By Dana Miller

I just had a psychic epiphany. Truly odd for me. Now, I must confess I am surrounded by friends and family who pledge and plea that they love psychics. Some swear by them. One will not even make a simple life move/ choice/ decision without consultation. It has just for whatever reason honestly never been my thing. I have produced psychic shows, drank and dined with psychics, and I'm fairly certain I've slept with one (though they would clearly know for sure). But I have never truly embraced nor honored their gift. It has always seemed like trickery to me–fraud, funny business. So there I was the other day in cooking class with a pal who was regaling me with his psychic experience. Last week he paid $20 bucks to a toothless toad-like broad with a wart the size of Brea on her chin and weighing the same as a Hyundai to convince him to leave his boyfriend, begin a new career and take cooking tutorials. He did all that. This was Jesus to him. The holy tablets of his life. So there we are at Sur La Table at Farmer's Market in a class learning the distinct difference between sieves and colanders when he pops the question, “Have you ever had a psychic moment?” Somewhere between the draining and the salting it suddenly occurred to me I had. I once had a boyfriend we'll call Slim. Nice boy. It was my semester at sea. One weekend, when new and fresh love was in the air and in bloom we jetted to San Francisco for the weekend. Dinner with friends was followed by drinks with fiends and that was followed by hand in hand strolling through the Pacific Heights section where we drunkenly fell into a psychic shop. I mean an all-out neon storefront with the plaster statue of the lady with the turban dealing cards in the window. In we went. It was 12 bucks and she used giant mystic, magic, bewitchment, black art, prestidigitation, tarot cards on us. Her total and sole wisdom for the fresh and new union was that a “short blond surfer boy with glasses” would come between us. We laughed and joked that we knew no short blond surfer boys with glasses and left simply silly about the 12 bucks. What a hack! Cut to three years later. The slim semester at sea lad hires a "dog boy" to live at the house and stay with the dogs when we travel. "Dog Boy" was straight. Well he was when he moved in. As I was draining my spaghetti and browning my meatballs it hits me. "Dog Boy" was the “short, blond surfer boy with glasses” who came between us. He did indeed. I just never put the two and two together. It took my friend's cheap fat, toothless psychic to clear my deck with the semester at sea. Come on, ya gotta love this complete and total nonsense that is my life.

It truly blows me away that Jack Cassidy has been dead 30 years. I was watching the Game Show Network the other night at 4 a.m. and Jack was on Match Game '73—I honestly don't sleep. Jack was the father of teen idols Shaun, Patrick and David and was once married to Shirley Jones. He was a great singer and actor who worked on Broadway and in TV and film. He played John Barrymore in W. C. Fields & Me, and was always on Colombo, Love American Style, Night Gallery, The Mod Squad, That Girl, and Barnaby Jones. I enjoyed the guy. I met him at a gay bar when I was a tiny little twink, but I'm pretty certain he was straight. Jack just loved the juice and the chatter. He always found that in West Hollywood. He was always charming and evocative. He owned the entire building at 1221 North Kings Road. That is where he died a horrible death.Amazing penthouse. Jack fell asleep with a cigarette on the couch. Drunk, I'll bet. He was only 49 years old.

I enjoyed a conversation with Celine Dion last week. She just celebrated her 500th show at Caesars’ Palace in Vegas. While indeed loving the Strip, she and husband Rene are looking forward to closing in 2007 and heading to Florida to pursue more babies. They have one child, Rene-Charles, who basically grew up in Vegas. Celine has frozen her eggs and is hoping for an in vitro pregnancy or two. Cher is heading to Celine's coliseum with Elton continuing to fill in. I started going to Vegas when I was 10. Over the years I have produced a couple shows there and booked a ton of clients into rooms. I have always loved it but it has never been more exciting than today. Avenue Q and Hairspray may be dying there, but Manilow just renewed at the Hilton and I know Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman are at work on a long-term Bette Midler turn there.

For the most part I like the Logo channel. It's MTV's attempt to cater to the LGBT community and a lot of what they do works. Especially the movies, documentaries and coming out stories. Logo likely will last as they can bundle advertising dollars with their MTV and VH-1 channels and make a buck. The one program that causes me to toss fruit at the tube is a ditty titled Round Trip Ticket. It is a travel show hosted by one Will Wikle. They travel to fab, far off points like Bangkok, Buenos Aires and Tokyo. But forget the Grand Palace, Teatro Colon, or Asakusa, this show is only about fags—where to roost, dine, beach, dance, and cruise with them. This show is like a Damron Guide on steroids. Now listen, I love the gays. But no friend of mine would travel to Toyko and miss it all except for a gay bar, a bath house, and three geisha girls who, surprise, aren't. The boys I know would hit it all. Gay travel shows seem a tad niche to me. It's like coming to L.A., checking into the San Vicente Inn, hitting the beach at Ginger Rogers, eating at Mark's, dropping by the Abbey, spreading ‘em at the Zone and head ing home. I mean does anybody really do that? Er, um ... hell, maybe Logo is onto something!

While on the subject, another TV channel intended for us kids has died. Queer Television Network (QTN) bit the dust early this month according to a ton of sources. Chairman and CEO Lloyd Fan sent notice to all employees and offered to write recommendations last week. Last year the channel was launched with great fanfare at a fun kick-off party at the Abbey. QTN host Nick Oram even hosted a red carpet-like spectacle that night. Soon gay names like Reichen Lehmkuhl, Honey Labrador, and Steve Kmetko began anchoring shows. MTV-like gay shows called Queer Edge, Brunch, and On Topic were launched. A gent very involved with the Gay Games coming up in June in Chicago even told me over breakfast that QTN had paid one million bucks for the exclusive broadcast rights. A million bucks is what a major network pays a producer for an hour of programming hoping to reach 20 million people. QTN reached 20 people. Their Web site still promises massive coverage including two days of 24-hour coverage. That’s not happening and the Gay Game organizers must be livid. Unless of course that million dollar check has already cleared.

Just checked out the new Japanese restaurant called Kiichi the other evening. It’s on Santa Monica across from Gelson’s and Marix. If you love Japanese food, get there quickly. The atmosphere is exquisitely comfortable and the food, both presentation and taste, were truly extraordinary. It’s a superb addition to the neighborhood.

In the next edition of IN, I'm writing a very special tribute in honor of four amazing men. Over and over I warched first hand as these gents moved mountains–behind the scenes–for people living with HIV/AIDS. Please check out “The Four Warriors: The Historic Response to a Call to Action” in the Pride edition of IN magazine.

See You Out & About

Contact me at: Malibudana @aol.com.