Gloria Allred...taunts religious fundamentalists at Gay Pride Festival Parade. Tense moments!

High-powered legal eagle - Gloria Allred - stabbed her fingers in the air in the direction of a handful of religious fundamentalists from an open convertible and taunted them with cries of "Shame" as she celebrated gay pride in West Hollywood this afternoon.


Each year, at Santa Monica and La Cienega Boulevards, an irate band of "Jesus" freaks set up camp and insult the paraders as they glide by on festive rainbow-colored floats all decked out in their Sunday best touting their gay pride.

Normally, the LGBT community ignores the rag-tag band of hostile protesters.

However, this year their presence was a little more raucous and threatening.

In fact - sensing there may be trouble on the streets this year in the wake of the recent California Supreme Court ruling on "gay marriage" - the Sheriff's department wisely arranged for a "riot" squad to stand by in the shadows at a respectful distance to make the crowds feel a little safer, no doubt.

In spite of the fact the group claimed to practice the Christian ethic, they shouted vulgar remarks at the participants in the high-energy parade.

"You want it in the end. You'll get it in the end," one man crudely shouted.

Another hissed, "Go back to your trailer park."

When Ms. Allred gave the finger - so-to-speak - it incited them into a frenzy.

In fact, for the first time that I recall in years, a raft of shutterbugs actually paid attention to their diatribe. Like a pack of wolves, they trotted over to the Christian camp to snap the angry reactions to Allred's demeaning gestures up-close and capture their insulting picket signs on film.

One male couple strode over and plunked themselves down in front of the enemy trenches and started to kiss passionately - as if to say - fu** you.

Yeah, don't rain on our parade!

It appears that the issue of homosexuality - and in particular, the gay marriage ruling passed down in recent days from the California Supreme Court - has stirred up a hornet's nest and the mood is at a fever pitch.

Within days after the historic "order" was signed, sealed, and delivered up - the Religious Fundamentalists had gathered up a whopping glut of signatures - enough to secure an initiative on the fall election ballot.

And, just this past week, the busy little bees placed a full two-page ad in the local daily - the Los Angeles Times - denouncing the gay lifestyle, gay marriage, and the court.

Undoubtedly, the issue will be raging on for months.

We can only hold our collective breath.

And, urge that you get out the vote in November, of course.



West Hollywood Gay Pride 2008

Balenciaga...debuts in West Hollywood!

If you saunter up the street from the celebrity hot spot - The Villa - you'll stumble across a well-manicured lava garden with a row of stunning 6 foot cacti edging the walkway on trendy Melrose Avenue.

The site houses the chic Balenciaga boutique - the only outlet for the discerning upscale clotheshorse to shop in - outside of Manhattan in the continental U.S.

Nicholas Ghesquiere - the creative director - fell in love with the building early on when locations were being scouted for the fashion house known for its cutting-edge designs and celebrity clients like Kate Moss, Jennifer Connelly, and Nicole Kidman.

The two-story Gucci-owned store is quite distinctive, brimming with high glamour, and has a futuristic feel to it.

Ghesquiere - and the French artist Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster - zeroed in on a signature color (blue); then, used scintillating lighting techniques to ensure there would be dynamic rhythms in the light throughout the day as the sun lazily moved across the sky.

In addition, the visionary duo installed shutter-like blue slats to run floor-to-ceiling along the walls to maximize the affect.

There are state-of-the-art designer touches too - LED lighting fixtures, custom-made display cases that open with touch-activated mechanisms, and interior walls etched with silver leaf, for a luxurious feel.

Customers are usually wowed by a geometric pattern on the floor in the grand entrance which is artfully set with three shades of elegant marble.

The moneyed elite are easily enticed in the inviting front door by a well-stocked mini-bar, bathrooms concealed by sliding doors, and dressing rooms that feature gender specific seating.

The fashion collection is far-reaching.

Here, you'll plunk down $350.00 for designer shades or $3,000.00 for a chic one-of-a-kind handbag.

Meanwhile, dazzling eye-popping gowns range from a paltry $1,000.00 to $70,000.00.

Just say, "charge it", in the VIP dressing room.

By the way, David Barry once said,

"The leading cause of death among fashion models is falling through street grates."

Celebrities stalk blogger gossips!

Yesterday was a carefree day...


As I zipped along Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood, a snazzy white Humvee (cool, dudes!) cruised up next to me in bumper-to-bumper rush-hour traffic.

Yeah, a lot of toy-boys in the neighborhood were dashing home to toss off sweaty work uniforms and head out for the cocktail hour!

As I casually glanced over at the vehicle in the next lane, I almost did a double-take. There, ensconced comfortably in the passenger side of the luxury military-style roadster, was a well-known actress (some might argue about that label). And, the stunning beauty (who I have written about in these environs) was staring right back at me with those luminous penetrating eyes!

I grinned. I tend to do that around gorgeous, classy babes!

Suddenly, she turned to the driver - and in a whisper just loud enough that I could hear over the din of the humming engines on the busy street - heard her gush to her companion,

"Do you know who that is?"

They engaged in a hush-hush bit of chit-chat for a sec, then - without warning - the blacked-out window at the rear of the passenger side slowly crept down as the driver jockeyed for a position inside to get a gander at me.

Whoa Nellie!

As the traffic inched forward a bit, I stepped on the gas and cruised up a tad; but, they slowed and - from a respectful distance behind me - continued with their animated conversation as they kept their eyes glued on my SUV ahead.

Ah, the beauty of well-positioned rear-view mirrors!

Imagine that, being stalked by celebrities! But, not for long!

When they were distracted for a sec, I quickly turned down a side street and left them in a cloud of dust.

Ciao, baby!

C. Wright Mills once wrote,

In the world of the celebrity, the hierarchy of publicity has replaced the hierarchy of descent and even of great wealth.”









Life in the abstract?

Unconditional Love...unexpected blessings in West Hollywood!

As I waited for the light to change at Robertson, a young woman with an infectious smile approached me with a gift in hand.

"This is given with unconditional love," she softy said.

As the lady sauntered off, I spied a couple of her friends passing out similarly-wrapped packages to other pedestrians on the street.

The curious gift was beautifully wrapped in an exquisite paper shell emblazoned with a star motif, topped by a delightful spray of spritely-colored curly cues.

I surmised that when I excitedly tore open the present, the contents would reveal a promotion of some kind. (not so!)

Ah, cynical ole me!

When I entered Java Detour across the street for a cup of soothing organic tea, a patron's eyes went wide when she spied the offering in my hands.

When I relayed the events, she exclaimed with joy,

"Someone received good fortune and now they have passed it on to you. You are blessed."

Sort of like tithing, I guess. Or giving back to the Universe, eh?

Wouldn't it be a wonderful world if people willy-nilly went about their lives each day - passing out gifts to friends, business associates, and strangers on the street, without any strings attached?

Unconditional giving...

Victor Hugo once said,

"As the purse is emptied, the heart is filled."


The giving tree...

Paris Hilton...casts for confidante, sensitivity a must!

Paparazzi wrangling required!





I stumbled across an interesting casting notice in Back Stage.



Paris Hilton, our darling media muffin, is seeking a confidante for her new reality show, My New BFF.



I suppose the first task would be to figure out what BFF stands for. I hang my head in shame and admit. I cheated.



I cruised over to her web site and was able to determine the initials stand for, "New Best Friend".



Ho hum!



Some of the scintillating ideas I conjured up in my own twisted mind were a lot more intriguing, I assure you!



But, moving on...



When it comes to potential candidates, Paris is fairly open across the board. For instance, the casting office notes that applicants may be male or female and any age or ethnicity.



I suppose if she hires a studly guy he could double as a bodyguard. Or, in the alternative, don a Chauffeur's cap when Missy gets a bit tipsy so the hostess-with-the-mostest may avoid another DUI.



But, be wary (dear Paris) of warming up to a pretty young gal. If you're not careful she'll be strutting around in your designer duds when you're at Mom's and trying to slip into the sack with your boyfriend when the two of you are on the outs.



Go for a homely woman with sensible shoes!



Apparently, Ms. Hilton's handlers have noted that endurance is essential.



If all that late-night carousing and jockeying for face time amid the swarms of blood-thirsty paparazzi staking out territory in front of the "Villa" and "Koi" invigorates 'ya, this is your cup of tea.



Of course, loyalty is important, too.



In that case, Paris, let's have a heart to heart. Time to dump that photographer who shot the publicity still posted above. Is it my imagination, or did the shutterbug cut off the top of your pretty noggin'? Or, are you just missing a vital part of your brain?



An ability to navigate "girl politics" is a prerequisite, as well.



Girl politics?



In that event, the hapless hopeful should take a cue from stumper Hillary Clinton. After all, the Dem Dame has been a sterling example of "humanization for maximum effect" in recent weeks.



Yes, it's important to be tear-eyed on occasion and reveal a vulnerable side. It drums up sympathy, after all. But, when called for, the right candidate should know how to stick to her guns and take a tough-as-nails stance to establish that no woman is a push-over, either.



In the event of a hissy-fit or two the confidante should be able to calm the waters by noting with soothing sensitivity,



"It's that time of the month, you know?"



Heck - didn't you know? - even guys have a day or two each month when they get - um - testy. Surely, Ms. Hilton is entitled to a bluesy off-note moment or two now 'n then!



So, good luck with the interviews, Ms. Hilton.



And, if any of the candidates don't work out, they can always shrug and say,



"Well, at least we had Paris."



Delectable culinary treats at Koi...





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West Hollywood Post office...newly-named; 69 anyone?

Thought somethin' wuz up!

At the West Branch of the Los Angeles Postal Office - where I rent a private mailbox - the clerks were fussin' about the past week.

Uh-huh.

Spanking new letter boxes were installed out front on the postage-sized lot, just a scant couple of days ago, in an aesthetically-pleasing fashion.

Then, the curb near the entrance of the Postal outlet was slapped with a pristine shade of white paint to upgrade a welcome "temporary parking" zone where patrons can "stop and drop" correspondence ready to go out with the evening batch of mail.

When that task was completed to satisfaction, a posse of postal workers then proceeded to inflate sassy sprays of festive balloons inside the front foyer, while another illustrious gaggle of staffers erected a new sign on the stone facade street-side under a mysterious drop cloth out-of-view.

Later, officials ceremoniously announced at a festive press conference, that the Los Angeles West Branch of the Post Office (situated in what is affectionately known as gay gulch) would henceforth be known evermore as the West Hollywood Postal Service.

Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

But, not everyone was filled with joy at the unveiling.

"I'd almost given up," confessed City Councilman Jeffrey Prang. "It's been a lengthy process."

In fact, the whole snafu had been causing a lot of inner angst for residents of West Hollywood (Boys Town), a city which was incorporated back in 1984.

In spite of its youth, the origins and boundaries of the city are a mystery to most.

However, the few who caught the feature film - LA CONFIDENTIAL - are keenly aware that this neck of the woods has been notoriously sounding off for a few decades. Indeed, the square-mile town was sort-of an "outlaw" dig in the olden days - where anything went - and probably did.

For years, West Hollywood City Officials sought to have the West Branch named in honor of the infamous enclave. If anything, to at least resolve what was perceived by many, as a growing identity crisis. But, to no avail.

Indeed, the process dragged on for so long that City Counsel members figured the request must have "gone for lost" in the dead letter box in a remote part of the U.S. Post Office in downtown LA LA LAND somewhere.

But finally, the powers-that-be gave their blessing.

Ironically, I find it curious that a neighborhood predominantly known for being populated by socially active gay men has a zip code (90069) that ends in a tantalizing number "sixty-nine".

After all, the scintillating numbers are often associated with a kinky sexual act enthusiastically engaged in by those of a same-sex persuasion. I gather!

Yes, getting male - um, mail - "franked" in West Hollywood has an entirely different twist to it!

It's highly doubtful Uncle Sam raised any bone of contention over it.

By the way, a number of elected officials from the West Hollywood City Council were on hand for the ubiquitous unveiling.

In the midst of the hoi polloi, for instance, the West Hollywood Mayor - John Duran - was inclined to mingle.

In a moment of levity, he quipped with a wide smile,

"I'm not the Mayor of Los Angeles."

We know that, John.

That Mexican guy - with a name that starts with "Villa" - throws up his feet on the desk downtown at City Hall around siesta each day, not toi.

A day later - long after the fanfare has subsided - the changes don't appear to have been that earth-shattering, though.

The Post Office is a tidier-looking structure, tarted up in an eye-catching shade of ultra-marine blue with an oh-so-subtly highlighted accent trim which is beguiling, for sure.

And yes, the premises now boast a well-manicured flower bed which push up colorful pansies which add a freshness to the once run-down lot which had been an eyesore for years.

But, some things never change.

Mail I was expecting a couple of days ago has yet to nosey its way into mailbox - in spite of the fact I was assured by a contractor - "the check is in the mail".

Oh well, the U.S. Postal service is not called "snail mail" for no good reason!