By Dana Miller

I took a great and glorious trip to New York City last week. Brilliant weather. The leaves are changing. The park is stunning. As always, amazing food and just the best damn friends in the world! The city that never sleeps did me proud. I went in for an Elton John concert at Madison Square Garden -- both fun and philanthropic. Our Elton John AIDS Foundation is nearing $100 million in total donations to a whole gaggle of AIDS services organizations around the world in a little more than a decade. Elton and a few of us started this thing from scratch and I swear it is the most pure and generous organization I have even been involved with. In a couple weeks this venture that doles out my nonsense, IN Los Angeles magazine will be saluting gay power players. Elton is always at the top of my list. He, like Geffen, the Tisch Family, David Bohnett, and so many others, makes me proud and they should have the same effect on you. It's all about passion, enthusiasm, instinct, feelings, and just intuition. I love people who make things happen. ... In New York, I also spent time with the Marriott family. That honestly was for profit. I totally thought it would be a desolate effort, yet it was fun. This Mormon dynasty doesn't like our kind, but I've always been intrigued by the Mormon faith. I used to travel with the whacked-out Paul Lynde and his poodles to Orem, Utah, to tape The Donny & Marie Show. He was a regular on the series. She, a little bit country. He, a little bit rock 'n' roll. Paul, a little bit twisted. Paul hated everybody -- especially Mormons! Well honestly, he hated cops more. He was arrested three times in Utah for drunk driving. I went many times to the same studio over the years for the Childrens Miracle Network telethon. And I know this sounds strange, but my old friend and client, the late great brother Gibb, Andy, was best friends with Robert Redford. So he and I went to Sundance in Mormon country 100 times to ski and kick back at a house Bob always provided us. I have over the years seduced many a Mormon boy and proudly taken them to the dark side. In New York last week, Bill Marriott and his three sons were kind, smart and sweet. John, Steve and David are hot in that Mormon boy way. Steve is blind and almost deaf yet he is a Marriott equal to the world. This dynasty, the largest hotelier in the world, is fascinating to me. The Kennedys lobotomized Rosemary for less, yet the Marriotts position Steve in every way as an equal. Seeing them both publicly and privately impressed me immensely. These billionaires embraced, coddled, and surrendered enough to allow the universe to reveal its path, recognizing that an obstacle could, in fact, be a stepping stone to great stuff. I like the Marriott family. They don't like my lifestyle, but I think they like me. ...

On the plane to NYC I plopped down next to one of the Olsen twins. I don't know which one. In an investigative effort just for you I offered her my warm nuts. She declined so I can only assume it was the twin that doesn't eat. But in a sad attempt to justify this nonsense I do as journalism, I must admit my warm nuts have been rejected before -- even by those with a voracious appetite. That said, she was pixy-like, tiny, and charming.

After a Friday night in boys town taking in the East/West Lounge, the Abbey, iCandy and parts in between, Ryan and I were after substantial substance. So of course we headed on Saturday to L.A.'s oldest gay bar, The Spotlite on Cahunega. The damn place is always a blast. The beer is always cold, the atmosphere chilly, and the guys are never hot, but there is something comforting about it. My 13-year-old dog has more teeth than are in the Spotlite, but I love this damned joint. We played pool and then fled to Miceli's on Las Palmas in Hollywood for food. It was Hollywood's first pizza lounge and JFK, Nixon, and the Beatles have all dined there. It's all about singing waiters, a bad comedy club, and great food, and we had a total blast. We met two broads at the bar, and treated 'em to pasta. A perfect Hollywood night.

Awkward moments happen and there's nothing we can really do about 'em. An 80+ Bob Hope once asked me to find him a blow job (blond babe, under 35), and I did. Frank Sinatra asked me to get him "the fuck outta here," and I did. I once totaled Tom Brokaw's car and I blew a very hot blond teen idol backstage at Radio City Music Hall and his best friend Olivia Newton-John has still to this day not forgiven me for it. But my most awkward moment ever occurred with Sir Paul McCartney. We were trapped in a room together before an awards show. ... It was sorta fun and we were swapping stories of mutual friends. (I used to work for the Beach Boys and Paul is a huge Brian Wilson fan.) The producer of the show kept coming and going to check on Paul. I guess he thought the bloke would take a powder. After the 19th time the idiot walked in, I said, "Does anybody have a gun?" An innocent and completely stupid comment to say to a Beatle. I was grabbed and frisked (not in a good way) by his security staff in seconds. I went from being a Beatle buddy to the next Mark David Chapman in seconds. Hell, I didn't even like The Catcher in the Rye and my close friends will tell you, I never pack a pistol.

The AIDS Walk is coming up. Ya gotta do it. It's a little over six miles ... nothing really. Pretty easy to raise money for it as well. Just hit up your friends, family and co-workers for 10 or 20 bucks. Personally, I'm not a fan of the AIDS Walk producer. His name is Craig Miller and I think he is a putz. Over the years he has, in my opinion, induced folks into giving him awards while taking a fee for his services. The folks who cough up five or 10 bucks are the heroes, not the paid producer. Yet he and his team over the years have rallied folks like you and me to get out and make a difference. AIDS ain't over -- not even close. This is such an easy way to get involved. For more information, call (213) 201-9255, or go to www.aidswalk.net.

Alan Friel, Joel Resnick, and a troop of us old soldiers are up to no good and thinking about bringing back Labor Day L.A. in 2006. It was indeed dinner party talk fueled by vodka, but why not? Kind of a no brainer. I have no more faith in event promoters being infallible than I have in God being infallible, principally on account of them being men. Why let party promoters make the cash that holiday weekend rather than charities? Who the hell says you can't go home again? Let's give it a shot.

My annual Toy Box Party is coming up! Details are on the way. This will be the 11th year -- I can't believe it. Alan Friel and Curt Sharp brought it here from New York City. It's a private party and you are invited. All you do is bring an unwrapped toy and I give you free booze and food. Ya can't beat it! It's a hell of a lot better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick! I'm always criticized by one organization or another about the timing of the event, but it's a wonderful affair that does marvelous work. Damn the idiots who hate our little party, it's just for my friends like you. My mother reminds me that we fags have no exclusive on bitchy. The Junior League was here long before we were born. Honest fact: More people have gotten lucky at Toy Box Party over the years then ever at the Zone. "Lucky" being the key word there. We really are a most peculiar race.

My lovely dog Bo is sweet, frail, and fading. I cannot thank those of you enough who have written me with blessings and well wishes. Death is an odd process. Less about her and I guess more about us. What a strange dynamic! Old age is a protracted, cruel business. I totally dread her dying, but I also in some strange way today totally long for it. Odd, I know. I will hug and hold her tight at the end, but the tears flow and my heart sinks at the thought of it. It's seems to be the core topic of my life. If it bums you out, I understand. But just remember what you paid for this missive.

See You Out & About!

Dana Miller

Malibudana@aol.com