the beat of just one drum (unless you're Michael, er, Matthew McConaughey),

Gregoire

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