On the rare days that I walk home--those days which are relatively cool and dry--I always marvel at this convergence of shapes at the top of Ocean Drive at fifteenth street. It is a marriage between George Jetson and Art Deco with a little feeling of Metropolis, too.

The developers, The City, and The Preservation Society have engaged in a delicate dance since they decided not to be at each others' throats. The City is the great arbiter here and, as in all governments, the two other sides have infiltrated its ranks with their own agents.

The developers would have razed down the historic district and replaced it with faceless behemoth condos and hotels long ago if The Preservation Society hadn't summoned up the gay community years ago to halt destruction of the Deco section of town. The City sits in the middle, takes money from all sides, passes nonsensical codes, insane laws, attempts to hinder business as much as possible, and employs the most stupid and lazy work force ever assemble before God. The Commission just passed a bill that would spend money on decorating every manhole cover in the city; I won't sleep until I find out which commissioner has a brother-in-law in the manhole business. It's a small town with a lot of money, a dangerous combination.

Still, it's the closest thing to Paradise many will experience, especially if you like palm trees, gay people, the ocean, crazy people, sex, tourists, money, and parties. If you like all of the above, then you may officially write "Heaven" on your return address.