The other day I was walking through Brentwood (yes, O.J.'s Brentwood), when I saw Jean Harlow on a bear skin rug. It was something I had seen before...an image stripped from the pages of vintage "Vanity Fair"...the soft shadow fireside haze of classic Hollywood. Suffice to say, it piqued my interest, and I entered the Cambridge Art Gallery for the very first time.  Inside, matted and elegantly framed, was a collection of George Hurrell photography. If that name doesn't ring a bell, perhaps, "Grand Seigneur of the Hollywood Portrait" does.  Or, "The Godfather of Glamour Photography."  Hurrell, whose mesmerizing images filled the pages of fashion magazines in the early days of Hollywood, worked as head of the MGM portrait gallery beginning in 1930. He helped launch the careers of Bette Davis, Humphrey Bogart, and Rita Hayworth. He snapped priceless portraits of Joan Crawford, Greta Garbo, and Veronica Lake. And toward the end of his life, he captured Warren Beatty and Annette Benning in their roles for Bugsy. On the way to my car after perusing the gallery, I heard this behind me, "Hey Josh, what would you rather do a sequel to? Goonies or W?"  It was a fine quip (I even admit to chuckling a bit) and as I turned around, I saw the crow's feet of an awkward Josh Brolin smile. And then, it turned unnecessarily ugly...for Mr. Brolin wasn't alone. "Diane!  Give us a pretty smile!"  "Hey Diane, leave him and come home with me!"  "We love you Diane!  If you two don't work out, you know my number, baby!" Pure paparazzi ugliness, through and through. Within the span of half an hour, I had encountered something beautiful and indelible in Hurrell's photography...and something ugly and disposable in the star-stalking "reporters."  Welcome to Los Angeles, folks.