A tower made out of a brewery’s...

A tower made out of a brewery’s wooden pallets is an historic-cultural monument in Los Angeles, as are eight avocado trees on Avocado Street and Bob’s Market in Angeleno Heights. So why not the 75-year-old Max Factor Makeup Museum on Highland Avenue?

After all, where else can one find a rubber-lipped kissing machine for testing lipstick and a face-measuring device that enabled makeup artists “to pinpoint facial corrections needed by the screen’s legendary beauties?”

The Factor building, which started out as a bowling alley, is one of 18 sites that the Cultural Heritage Commission will consider for landmark status next week.

“It’s a fine example of art deco architecture by S. Charles Lee,” said Jay Oren, the department’s staff architect. “And, too, the company has had a long association with the movie industry.”

The museum, which is open to the public, boasts such antiques as “One-Handed Lipstick,” the wigs of Marlene Dietrich and John Wayne, and a Scroll of Fame of the stars who showed up when the the salon was remodeled in 1935. Eight thousand faces made sure they were there to pay tribute to Hollywood’s makeup man.

The West Hollywood book store’s newspaper ad resembled a ransom note, with cut-out letters pasted together.

“Book Soup,” it said, “supports freedom of expression and the public’s right to read whatever it chooses. We will not bow to pressure from any quarter.”

The message, which has not drawn any negative response, according to Book Soup’s Glenn Goldman, was issued only partly in response to Iran’s condemnation of Salman Rushdie’s “The Satanic Verses.” Censorship fights also abound in the United States, where some school boards have tried to ban novels ranging from “Huckleberry Finn” to “Catcher in the Rye.”

“It’s important to remember that there are many people in this country who want to suppress the First Amendment also,” Goldman said.

“It seems like more people know about the company than the man,” a spokesman for Jon Douglas Realtors explained plaintively. Too often, reporters would deal with Douglas subordinates on stories rather than Douglas himself. So, the Westside firm’s new public relations people threw a dinner for the press the other night at a posh Century City eatery to introduce the man, who used to receive plenty of attention when he was a football and tennis star at Stanford. The turnout was good. Too bad that Douglas came down with the flu and missed it.

Even for Los Angeles, the Civic Center struck an odd noontime pose: On one corner near City Hall, a religious zealot with a cup on his head preached to passers-by. On another corner, waiting for the traffic light to change, stood a man wearing a red and yellow mask, cape and hood with red tights and “SB” emblazoned across his chest. It was Super Barrio, a Mexican folk hero in town to speak on the plight of illegal aliens.

Meanwhile, just up the street, people wearing saris and holding ducks and pigeons milled about City Hall’s Romanesque/Hollywood-esque columns, transforming the Spring Street steps into what appeared to be an Indian bazaar.

They were shooting a commercial for a German cigarette company, with City Hall taking the role of Bombay. “We can zoom right in close,” one crew member said, “and frame out all the other crap.”