By Dana Miller

Its been a week of long, sad goodbyes for me. My big dog Bo passed. She was a grand old Great Pyrenees clocking in at 150 pounds. She was 13-years-old and I want to believe and pray she loved every moment of her time here. She lived my life. She ran, strolled, embraced, ate, and pooped between the beach in Malibu and the hills in West Hollywood. Bo was a gift to a boyfriend long lost, but not forgotten. Hugh always wanted a big dog and Bo was that salve. The breeder in Phoenix made a pilgrimage all the way to Malibu to insure Bo’s potential home was proper and fitting. Her next door neighbors were to be a tiny Paris Hilton to the north, the Pacific Ocean and Tom and Rita Hanks to the left. Hugh and I were approved, thankfully. I was in Vegas last weekend, yet Bo waited for me to get home to say goodbye. I lay next to her on the kitchen floor for 12 hours. We never took our eyes off one another. We both knew it was time. Right after 9/11 Ryan and I came home from dinner and couldn't find Bo. She loved to roam. If she could escape, she would. We found the old bitch in our next door neighbor’s yard down the hill. It was a two-story drop from our home onto concrete. We called the fire department and they showed up in force with flags, sirens, lights, and pride. Bo was amazingly airlifted onto Sunset Plaza by 12 hunky fire guys. She was fine. She smiled at me from her cradle on the lift. I just know she did it for us. She loved to roam. The wonderful actor and bon vivant Burgess Meredith once called me and screamed, “Get your damned dog outta my house.” Yet he had fed her, played with and petted Bo all day long. My friend and neighbor down the way, the crotchety, ailing, troubled, and funny actor Brian Keith (who would eventually blow his head off), often came by and would steal Bo to romp and “talk.” He was convinced she understood him. Bo and Brian are bitchin’ about me in heaven right now. I've begun a list of those who have made a difference in my life. Bo is at the top.

Another goodbye was for Max. On Sunday we had Maxine Harris' celebration of life at the Renberg Theater at The Village at the Center’s Ed Gould Plaza. It was beautifully put together by good guys Bob Lade and Richard Bondroff. Funny guy Bruce Vilanch, Max’s daughter Monika Harrison, former APLA Executive Director Jimmy Loyce, sweet passionate friend Vallery Kountze and I all spoke. Max was a spirit who believed her calling was to serve. And she did. For almost two decades she was a full-time volunteer at AIDS Project Los Angeles, over the years personally raising almost $2 million. She had courage, strength, balance and humor. She was much loved. Max is on that same list with Bo.

Saturday evening was another long, sad goodbye. Sad in heart, quite gay in spirit. This one was for the attractive and complicated, John Scott. We all convened at a joint I had never been, yet loved. What an extraordinary, wondrous piece of history Yamashiro restaurant is—it is enchanting. It’s above the Magic Castle off Franklin on Sycamore. Built in 1911 as a private mansion, today it is a bewitching dwelling. Virginia Fout and Stewart Powell threw together a festive and loving farewell for John. Lord, how long have I known John? He was Elton John’s realtor in Atlanta. Then he became Elton’s boyfriend. Collectively their greatest accomplishment was the Elton John AIDS Foundation. From its beginning John Scott was its executive director. I watched this kid grow, prosper, and thrive. He led this organization to heights I don’t think really we all ever considered possible. This Southern gentleman was thrown into entertainment nonsense and didn’t just swim, he butterflied through it. He soaked up much, if not all, this silly Camelot has to offer. I believe his head spun here rather than turned. And he is done. Quite simply done. He enjoyed and embraced our breath of life and is over it. Last week, my friend John Scott sailed back to his hometown of Pine Hurst, N.C. It is the beginning of his next chapter. I'm jealous, sad, yet quite simply happy for him. He was one of those who needed to get away—and he did. He's on my short list as well.

I hate goodbyes. I’m lousy at them. It’s like a slow death and to me it’s maddening. Or at the very least, saddening. I honestly cry all the time about people who have passed or moved on. I know and acknowledge that I'm an idiot but I can't help but remember the honest, witty, compassionate, and profoundly moving moments of my life with some folks. Lately it comes to me when I walk the street. If you see a guy at 6 a.m. walking down Orlando with tears in his eyes, it’s likely me. It’s honestly become like a wave. What the hell are we all doing? No one knows. No one has the answer. For some reason lately I'm happy, just not comfortable. I got into this the other evening with a friend who heaped it all on spirituality. He is blessed, ecstatic and shining from his epiphany. Works for him but I don't really buy it. I want to but just don't.

I'm getting of the age that I miss the past. And what is worse is that I see the end game. I mean, no one lives to be 110, and if they do, are they happy? Look, I have been blessed. No doubt. And the last thing I want is to appear incredibly sullen, pompous, self-righteous, and lacking in humor. I've just grown weary of loss. I miss things, hence my list. You get that, right?

I lunched with my pal Kevin Spirtas the other day. He is back in L.A. after a fun but failed run in Las Vegas for Hairspray, in which Kevin played Corny Collins. He starred on Days of Our Lives for years and is also a Broadway vet. He was Hugh Jackman’s standby in The Boy from Oz. Thank God he never had to go on. That was so Jackman’s show. I wanted to know why Kevin thought Hairspray had failed in Vegas. His answer was simple and makes sense. The Vegas crowd is just not ready for a play with a book. Avenue Q went the same fate. Mamma Mia doesn't count—it’s like a greatest hits album. But I contend it could also have been hampered by the Luxor. What a tired dump. The crowd wants glitz and quick reveals. They don't want to think a lot. Except on how to double-down. Kevin sold out his one-man show, Night and Days, last week at L.A. City College. He's back and for now has said goodbye to both Hairspray and Vegas.  

Goodbye from me for now. Going for hellos this week rather than goodbyes. I need a change.

See you Out & About

Contact me at malibudana@aol.com.