Black; can you ever really go wrong with it, even in the tropics? Not as long as you let simplicity be your guide and follow the long-standing rule in Miami: Less is Best.

I was surprised last night when Thomas asked, "Are we going to meet at our table tomorrow?" "Absolutely! We are at war and have something good going there," I replied, "and next week I'm taking it one step further and sending out invitations." "Goodie," Thomas squealed. "I'll promote it."

Miami is burning with a nasty War of The Gossip Writers raging. It all started with The Dirt Miami pointing fingers, naming names, uncovering past drug arrests, and all sorts of other mouth-watering stuff. The other columnists cried "FOUL" with The Dirt being anonymously written, spent a lot of energy trying to track them down and--when they couldn't--did what came naturally: turned on each other.

The New Times' columnist aptly named The Bitch (Jean Carey) came out swinging this week with word that The Herald's gossip queen, Lesley Abravanel, couldn't possibly have been at a party she wrote about as she was slogging down champagne in Palm Beach (or something similarly vapid). While the Big Guns are blasting, the little guys will seek cover at our table today and dwell on who is doing what to whom and why no one knows who's behind The Dirt. I have had a very tasteful bullet-proof shawl made for the afternoon; it floats, too, so if worse comes to worse our table can ride it to the comparative safety of Key Biscayne.