By Dana Miller

I don’t deserve this column, but I have a hangover and don’t deserve that either. When we have actors yelling, ‘faggot,’ and athletes proclaiming they don’t like gays and are proud to be homophobic, our little hamlet of West Hollywood seems safe, yes? Not so fast. Last Saturday I volunteered for the AIDS Project Los Angeles food drive at Gelson’s in the ‘hood. I’ve done it for a decade. Here’s the routine: You ask folks as they enter if they might help out APLA’s clients and then hand them a flier of what we need that day. Folks buy a can of soup, a razor, shampoo and hand it over as they exit. Ninety-five percent of people are sweet and obliging. Then there are the idiots. I totally understand and honor their saying “not today.” One kid said, “I’m down to my last 20 bucks.” I sent him to Pavilions. What shocked me was the genuine mental instability that frequents Kings Road and Santa Monica Boulevard. Two gents said, “Couldn’t be less interested.” I mean, “no thanks” would have worked. One old geezer proclaimed that AZT stopped all that and suggested I should “go enjoy the day.” A mate of a former fellow APLA board member, both of whom I have known for years, kissed me, took the flier and promised to return with blessings. I was stunned minutes later to see the rascalette exit the other door and detour 100 parking spaces away to avoid having to hand me a $1.99 can of soup. But here’s the kicker: One kinda hot middle-aged guy looked at me, heard my plea and simply said, “fag.” That was it. “Fag.” As you stand there representing a wonderful organization, you can do nothing else but bite your tongue. So I simply leaned into his ear and suggested he join a bridge club. He said, “What the hell does that mean.” I said he could jump off one next week. I have never liked formlessness, bad manners, obscurantism and vulgarity when it’s sincere. Never assume you are liked nor loved in what should be your safe area. Diabolism abounds.

I hit a fun red carpet affair the other night at the Hollywood History Museum on Highland. I have written of it before. It’s a diverting, campy kinda place that you should check out if you are into Hollywood stuff at all. It’s in the old Max Factor building. This was a bash thrown by Los Angeles Times publisher David Hiller for my pal Tom O’Neil. Tom is the creator of www.theenvelope.com. It’s the Times’ cool, comprehensive and commendable coverage of all things awards. As I arrived, there was an old 1981 black Lincoln Town Car pulling into a handicapped spot. Out popped a stunning lady of indiscernible age and a large queen in full black leather with wild Hugh Jackman-as-Wolverine hair. Odd couple, I thought. The gent reminded me of the late Bernard Lafferty, the faithful bloated sloppy servant of that dead whack job billionaire Doris Duke. Or better yet, Victor Buono’s Edwin Flagg character from What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? Carefully, he went to the trunk of the tarnished Town Car and pulled out a tiny little hat box. The two strolled the red carpet with the box, and into the party we collectively went. The dame was mobbed as she entered. I soon learned she was former child star Margaret O’Brien who was born right here in Los Angeles in 1937. She was one of the most popular child stars of the 1940s appearing in Jane Eyre with Elizabeth Taylor and Meet Me in St. Louis with Judy Garland in 1944. That was the year she won the Outstanding Child Actress Oscar or, if you choose, Honorary Juvenile Award. That’s what Bernard/Edwin had hidden in the hat box. Out he pulled the miniature statuette that she had won back in 1944. It’s cheesy, like 6 inches tall and mounted on a plastic stand. The buddy I was with is a collector and was willing to offer her $150,000 then and there for it. But, alas, he didn’t have the balls to make the offer for fear of insulting the duchess. In 30 years when old Margaret passes on he’ll buy it from Bernard/Edwin for 10 times more. Hollywood is a very weird place. Tiny Oscar was soon returned to its hat box coffin and the winner and her queen fled in the Lincoln.  

I was honored to deliver the eulogy for Lillian Mattis Tinsley Palmieri LeBaron Russin last Sunday. She was the beloved mother to our community’s own Ronald Jason Palmieri. I didn’t write it—he couldn’t deliver it, so there I was. There was a reception following at Ron’s home where everyone drank too much and ate too much and it was lovely. During it all, poor Ron was dealing with the press after his longtime client Zsa Zsa Gabor’s husband, Prince Frederic von Anhalt, comically announced he was likely the father of Anna Nicole Smith’s baby. How whacked is that? Bet the Prince’s Bentley is trolling Vaseline Alley as I write this. Hollywood is a very weird place. Rest in sweet, sweet peace, Lillian.

Had a quick chat this morning with my old pal David Galligan who is staging and directing his 23rd annual miraculous S.T.A.G.E event taking place March 10-11. David was as gay and charming as ever. It’s again a benefit for APLA and for the fourth time salutes the music of Stephen Sondheim. These are always a kick and after years of being in the boonies, David is bringing the show back to Beverly Hills at the Wilshire Theatre. Great artists always perform, but this year Desperate Housewives’ creator Marc Cherry called David and asked to be included. Cherry is a Sondheim freak and is bringing along a housewife to perform with him. The whole damn thing will be an absolute smash! Call (323) 656-9069 for tickets.

While on my benefit bend, my philanthropic pals Alan Friel and John Duran are again co-hosting their annual ACLU bash in Bel Air on March 1. This year actor and activist Chad Allen and Here! network founders Stephen Jarchow and Paul Colichman will be honored. This is the last year that Alan and John will be involved. That is reason enough to support the blessed event. Duran continues his gig as a West Hollywood City Councilmember as well as president of the board of the Sacramento-based Equality California. Alan is always busting me to support some wonderful cause. He and I are bringing back Labor Day L.A. this year. It’s phenomenal and swell to watch committed folks. These two gents are among the very best we have. For Alan, John, Chad and Here!, let’s all aid this ACLU Lesbian and Gay Rights and AIDS Projects affair. Call (310) 284-8566 for tickets.

I loved lunch today with Dan Moriarty at El Coyote. Dan is the director of development at APLA and one sweet guy. Over tacos, we talked and giggled about everyone and everything. Over the check he announced he was leaving the agency. It’s simply time for another chapter. As in everything Dan does, he has chosen to exit with elegance and class. He is a gem in a tough job. I shall miss him, but I’ll bet ya APLA will miss him more.

I’ve turned in my nominees to be honored at our annual Gay Pride Parade. Deadline for your ideas is March 1. I wouldn’t bet the house on my suggestions. I’m not loved by those Pride folks. Hell, I’m not even liked. And who could blame them. I’m late for a premature ejaculation meeting, but I have to leave early. Why are you still reading this?

See You Out & About

Contact me at malibudana@aol.com.