It was Christmas in July last night, and even though it was about 85 degrees at 9 PM, we all joined in decorating. Of course, Ditmar drew on his own collection of classical wreaths and ornaments...

...and the front bar was a little more kooky and modern. But it was hot. This may have been the reason for Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish's manic behavior. Having been away for eight days having God-knows-what done to her, she bounced into the party and immediately started with the "lemonades". After the tenth or so, I had to have her carried out; you do not threaten to call Immigration on Santa, no matter how great your social standing or money. (I doubt she will even remember, but I have a scandalous photo of it locked in a vault.) And I sent a polite note to her handlers to perhaps use titanium wrist restraints this time, like the one used by Carl Denim on the original King Kong.

A wise electrician told me years ago that air conditioners and refrigeration units of all types start to fail in mid-July, and so it was with us. It took days just to get someone to come and look at it, and shortly after it hit 91 in my office (while on the phone with all these companies) I had the first of two "spells", and not the magical type. At the second several customers jumped into action and put ice on the back of my neck and rubbed orange peels on the palms of my hands and wrists. These guys are the best. A glass of sugar and water got me on my way home. Summer in Miami; it can be deadly.