The last. grand party of the season takes place tonight at The Palace, and it has been a long season, indeed. Juan Carlos has engaged the fine and rich merchants of Absolute vodka to sponsor it, and they are very generous. The most intriguing of their contributions will be the "Absolute dancers", apparently hunky boys who can dance and pour at the same time. I adore talent and enthusiasm. And although I personally prefer Stoli, there can be no dismissing the fact that back in the early eighties Absolute was clever enough to cash in on the Russian invasion of Afghanistan and grab the American market. In addition, they were one of the first companies to take ads, big ads, out in gay publications. By the end of the eighties there wasn't one gay man who asked for anything else.

There will be one, more event tomorrow before The Exodus begins: the massive departure of just about everyone who lives on South Beach before "Urban Beach Week" arrives. If you are to believe the predictions, at least 300,000 will storm the gates of a town with less than 100,000 residents and only 300 or so police officers.

There was a call from the bleeding hearts who don't live here for the police not to arrest so many drunken partiers (1,010, most for DUI's). Maybe MADD should be here along with the ACLU. But, I have convinced a small group of loyalists to join me to keep The Palace open as long as possible (the owners and managers are fleeing); there is no reason to not try entertaining everyone who comes here and make money. In the end, a carriage will be waiting to carry me and those guys away outside the back door.