J V Mcauley

"You won't have any trouble finding her. Him. Her. Him . . . " I am in pursuit of a fairly large drag queen, who is somewhere among the hordes surging out of a theater at the Directors Guild. The event is the opening night of the Gay and Lesbian Film Festival. The quarry is the insouciant Shivelva Kennedy-Sinatra, a night-life habitue who is lately given to chiffon and shiny wigs the color of banana splits.

"You won't have any trouble finding her. Him. Her. Him . . . " I am in pursuit of a fairly large drag queen, who is somewhere among the hordes surging out of a theater at the Directors Guild. The event is the opening night of the Gay and Lesbian Film Festival. The quarry is the insouciant Shivelva Kennedy-Sinatra, a night-life habitue who is lately given to chiffon and shiny wigs the color of banana splits.

With a mere few days left before he opens his restaurant, Brent Bolthouse is neither nervous nor fearful. "I just want to do it," he says, revealing a mild case of frustration. Forgive the man his impatience. Even though he's only 23. He's already a five-year veteran of L. A.'s nightclub and party circuit. His clubography includes past clubs Papa Willy's (with his partner Tef) and Le Hot Soul.

W hat is it about the Southern California arts and culture scene right now that intrigues people in other cities around the world? To put it another, more immediate, way: What would they do or who would they rush to see if they hopped a plane here tomorrow? Calendar called several New Yorkers associated with the arts and entertainment and asked them just that. At first, we heard a lot of the predictable answers--stereotypes die hard.