Society and elegance returned to South Beach after the Labour Day crowd was squirreled back to their woodlands. Chastised as I might have been by the original wayward countess herself, Bedelia, I allowed the barbarians to leave with their wallets emptied rather tham my looking for a weekend retreat in their rancid, mountain villages, as she does. But, who am I to judge...

Leading society figures like Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish returned to the island. She had sort refuge in Los Angeles and reliable sources told me that the moment her jeweled slipper hit the tarmac a sizable tremor was registered throughout the city. She is a lady of sizable social weight. Even though the same sources reported that the city residents chased her with torches and pitchforks to the airport as she "departed with grace", she showed up back here at The Palace boldly announcing she was back to socially challenge me at every point. Her lady-in-waiting actually offered me a real apple from California; I gave it to my worse enemy.

Otherwise, life is coming back to The Beach, the weather is hot, but great, and no one--NO ONE--mentions the "H" word. It's just like there's no war or famine or government failure...the "H" work doesn't exist. In fact, Carlos and I are devoting out time to a serious project: A Come As You Are party (or what you think you are). In troubled times the human mind can not be allowed to be focused on anything not silly. That's dangerous for everyone.