It went off without a hitch. Thomas was dining with Carl just blocks away and texted me of their imminent arrival. They walked into the back bar expecting a birthday party for Carlos and saw me putting chairs up on a table. "What happened?" asked Thomas. "Oh, the air conditioner wasn't working and they moved it to the front; I just wanted to straighten up the room. Let's go," I said. And, off we walked down the long corridor to the front, when just before entering, Thomas pointed out the first of many posters and said, "Carl, that looks like you." Carl stopped, squinted, rocked back and forth for a second and said, "What is THAT?", and that's when the room yelled "Surprise!" I had gotten him back.

And, what a night it was. The Who's Who of the Club World dutifully showed up for the scoundrel, yellow-journalist every has come to love and hate. Club owners, promoters, DJ's, and the like all came to honor Carl, who was truly moved by the out-pouring. It's too bad the owners of The Palace, living only three blocks away, didn't see fit to attend.

The pictures to follow with show the wonderful show of Queen Cabaret, too, dressed in sports gear to honor the love of sports Carl holds, incongruously. Thanks, Carl; you embarrass constantly with photos of us in The Wire, but I guess we deserve it. Deep down, we appreciate it.