By Dana Miller

It's a new year, there is so much to write about, and time's winged chariot is quickly whizzing along. By now we've all likely seen Brokeback Mountain. So damned visually stunning and enchanting in so very many ways. The sex burgeonings in both carnal directions were shot with exquisite taste. The industry is already tossing nominations galore on the effort. It led in both Golden Globe and SAG nominations. They should win a ton of SAG awards just based on the fact that the statue you as a victor receive has a wiener. Well, it's honestly more like a skinny gold eunuch twink with a nice chest, yet somehow it seems appropriate and comforting they will likely walk with a ton of 'em. I chatted the other day with the film's writers Diana Ossana and her writing partner, Pulitzer Prize-winner Larry McMurtry. They bought the story with their own dough from writer Annie Proulx back in 1997. It's based on Proulx's short story that ran in a magazine. Diana and Larry were both pretty adamant it wasn't a "gay cowboy movie," insisting to me it was just a "very sad love story." Tough to argue with the folks who created the damned piece. Everyone keeps chirping how "groundbreaking" it is to have a gay movie directed at the mass market. Nonsense. How about The Birdcage, Angels in America, Bent, My Own Private Idaho, Torch Song Trilogy, Six Degrees of Separation, The Boys in the Band, and on and on. These weren't shown at the TomKat ... (though how far away can "Bareback Mountain" be?). They were all about wide release (a great name for a porno by the way don't ya think?). What's truly remarkable is that it's a cowboy movie in wide release! Been awhile since one of those has worked. I liked Brokeback Mountain. Beautiful, hot, moving in moments, yet to me, not the very best picture of the year. It has also likely created the two worst jobs on earth: That of being the publicist for either Jake Gyllenhaal or Heath Ledger. I mean, can you imagine the volume of calls they will get from GLAAD and like organizations demanding appearances by the boys at their annual fundraising soirées? Some mucky muck idiot who was overserved on New Year's was pontificating to me that Jake and Heath "owe it to our community now to be involved and accept our honors since we supported them." Pleeeeze. They are actors. It was a job. It's a strange attestation stupidly rattled off by eager wanna-be Eberts with bold fake-firm assertions and certainly simply happening because they are studs. In Proulx's original short story they were described as "bucktoothed" and "cave-chested." Sorta like Urkel. If Gary Coleman and Jerry Mathers, ("as the Beaver") were the stars and brilliant in their portrayals, there would be no requests nor invitations. Jake and Heath weren't "brave" to play those parts. They were great roles. That's why Hanks and Banderas did Philadelphia ... great friggin' roles. When our community wants to honor this movie, let's please honor Ossana and McMurtry or Ang Lee. Better yet, Annie Proulx, the lady who came up with a simple, very sad love story. Leave the boys alone.

I had lunch the other day with the amazing Diana Ross in Century City. I love the classy lady. She is bright, beautiful, talented, and a very loving mom -- perfectly sweet and normal. She's in the studio, doesn't want to tour, but is cooking up some very cool ideas to entertain us. She is a legend who still has the chops. I'm excited! There is so much more for this true superstar to accomplish. She is a most remarkable creature.

Watching the sodden and soggy Rose Parade the other morning brought back memories. I rode in a bunch of them as a kid on the Budweiser float towed by the magnificent Clydesdale horses. I grew up in South Pasadena and lived down the street from one of the St. Louis Busch daughters. She would rope all us local kids into riding on the float every year. How could we turn her down -- she had beer on tap at the house! Sleeping bags and brew. It was a blast! Getting up at 4 a.m. at her place and wearing costumes. What a gawd damned gay dream! Only problem was we always had to pee at mile four of the six mile trek. Never a problem: they had buckets. I'm serious. You peed and waved at the same time. Sorta like a good Catholic version of water sports I assume. And yes, I only assume.

Have ya seen all those billboards for the smooth booze Hennessey featuring the sexy, talented and totally dead Motown star Marvin Gaye under the caption, "Thinking Different"? Just under his chin is the slug line, "Drink Responsibly." This is nuts, dumb, and incomprehensible. This drug-soaked star was cut, slaughtered, and slain down way too early by his alcoholic drag queen father via a handgun here in Los Angeles back in 1984. Hell yes, think different.

I respected and loved Dick Clark's decision to show up and be a role model and positive face against adversity on his ABC-TV Rockin' New Year's Eve special. I have known the guy for 25 years, and he is always in control and totally the go-to man. He is committed to everything he does. Those of us who know him were not surprised he wanted to be there despite the effect his stroke last year has had on his speech. What was surprising was ABC's decision to milk his appearance in such a side show, carny way. Every segment for almost 90 minutes of programming bumpered to commercial break with, "Comin' up: Mariah Carey and the return of Dick Clark." Tacky damned way to salute a total class act in my opinion.

Two friends of ours included Ryan and me in their annual holiday dinner at Lawry's at 100 N. La Cienega late last year. For 30 years these theater gurus and blessed kids Diana and her talented husband Gary have hosted this bash at L.A.'s prime rib palace for a varied and joyful group of misfits. This year was special for a couple of reasons. They had just lost a dear, dear friend unexpectedly who was a wonderful fixture at the occasion, yet their granddaughter Emma had also become a little person who speaks, smiles, and shines a special light of love on everyone in sight. She can't yet judge nor fear and what a blessing to watch and bask in universal no-holds-barred love for the world and every creature in it. This dinner of 17 was unintentionally our collective mirror of a Rockwell portrait: warm, loving, different, yet united. Lawry's is odd, but it's their tradition. It first opened in 1938 at the same location. In 1947 it moved across the street only to return to the original locale back in 1993. I think it was once a very elegant joint on famed restaurant row. La Cienega used to be the destination for classy food in our province. Popular places like Captain's Table, Tail O' the Cock, Fish Shanty, Ollie Hammond's, Stears for Steaks, Frascati, and House of Murphy were all in spitting distance of each other. Back in the day I assume a swank starched chef in a tall white hat would come to your table and hand carve your prime rib at Lawry's. Now they pull up what looks to be an old, tattered used VW bug to the table with fatty meat inside and an old broad named Shirley takes a drag on a fag as she cuts your cow and tosses it down like slop in a soap kitchen. But it's tradition and it was damned fun. The evening was dampened briefly by a sad sour sod who complained of the seating arrangements and threw a pre- and post-dinner fit. Queens in mid-life crisis are really never as enjoyable as the divas they sadly attempt to emulate. But as hours and days went by all I could think of the evening was love, warmth, the holiday, sweet, sweet Emma, her parents Jenny and Chris, Gary and Diana, and tradition. Oh, and Shirley flicking her ashes in my horse radish.

Hit a couple of parties on New Year's and had a total blast. First up was the new manse of the bejeweled and bedazzling Ronald Jason Palmieri. Great crowd of furred friends with stellar service equal to the Ritz. Crystal and Cristal Champagne with Sinatra CDs gently humming in your ears was the menu. Was wonderful. Ran into my lovely, funny pal, decorator Jerry Brown and his boyfriend Michael there. They have moved to Long Beach and love it! I hear that a lot lately. They have become the queens of a beach condo project that has been there for years, and because of their taste and style they have been asked to redo everyone's unit. I love it when we queens mix with the masses based on talent, charm, and humor, and then prejudice just ain't part of the picture at all. We were then spirited off to good guy Reichen Lehmkuhl's party in Culver City. Equally a blast. This was a very hot boy party with wonderful friends at every turn. Ya cut your own limes and served yourself doubles and triples by the pool only because you could. From elegant and high-hat to sexy and sloppy in one hour and loving both. Ain't that what it's all about? Dragged our butts home at 3 a.m. All was well, beasts were asleep. The next morning grabbing the newspaper Ryan discovered a 15-foot Christmas creation from our lawn was missing. Somebody stole our Christmas decorations after 3 a.m. on New Year's Day. Amazing, huh? KABC even covered it via the Grinch angle. Look, we don't really care at all. Hell, now we don't have to take 'em down and store them. But on the karma menu it's pretty bad for the crummy cads. Our karma sadly ran over your dogma on the first day of the year. That can't be a great way to kick off the year.

Contact me at: Malibudana@aol.com.

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