Another legend slipped into history with the death of Brooke Astor. You know a legend when they have been photographed by Cecil Beaton Married to the grandson of The Mrs. Astor, Caroline, Brooke--more than anyone else--is credited with saving many of the institutions of New York City so taken for granted today. Hopefully, her final days were made all the better by Annette de la Renta.

Scottie's showing of Mommie Dearest was a supreme hit last night, and we all gathered for cocktails tonight to pick next week's. Let's see...La Cage aux Folles or Funny Face. Hmmmm. Special attention was paid to The Countess Bedelia's antics up North: wearing a tiara at Rumpy's Tavern; we called up photos on her site of such action. What can you say? She says she was bringing culture or something to the peasants; I say the only thing brought to the peasants should be the wrong end of a saber. My talk is hollow, though, without Jeremy; Neil is a loyal guard, but he's better at waving a xylophone stick than a saber. I guess he could lull the unwashed masses scaling the fence with daggers in their teeth with some of his music while I slip out the back door with Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish (if she's sober enough to not want to actually "meet" some peasants and teach them literacy). And, poor Thomas Barker is not doing well; we have gone into super care mode to make sure he's OK. A finely-tuned assembly line of friends is taking over his care, but the poor baby's birthday is Wednesday and I told him we might have to carry him in on a divan because the party must go on. The entire town will be going to Halo to celebrate, and if I have to put a broomstick up his back and prop him up for the night, it will be. This town does not take "No" as an answer.