by Dana Miller

I'm laughing and crying, singing and smiling, and I may just let that damn parade pass you by ... unless you speak up.

By the time you read this, I will have delivered the most difficult eulogy of my life. And that's saying something. My dear sweet friend and laugh partner, Ron Wanless, passed away a couple of Saturdays ago and it has swacked me beyond belief. Ron was smart, erudite, witty and quite possibly the very best monologist on earth. Everyone dies. Few people live. Ron really lived. I'll have more on the wonder of Ron and his amazing and awe-inspiring conversion to bravery in my next column. He always made me smile, and now I just can't stop crying. Last Saturday I walked over to Sir Speedy to pick up Ron’s memorial notices. In honor of Ron, I thought it best I stuff the envelopes in a bar, so I headed to Eleven. Stuffed and stewed, I headed for the post office and, as I passed the East/West Lounge, I ran into my old pal Chip Arndt. I've known Chip for years and he was a great friend of Ron’s. Chip and his posse were throwing a bash to raise awareness and dough for an important new organization, Gay American Heroes Foundation. The goal is simple, solemn and sweet: honor and remember LGBT victims of hate crimes. Let’s pledge to never forget those who have been murdered because of their sexual orientation. Ryan Skipper, Sean Kennedy, Barry Winchell, Brandon Teena, Jessica Mercado, Amancio Corrales, Michael Stanley and so many more. They had a mini-model there at East/West of a tribute wall that will travel and honor the fallen. It will reach colleges, gay Pride celebrations and communities all across the USA. This is a grand idea. Go to GayAmericanHeroes.com for more information on how you can get involved. How many more gay murders before you and I get enmeshed and raise awareness? I sat there at the bar chatting with friends with Ron’s memorial invites stuffed and stamped in a crumpled Sir Speedy bag, proudly honoring gay American heroes. Ron must have loved it!

I used to hang at a little spot at a small mall high atop Beverly Glen just south of Mullholland called Adriano's. It is long gone but has been spectacularly replaced by a jazz joint called Vibrato. Herb Alpert, the “A” in A&M Records, owns the place. The setting is magical, with a permanent stage as the focus and looming over the giant bar are bronze busts of Satchmo, trombonist Tyree Glenn and clarinetist Barney Bigard, blowing their collective horns overhead like angels at the pearly gates. The other evening my Ryan and I were invited by a pal to fall in and see the great songwriter Alan Bergman perform at Vibrato. Alan, 81 years old, and his wife Marilyn have been writing songs together for 52 years. Their stunning repertoire includes Sinatra's “Nice ‘N’ Easy,” “The Windmills of Your Mind,” “The Way We Were,” “You Don't Bring Me Flowers,” “What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?” and so many more. The great director Norman Jewison was there. Over the years he has tapped Marilyn and Alan to write hit after hit for his movies like In the Heat of the Night, The Thomas Crown Affair and Best Friends. Five minutes to showtime Barbra Streisand and Jim Brolin plopped down right next to us. The room was jammed with 150 folks, most of whom had just dropped in for a drink or dinner, not knowing what was up. The Bergmans have written more than 50 songs that Barbra has recorded. They have known her since she was 19. The show was fascinating and, to my mind, a triumphant success. To watch a gent with several rings on his trunk interpret standards he has written was wondrous and thrilling for me. For his closing number, Alan looked at Barbra and announced to us he was either insane or had incredible chutzpa to sing this song in front of her. He closed with the Bergmans’ composition, “Memories.” Just amazing!! Just never forget Los Angeles is a magical town. It's all about being in the right place at the right time. Last week we were.

I'm staring at papers on my desk forwarded by the Christopher Street West folks. They are after my nominee ideas for the 2008 Gay Pride Parade and Festival. I just don't get it. I accept that I am an idiot, yet it still makes no sense. It's like inviting the Reverend Fred Phelps to Mark's to break bread or escorting Dom DeLuise to the Zone for action. Honestly, I may just be the last person on earth who should be on the gay Pride mailing list. That said, again this year, I will forward my suggestions that will be utterly and patently ignored. Let's honor AIDS Walk. Not the overpaid pompous producer, but the almost 30,000 people who marched and who year in and year out make a remarkable difference. Let's honor David Bohnett and his marvelous foundation or Rufus Wainwright or Jeffrey and Marilyn Katzenberg. Let's honor the Geffen Foundation or GLASS or John Gile. How about Tom Whitman for his ongoing efforts to turn youth onto philanthropy? None of this will fly. I'm resigned to it. I'm resigned to 20 muscle boys in Speedos and body paint, throwing condoms or mints at us. I'm now comatose, yet cool with a flat bed truck with blown out speakers blasting “YMCA” or “It's Raining Men.” I'm even cool with that guy with the whip. But are you? The other day at a meeting at IN Los Angeles someone asked me about Pride. I'm never invited to meetings at IN, so the question startled me. Was it a trick? I said honestly that I can't beat that horse anymore. Over the years, I have offered up award-winning, talented, committed names from Tinseltown to engage on Pride's behalf. The Pride brass smiles at me, but truly just doesn’t care. They ignore me. They ask for suggestions, yet treat them like a curse. If you ever want to win an award, seemingly I'm the last pal you need. They occur to me to be like that goth group in high school that hung together quietly and darkly in a dank corner during lunch break, but at night lit candles and philosophized as to why the pretty girl was really ugly and the quarterback was a jerk. My peers at IN are likely tired of my voice on this but they did ask, do your readers agree with you? Do they care at all? Over the years I have received hundreds of e-mails from folks both pro and con. Invariably the pro is from a person with an agenda. It just takes a bit of digging to find it. I received an articulate, yet scathing e-mail I was not allowed to publish from a dignified soul who asked me to leave gay Pride alone. “Enough is enough,” she wrote. That year she was honored and rode in the parade. Ugh. So here is my question: Do you care? Take a moment and e-mail me your thoughts on Pride in West Hollywood. I pledge to send it to the City Council, the Pride folks and print them in this magazine. If you don't care, then honestly I'll stop caring as well. If we don't know and we don't care, then let’s just let the goths party like its 1994.

Until next time, so long, skol, arrivederci, prosit, salud, hasta la vista, a bientôt and ciao. For more than 20 years my pal Ron Wanless always closed every phone call to me with the same line. Good night and good luck! Indeed!

Contact me at Malibudana@aol.com.