Dykes on Bikes, Mark Wahlberg, Harry Potter gay spoof...rack up hits!

One of the features at WordPress I have particularly warmed up to is the blog stats function.

If a blogger is wondering how it is that web surfers unceremoniously arrived at his or her doorstep, the savvy blogster has only to check a special section of the logs to determine which "search words" were used to locate the site.

Also, since WordPress automatically matches up blog posts with related stories of interest, it is immensely intriguing to use a little detective work and fathom the links that hooked up the mercurial Internet seekers to your posts.

Another feature is pretty practical, too.

A WordPress filter senses when a spam post is being attempted and summarily places it into a holding pattern or queue until the blog owner has the opportunity to okay it or not.

For example, after I posted a feature on Erotica LA this weekend, my site was inundated with ads, videos, and promos for porno web sites!

I was able to select the best ones - um - weed out the nasty little devils and send them off to the recycle bin.

Aw, what waste of succulent erotic flesh, eh?

Most web site owners and bloggers are curious to know how popular their site is and how many clicks they're getting.

Over the past couple of days, for instance, the logs paved the way for me.

A post on Dykes on Bikes (West Hollywood Gay Pride), Mark Wahlberg (shower scene), and a gay video spoof on Harry Potter landed the top hits.

Angelina Jolie scored pretty high as well.

With a little astute analysis it should be obvious to many that this weekend - for some inexplicable reason - the masses around the Nation were horny, titillated by gay sex, and fascinated by butch women on motorcycles.

Only in America!


Risque Beowulf publicity stills of Angelina Jolie revved up the band waves!

Parking Lot...peeves! Argh...

If you're like me, you hate getting "dings" in your vehicle.

To avoid the problem, whenever I pull into a parking lot, I generally park away from the "madding crowd" in a section of the pavement where little or no cars are parked.

Darn it all!

As I alight from the supermarket about ten minutes later, I find myself surrounded by a dozen or so cars nestled up - "this close" - to me.

One day, I was just about ready to step out of my car when a man almost crunched in the side of my vehicle as he tried to scoot in backwards next to me; in spite of the fact, the rest of the lot was practically empty!

What am I, an auto magnet?

What is this insanity?

I've also noticed that on a small side-street in West Hollywood there will be ample parking spots available farther up the street - but for some inexplicable reason - drivers are inclined to waste three or four minutes goin' backwards and forwards in a tedious effort to wrestle their way into a space in line with all the other vehicles.

Are they afraid their car will get lonely up the street a-ways?

To reduce the probability of dings, I try to park next to a pole in the parking structure, so that only one side is exposed to another vehicle. And, in that event, I make a concerted effort to find a stall next to an expensive upscale late model car.

My reasoning here?

People with snazzy roadsters will probably be more careful when they park, and step gingerly from the interiors, to ensure they don't scratch the pristine paint job on their own luxury jalopies. Right?

But, then again, just because a person has an expensive car doesn't mean they are capable of parking it without incident, eh?

I've been thinking of inventing an inflatable device that pops into position around the circumference that - in essence - creates a two-foot rubber buffer around my SUV when it is parked.


With my luck, a porcupine will waddle by in my absence and prick it by mistake.

You just can't win!

Fan gets physical...PDA ban lifted for a sec!

Old-fashioned Courtship preferred...


Last night I slipped into The Abbey for about thirty minutes to check out the scene.

After all, the trendy watering hole on Robertson in West Hollywood is quite the social whirl around 6 p.m. on Sunday evenings.

Good-looking, fashionably-attired patrons are inclined to sip on exotic cocktails, engage in a little cruising, and occasionally shake their booty a bit when an upbeat popular hit strikes up over the powerful loud speakers strategically placed around the artfully-decorated bar.

After chatting up a handful of acquaintances, I sauntered out into the street, homeward bound.

To stay in shape, I usually stroll around the pristine neighborhood on foot - rather than hop in my wheels. After all, burning a few calories here and there, keeps my lean bod in shape!

As I headed up Santa Monica Boulevard, I suddenly spied two handsome young men making a beeline for me.

Or, was it my imagination?

I half-expected that when they neared my position on the sidewalk - that they would skirt to one side - and let me pass. Surprise! Instead, the duo strutted right towards me, and summarily, blocked my path!

Was I going to finally have the opportunity to try out my Karate on real live subjects, at long last?

Finally, when one of the dudes got about "this-close" in my face, his eyes went wide as he stared into my eyes and gushed -

"I want a hug!"

Well, in my youth, public displays of affection (PDA's) were greatly scorned upon. But, what the heck, I was in a good mood.

A fan is a fan, right?

Needless to say, at the back of my mind, I thought the request odd in the bright light of day!

As we hugged for a sec, his friend chimed in, "He wants 'ya".

Sorry, dude! A lone hug would have to suffice.

After all, I'm one of those old-fashioned types.

I prefer to be wined and dined a bit before I'm inclined to jump in the hay!

Empyrean Passage...West Hollywood; novel sprong sculpture intrigues; beam me up, Scottie!

I can almost hear the theme of "Twilight Zone" now...

One night as I was jogging along the flats - just a little after sunset - I was suddenly confronted with a large coil-like object beckoning me in the distance.

Ah, had some space aliens landed, or what?

I drew closer, ever so cautious, staring at the glowing object with fascination.

Ah, they left a note on a plaque below its ominous reach. In a familiar human script, the object was identified as a sculpture by artist, Dan Carson.

No little green men; ah shucks!

But as I stood underneath, and gazed skyward, I was sure it was actually a vortex.

I just knew that at any moment - I might be swept up - transported off to Kansas with my little dog, too. Who knows! After all, this was West Hollywood - wasn't it - land of the rainbow and Dorothy lovers?

Suddenly, I was shaken by a loud, eerie blast to my right.

"They've landed," my inner voice shouted out from the innermost recesses of my soul.

As I turned, a speeding motorist barked out,

"Get out of the street, buddy."

Ah, jolted back to reality.

I stepped back up on the curb and proceeded to inspect the work more closely.

"Empyrean Passage" was inspired by mathematical formulas that the artist has translated into 3-dimensional forms and is reminiscent of a theoretical black hole.

The artist chose the word "Empyrean" because it is the final, fiery level of heaven as depicted by Dante.

The sculpture, utilizes "green" electroluminescent light, measures twenty feet tall, and consists of a series of metal hoops of various sizes. At night, the rings glow to create a floating form inspired by a black hole's absence of light.

The intriguing sculpture which delights passers-by was crafted out of aluminum, paint, vinyl, and electroluminescent tape.

Although the air was calm on the night when I happened across it, the entire sculpture swings in the event a gust of wind whispers by, with the assistance of a trio of suspension poles and invisible wires strategically placed.

"Empyrean Passage" will light up the dark night sky each evening - at the intersection of Santa Monica Boulevard and Doheny Drive - through May 15, 2008, and is part of the City's "Art on the Outside" program.

The mission of "Art on the Outside" is to nurture the arts and cultural life of West Hollywood - and at the same time - inject some vitality through the installation of dynamic temporary art installations on medians throughout the postage-sized city.

The artist is known for his innovative environmental pieces which facilitate the artful use of space, light and sound. His temporary and permanent light-based artworks employ a range of media from the primal (sun and fire) to the high-tech (neon, lasers, LEDs, and fiber optics).

A handful of his large-scale public artworks range from installations in rail stations, to placements in heavily-trafficked intersections, and the solemn confines of inner meditation sanctums.

Carson's work has been received well in Washington, California, Oregon, Maine, Nevada and Hawaii, and garnered acclaim by virtue of commissions he has nabbed both nationally and abroad.

RAGE...nightclub, Sunday dance party!!! West Hollywood.

When you slip into RAGE - suddenly - you are swept up into a sea of toned sexy twenty-somethin' bods - amid a swirl of scintillating fashions - undulating to the latest pop beat.

On Sunday nights, in particular, there's a lot of high-energy, in-your-face gettin' down on the dance floor, sure to conjure up an adrenalin rush.

Maybe a handful of politicians should drop by and take a gander; after all, there's no racial tension here. Attitudes are left at the door, and a crowd of party-goers - Asians, Latinos, Blacks, and Whites - all mingle and mix for a night of sheer unadulterated fun.

Last night, there was quite a bevy of young beauties on hand - sipping on exotic cocktails, chatting up friends, and sashaying about - casting come-hither looks.

Oh yeah!

In my youth, I wiled away many an hour here; then, usually headed home blasted.

Uh-huh, they didn't call the bar on the corner - "Lost on Larrabee" - for no good reason!

Warning: the trendy crowd is prone to rush the dance floor when the likes of Britney, Justin, Madge, and Alicia pop up on the wide-screens overhead, amid a jubilant laser light show.

Get there early, no cover.

See ‘ya!

Rage West Hollywood...nightclub, Sunday Dance Party!!!

When you slip into RAGE - suddenly - you are swept up into a sea of toned sexy twenty-somethin' bods amid a swirl of scintillating fashions undulating to the latest pop beat.

On Sunday nights, in particular, there's a lot of high-energy in-your-face gettin' down on the dance floor sure to conjure up an adrenalin rush.

Maybe a handful of politicians should drop by and take a gander; after all, there's no racial tension here. Attitudes are left at the door and a crowd of party-goers - Asians, Latinos, Blacks, and Whites - all mingle and mix for a night of sheer unadulterated fun.

Last night, there was quite a bevy of young beauties on hand sipping on exotic cocktails, chatting up friends, and sashaying about - casting come-hither looks.
Oh yeah!

In my youth, I wiled away many an hour here. Then, usually headed home blasted.

Uh-huh.

They didn't call the bar on the corner - "Lost on Larrabee" - for no good reason!

Warning: the trendy crowd is prone to rush the dance floor when the likes of Britney, Justin, Madge, and Alicia pop up on the wide-screens overhead amid a jubilant laser light show.

Get there early, no cover.

See ya!

Car wash...to the stars! U R what U drive in LA LA LAND!

In Los Angeles your status is dictated by the kind of vehicle you zip around town in.

Sad, but true!

Makes sense, then, that when you pull up in front of "The Villa" - and a swarm of ravenous paparazzi descend on 'ya - that your Beamer, Benz, or boxy Volvo gleams under the light of the silvery moon.

God forbid you should be busted for a DUI in a late model sedan with a nick or two in the door and a swirl of dead leaves decaying beneath the windshield wipers.

At Santa Palm Car Wash in West Hollywood, a crew of uniformed experts is prepared to slap that auto into tip-top shape, but the detailing will cost you extra!

First time I heard the term - "detailing" - I shook my head.

Say what?

It's an anal retentive's ideal approach to a "car wash" - with an emphasis on painstaking nerve-racking attention - to the essential nitty-gritty. At Santa Palm, for instance, a gang of veritable whiz kids add sparkle to the chrome grill, luster to the interior headrests, and a dash of spit-and-polish to set off those hub-caps.

Yeah, no crevice, crack, or crawl space goes unchecked!

In a nutshell, it's a Hollywood-style fancy-smantzy way to extract a few extra bucks from the tony elite!

But, Santa Palm Car Wash stands out from the others - if only for its celebrated clientele - who swear by the foo-foo experience.

In fact, many of the glittering elite snap up a glossy still from their portfolio before they head out to the popular scrub joint, sign a heartfelt note to "Sam" (the owner), then mingle among the other notables out front as the minions work magic on their precious glide mobiles.

In the old days - when I first sauntered into Tinsel town with stars in my eyes - quite a few of the local merchants were inclined to tack up a dog-eared publicity still or two at the entrance of their establishment.

It was great for stirring up a bit of idle chit-chat - and a much-needed distraction - as the customers lolled about and waited patiently for the cashier to rustle up the dry cleaning or discreetly pack up and tally the liquor tab.

At Santa Palm the tradition is a class act!

At "Sam's", each keepsake is a veritable treasure; framed under pressed glass on a custom-made wall that stretches all along one side of the scrubbing paraphernalia.

The collection is quite amazing and includes: a dashing Dudley Moore astride a pristine Roll Royce; a perky Shirley Jones beaming a winning smile (a dead moth managed to settle inside the frame of her mug shot, somehow); a faded shot of Ann Miller (with a boa constricting her); a chubby-faced Rock Hudson lookin' a little worse for wear (must have been in the "McMillan and Wife days". That catered food will pack on the pounds, fer sure!), and one of my faves, actress Ann Gillian (I acted in "This Wife for Hire" with the sexy talented woman a few years back).

In addition to the actors, mixed in for good measure, are a handful of celebs from the music biz; The Temptations, in a snazzy band shot; Kiss, dolled up in a ghoulish, signature get-up; Cher, with her foot resting on a barbell, of all things (must have been in the days when she was into bagel boys, I guess); and Edgar Winter caressing his horn.

Some photos are faded, others poorly lit. A few are slick and professional, with the names of Managers and Agents stylishly etched on the edges, for easy reference. 'Ya never know, the exposure may land a bookin'.

On occasion, the personalities peer out like old friends from the past; for example, Sally Struthers posing in her thin days; gorgeous Farrah Fawcett enticing gawkers with a publicity still taken at the height of her poster power (when teen-age boys pined for her as a Charlie's Angel); Jimmy Connors spinning a winning ball; while a weathered mug of Columbo comforts, as he tokes on a crusty cigar.

















Holy cheese whiz, Batman! There's Robin in his kitschy get-up, too.

So many stars in the great firmament.

And a mug or two that faded away into oblivion.

Maybe memory doesn't serve me well, but there appears to be a face - and a name or two - that just don't jangle any bells.

Don Blanton? Blair Ashley? And who the heck is the male fitness model - with just one name - Sebastian?

Speaking of one name-wonders...Angelina didn't make the cut, doesn't grace the wall; but, Fabio does - go figure!

Yup, pecker - um - pec power goes a long way in Tinsel town.

Ah, all the stars that never were, are pumping gas and parking cars?

Then, there are the "Tony Orlandos", plugging weight-loss programs for suburbanites, waiting for the fickle finger of fate to turn around.

Heh, come backs are big in Hollywood.

Hold on to that memorabilia; it may be worth big bucks one day!

Starbucks...baristas short-changed. Tip issue taints image!

Image of greed and questionable labor practice!

On the heels of news in recent months that sales are down at Starbucks - the java King was hit with another whammy this past week - where it hurts the most.

In the tip jar!

After reviewing pleadings in a class-action suit filed against the Seattle-based corporate giant, a Superior Court Judge in San Diego found that the company's policy of collecting tips and divvying out a portion of the baristas' spoils to supervisors and managers, was wrongful.

In her ruling Judge Patricia Cowett issued a directive that Starbucks cough the tip money back up with interest and that the practice of siphoning off funds to management stop.

In response, Starbucks vowed to appeal on the grounds that:

"The decision today in our view represents an extreme example of an abuse of the class-action procedures in California."

I disagree.

I have a number of friends who toil as professional waiters in expensive restaurants.

Usually they work together as a team and at the end of the night the tips are shared among the waiters, busboys, wine stewards and bartenders on duty.

The Starbucks practices are outrageous.

According to court pleadings, money collected in tip jars is stowed away in safes daily and divided up each week based on the staff's work schedule.

But - get this - supervisors and managers receive a portion of the tips!

It appears that instead of paying their management teams a proper salary, the coffee-maker has opted to supplement the incomes of the management teams off the backs of the baristas and the sweat of their brows.

Disreputable, at best!

But, what of the customers?

They have a right to be outraged, too.

Personally, I tend to tip based on the quality of service that day. And, if I plunk some cash into the jar, I expect that it be passed on to the person I am giving the nod to.

It irks me - as it does many others - that some employee down the line I've had no interaction with is receiving a portion of that tip money.

Moreover, to hold the tips is unconscionable!

Generally, waiters, bartenders, and service people rely on the cash flow each day to make ends meet.

How dare the managers lock up the funds and make 'em wait!

If Starbucks appeals the ruling, then consumers should boycot.

Otherwise, when will the greed end?

Yes, Java Devour - that new upstart down the street - is starting to look mighty appealing.

In the evening - I often saunter in there for an organic tea - then slip into a deep leather armchair and pen a post or two.

What do I find most appetizing about this little detour past Starbucks?

The understated decor, the flattering lighting, and - most of all - their inclination to provide a relaxing ambiance that is relatively commercial-free.

Java Detour entices!