By Dana Miller

Since my last missive I've gone into and come out of a rather dark and dank mood. My oldest dog is a huge, sweet, gangly lug of a thing by the name of Bo. She is 13 years old and a Great Pyrenees by breed. Think of an all white St. Bernard and you get the picture. Early last week Bo was having a bitch of a time getting up. She just couldn't stand. When she could walk, she weaved and bobbed like a lush at 1:30 a.m. at the Abbey. I have joked a bit this year that she has "seen her last Christmas." But hell, I didn't mean it. Bo and I have been friends longer than most Homo sapiens I know. As she faded, so did I. But after a couple days the darling docs performed what I'm calling a minor miracle. Bo is up, walking -- heck, running -- and my dear old friend that I love so much is hanging in there for now.

Encouraged and with my dread heading out of the woods, I set my sights on a weekend in Laguna for a gay wedding. Friday morning my grand and often outrageous friend Ron Palmieri picked me up in his limo to head south. Ron is fatally flamboyant. A true character. He is a brilliant attorney who is generous to the end and filled with compassion. After years in Bel Air he has just moved into the old French Embassy off Hollywood Boulevard, so now the WeHo community should officially consider itself forewarned. Certainly the French speaking ones should! First stop for us was the Surf and Sand Hotel on PCH in Laguna for lunch on the beach, always a delightful treat. Surfers, salmon, and salt air. What the hell else does one need? We stayed at my pal Brad Harvey's home. Brad was in Paris with Roy Eddleman celebrating his birthday. Brad is in escrow on this place and moving to a bigger joint. It's one of those adorable bungalows in the Laguna flats: two bedrooms and two baths with a rental in the back, done to the nines in an elegant beach kinda way. Totally charming and totally expensive. Real estate is over-the-top both here and there and I'm always blown away at where the money comes from. An ex and I owned a house in Laguna not long ago. It was genius to break up, but we were idiots to sell the place.Anyway, good for Brad and great for his broker, the sweet Don Stratton.

Friday night we hit Woody's at the Beach and, as always, it was marvelous. Crowd, libations, food, energy, eye candy -- all were perfect. The old Mark's Restaurant in Laguna is long gone but it really doesn't matter. Woody's is as good a vibe as you can get at a beach hang. Later we hit the Boom Boom Room where I was overserved and fled in a haze of happiness. Saturday was our reason for being there. The occasion was the wedding of two great guys, Alan Friel and TJ Prokop. Alan is charming and rather touching. TJ is cute as can be and went for a Brad Pitt blond look for the event. It was a wonderful and warm affair on a boat in Newport Harbor. A peerlessly beautiful day at sea. Nearly 100 of us wined, dined, and watched pure love on display. Young and old, gay, and straight all gathered to celebrate this union. West Hollywood City Councilman John Duran was there. I know that with his Equality California chair position he has been to tons of these. But honestly, for most of us it was our first formal gay union. Tuxes, flowers, champagne, and elegance. Then in the middle of the service I had such an epiphany. As I looked around at so many friends I've known for years, I was amazed at how many of us were crying. Some just bawling. And it was in celebration not in sorrow. This bunch and I have attended funerals and memorials for years together and tears always flowed but this was wonderfully and dramatically different. Alan and TJ have found joy and shared it with us on Saturday. What a warm blessing it was. True bliss quivered in the air. Next stop was a brilliant reception with a ton more folks at Will Gorges' home in Laguna. I'd been there heaps of times when Will and his late partner Andy Kuehn threw bashes. Andy would have loved this party. I do wish Alan and TJ a magnificent life together. Their glow on Saturday brought joy and the wonderful warmth of the sun to a bunch of us. And that's a beautiful thing. And by the way, talk about a class act. On Monday night my boyfriend Ryan Black along with Uncle Bill Wilson organized a dinner party for my birthday for 10 of us at Mark's here in WeHo. Alan and TJ, plus TJ's darling daughter, mother, and stepfather were there dining as well. Those boyz sent me over a superb bottle of champagne to help our crew celebrate my birth. Quite a stunning wrap to an awesome weekend.

I've just been brought in to secure the performers for the 2006 Gay Games in Chicago next July. They have massive opening and closing ceremonies a week apart and I'm excited to be a part of it. Seems like a fun exercise. If they won't listen to me about the Gay Pride parade here, at least I can flee to the Windy City and produce some production value.

If you are into blogs you must check out Rosie O'Donnell's. It's so droll and enjoyable. She posts her observations almost daily and her stream of consciousness is like reading ee cummings. Check it out at www.rosie.com.

Sad to say, but Knott's Berry Farm has lost its charm. I manage the sweet and talented Jo Jo on the Radio from KIIS-FM and every year we do a concert called, "Jo Jo Jam." It's always an amazing show and this year was no different. But walking around the park this year was weird and a bit worrisome. The small Western town vibe that I totally grew up with is gone. It's all concrete and roller coasters. The vast majority of the clientele were the size of Hyundais and they all seemed to stroll around holding funnel cakes: odd and, honestly, somewhat troubling. And now to respectfully continue on my harping jag:

This hurricane that swacked the South last week is such a drag. My heart goes out to so many whose lives are so totally, sadly, and permanently changed. Some days it seems to me that the world is in physical and spiritual chaos. History making seems to me like bleak stuff sometimes. As I write this, my TV today is filled with politicians' and preachers' verbal diarrhea on the tragedy. These idiots woo and bully and then suck any real emotion there is out of these very true events. That Bush swagger, his John Wayne impression sadly handicapped with a very likely small Texas penis always makes me ill. It's frighteningly too conscious to be written off as mad. But how in the damn world can his arrogant ballistic balls be taken seriously for even one moment? I have little, if any, faith in national leaders, as the act is so clearly the deal. It ain't the meat, it's the motion. I mean, honestly, maybe it's just me but I can't seem to detect a spark of true humanity in their voices. I guess it's a laudable spectacle as spectacles go but it funks me out. But dammit, Bo is back, Alan and TJ got and gave joy, and I'm alive after another year. So I'm quite certain I should just shut up, count my many blessings and get on with this thing called life. Cheers!

Contact me at: Malibudana@aol.com

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