While the cries that I had let the barbarians take over mounted, Jeremy summoned up enough strength to put down his cosmo, lift his finger in the air, and proclaim that "I am firmly in control" (in his best Alexander Haig imitation). Dazed, he spun around looking for his drink--or a boy--and fell into the arms of Sasha. It is apparent that there is no more protection for this court; he later was trying on Sasha's shoes. The barbarians are looking better and better.

Everyone traveled down their own road of personal madness this weekend. (This is generally true at this time of year when the non-stop parties keep everyone at a frantic pace.) Andy was countering Jeremy's claim to dominance by loudly announcing he was the only true "top" in the group, but kept lifting his shirt to show his newly clipped torso and saying, "I'm turning myself on" as he gazed in the mirror.

Geraldine is a brilliant entertainer and seamstress (a valuable combination in a world where many ladies of the stage must shop at thrift stores). I loved the subtle combination of these hues of blue and green, but was most fascinated by the sponge ball dangling from the coin belt. Little things like this make me crazy.

And in the category, "Don't Dare Me" I submit proof (since he dared me today) that Ditmar has been forced to become an exotic dancer. Well, actually he had just come in from the beach and in true form grabbed a great deal of attention away from the group of scantily-clad boys; he also grabbed a microphone and took over the moment. Within two days, Ditmar was hired by Score to develop their happy hour. Score is very popular at night, but lacks an afternoon crowd (the exact opposite of The Palace). I know Ditmar very well; his mind--so given to machination--will be at high speed in this new job.

"A girl's gotta eat..."