Tonight is Jeremy's farewell party, and members of South Beach society with join the remaining members of his famed "7TH" in bidding him well on his long trip to South America. I've never quite accepted the term "Farewell Party" or "Going Away Party"; why would we have a party for the losing of a friend. I thought those were called Irish funerals.

We are actually celebrating his joy at making this trip. I, personally, just don't know what a blue-eyed, blonde haired cute guy will do in his spare time adrift in a sea of Latinos, but Jeremy doesn't seem worried. He is--after all--going on business.

I will also, tonight, formally disband and decommission his "7TH", the loyal band of troops he commanded for the past year. When we formed it one year ago, no one could have guessed how magnificently this group of young men would have banded together in service not only to their palace, but to each other. They traveled, thought, and drank as one, and an attack on one was regarded as an attack on all. Jeremy kept them in line, barking orders as only he could.

There is little use in trying to replace Jeremy and little strength left in me to reform the group. Many have left already for careers in distant lands, many others planning to. The Guard has dwindled down to a few members who can hum every showtune since Cats and a couple of others who would be the first to say, "I'll take Useless, But Interesting Facts for a thousand, Art". It is the end of an era, as all do come to.

So, tonight we celebrate one year of great fun and friendship the likes of which occur so seldom. The clouds of change are rolling in over the skies of The Palace. I'm an old-fashioned New Englander; I don't like change. But it will all be about Jeremy and his fanatically loyal 7TH and the one year they held everything together and kept those ever-revolting peasants surpressed.