Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish was one of the members of Court to early on throw her considerable social weight behind the election of the new mayor, The Honorable Mattie Herrera Bower. Without early support like this, we would not have got what we worked for. Tomorrow, Friday, Halo will hold the first of the gay victory parties for the new mayor (who took office the morning following the election) between 6 and 8 PM; fortunately Leopoldo gets out of work early because I wouldn't want to miss this, and I wouldn't miss this without him.

It seemed that the town gathered their strength again tonight with an astounding turnout for Juicy Pussy's bingo; so like Society: take three days off with your hand on your forehead asking for bromide and gin and suddenly find the willpower to forge out into the winter snow in search of fun. Most memorable part of the evening (and I did not bring a camera), the humpy "wrestler/stripper" who put on the candy thong at Juicy's urging. It was embarrassing how little it hid; not his balls, not his penis, not his ass, of course. I made an educated comsumer move today when I bought that at Hustler Hollywood today.

Somehow, Court tried to form itself again after the carnage of the five-day weekend of White Party. Slowly, we gathered, pulling up our gloves, arranging pearls, and tucking back hair only to talk filth about everyone who didn't have the stamina to show up. All day, I ran into members of Society who asked what was going on only to say, "Nothing; everyone is too, too devastated by the weekend." I lied. The highest members of Court showed up, although early; there was some confusion in the air when one of them said, "OH, there is Mrs. Studebaker-Fish coming in." I forgave the indiscretion, but Mamie was the model of the society matron who makes no excuses because, as the original Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish once chided the press when she gave her dog a $10,000 collar at a Newport dog party, "I don't care what the press thinks, because I don't have to."

One of the highest members of Court actually stated, "You know, Mrs. Astor, sometimes when it comes to wrinkles, it is good to be plump." All I could think of is the wonderful cartoon book I have entitled, Little Miss Plump.

Indeed.

The Party is Over...

...for a little bit. I assured Riley today that I was changing the forces of destiny and going to live a life of remorse and piety after the five-night bacchanal we all just lived through called White Party Weekend. I will resume leaving for the mainland tomorrow to escape this bastion of sin and drink. I will spend the next days in prayer with Leopoldo (having already checked my indulgence account at The Vatican and been assured of forgiveness).

Memorable moments included Henrietta arriving in white leather and enough diamonds to make Liz look twice; we laughed at the story of how her white Mercedes limo arrived at Vizcaya and was stopped by a squad of security men. The driver lowered the window and softly said, "We have Henrietta in this car." The men genuflected and allowed it to go to the front door. Then there was Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish, completely wasted and intent upon stripping. At one point we noticed security questioning her and Mr. Astor asked, "Should we go rescue Mamie?" I looked at her and replied, "She's nearly nude; I think she is best left to her own devices." And, it seemed, that the entire town managed to stay drunk at The Palace for five nights; drag queens dressed as turkeys were shoved in a huge Easy Bake oven and roasted. Queen Cabaret brought down the house every night with extravagant and irreverant acts and we danced until two in the morning every night, something unheard of.

All of us are a little strung out, but the road to piety is never easy.

La Scandal...

What can I do to stop the scandal enveloping a community so small as South Beach? Leopoldo and I just dedicated a mountain of decency in helping get Matti Bower elected mayor only to wake up every morning to reporters camping on the front lawn from The New York Post, London's Sun, and every scavenger-hunting publication one can imagine. The cause? Every one's favorite gay Mormon (above) went home to ever one's favorite pit bull lawyer, The Riley.

Finally, today, I had to address The Press by coming out in a champagne, silk tea gown, my face covered by a hat wide enough to land a small plane on on a windless day in La Guardia. "The official position of this great house is and always will be one of complete denial. A supreme amount of alcohol had changed lips, and this alone will be the defense we maintain. I would like to invite every member of the press for gin and pancakes. We will entertain no questions about the 'Event', as we don't admit to knowing about it. Gin, we know about."

Thanksgiving...and am I Thankful

A formidable, social pair, Mr. Astor and Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish enjoying our pool-side Thanksgiving dinner. I don't let a day go by without thanking the gods for knowing great friends like this. I have had them all my life: noble and fun friends who have graced my existance.

The representation of everthing bad and evil (of course, in black), Micky Phelps finishing dinner an planning, plotting....

Fashion soul mates if there ever were. Terry and Leopoldo have enough Prada, Gucci, and whatever to sink a battleship. Leopoldo has already taken over 90% of my closet space reducing me to wearing half-outfits and even thinking of hot pants as a way of continuing through life.

The last picture ever taken of Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish before she disappeared. We dredged the pool only to find her triple-strand of pearls; her magnificent body was not attached. The only proper thing to do was to contact Interpol with the great authority that she was kidnapped by the Bulgarian Secret Police (I know, for a fact, they have been after her for a long time).

A great, new day with a great, new mayor. We did it and no one was more proud of the gay support she got. Her stupid, high-and-mighty opponent, Simon Cruz, never reached out to the gay community; he was too well-financed by big money. Hey, Simon, why don't you return calls from the The Herald? You were a well financed fool.

Victory, Victory, Victory!

Matti Bower, the underdog with no money or organization compared to her slick, bank president opponent Simon Cruz, dealt a stunning blow with a ten-point win for mayor. Cruz had the Jewish lobby, the Cuban lobby, the developers and bankers all firmly behind him, but I kept saying, "How many votes can they deliver?" Money in a rich city like Miami Beach only goes so far. What did he have to offer? In the end, not much.
Once again, instead of having a party on super-rich Star Island like her out-of-touch opponent, Simon Cruz, our Matti Herrera Bower partied at Cafe Avanti, a simple, popular place on 41st Street. To say the least, the crowd was dumbfounded by the huge 10 point lead Matti took, but--then--what did I say months ago at out first lunch with her advisor, Mike Burke? "Matti", I said. "Get the gay and woman vote and you have it, no matter how much money the other side has." Then we started bringing the engaging grandmother out to every gay bar and function that happened; every man and woman we introduced her to was enticed and our final rally at The Palace Saturday astounded even me when she walked up the steps and I heard a thunderous roar and applause. To me, that was all I needed to know that we had succeeded. Viva Matti!!!!!

And, of course, no greater victory was there for me than having my baby back by my side. He made me feel not only safe again, but strong with his ever-present support; it's great to love someone and be loved back with such intensity.

Coming Home and Election Day

By the grace of God, Mr. Astor arrived back to me at 5 AM from San Francisco. I had prepared a sandwich, paired it with his favorite chocolate cookies, and had a dish of ice cream ready, too.

My costume of greeting was that of a pirate, not so much for the style, but for a slight eye injury received.. On Friday night as I entered the gates to La Casa shots rang out and I immediately took the anti-revolutionary steps of diving to the ground, throwing an ostrich feather from my hat to distract attention, and taking a Mauser out of my muff and firing into the air, hitting a palm tree and two street lights. I was also successful in grazing my eyebrow. What a pain; I still had to accompany Matti Bower to The Palace rally the next day. Thankfully, Leopoldo’s collection of sunglasses contained a wonderfully large, Versace pair that did the job. I stayed close to home the rest of the weekend and, if I did go out, was heavily veiled. On Monday, however, I had to purchase a patch.

Mr. Astor’s comment when he saw the injury: “I am going to love you so much ,that eye will heal twice as fast.” It’s good to have him back, and I’m sure The City as a whole will sigh with relief that there’s someone to look after me again.

In the meantime, we are in the final hours of voting for mayor and Matti’s sleaze ball opponent is using his vast reserves to slander her name, pander to the Jews, hug the Cubans, and kiss every ass he can. As president of a bank that funded much of the rampant over-development of this city, he has a lot of high placed friends. Still, you have to wonder how he lost the popular vote when he paid about $75 apiece for them. He has supported the over-benefited unions, too, a move I told Matti meant nothing; most union members don’t live here. It’s a nail-biting afternoon, but I have a good feeling that the residents of this city won’t be fooled by the conniving Simon.

My baby, here with his co-worker Lloyd. Leopoldo called from the airport and I'll be waiting at 5 AM with a special welcome-home meal and perhaps a fantasy outfit. Who knows? How many other husbands are greated my Mata Hari?

The whole point of going out is to enjoy one's self. It is not to necessarily pick up some one or to make some point, and that is what The Palace shines at. You can be what you are, get drunk, and be happy.

And, why have one favorite Dustin, when you can have two?

Ah, weekends were never meant to be so fun: Riley, Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish, Scottie, and Jeremy.

Then, there is the reemergence of Mrs. Mamie Stuyvesant-Fish onto the bursting social scene. So like her: maintain a reticent position of attack and do so with a full-frontal thrust; she was not--however quite ready for my full flanking attack complete with fireballs. One can never be too complacent in the social battlefield. Still, outside of the Great Northern Court, Mamie is my only social equal, although The Baroness Seitzinger still shows remarkable staying power. I caught Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish off guard here while asking, "Is it true you have locked up Mr. Stuyvesant-Fish in a hunting lodge in Boca while running through his vast railroad fortune on young men, fast carriages, and pearls?" This was the response.

The Departure and The Anniversary

Leopoldo left fro his native San Francisco on the 14th; it had been in the plans for over a year. The irony was that this was not only was the annniversary of The Palace, but our four month; and since I had spent hardly a day or night away from him, I knew things were going to be different.

Like all big parties, The Palace anniversary was greatly anticipated, here by Jaime and Frank. All you can drink and eat, decorations, shows, and I believe there might have been a gladiator fight, too.

Although not a state secret, the anniversary was kept close to family and other club people and it worked just fine at keeping out the riff-raff (although we have a favorites of those, too).

Fun people we seldom see because of their own schedules stopped; that's Adora in the middle flanked by her boyfriend, and our own Juicy P.

There was so much happiness in the rooms; an open bar and all the food you can eat can do that.

And although I was putting on my very best face (and did look smashing in head-to-toe vintage Matsuda), owner Douglas can up to me at one point and said, "It's written all over your face. You don't like being without him anymore." I could have cried right there for it was so true. All the things that I fed on: court intrigue, outrageous behavior and clothing, simple flirtations were not amusing me that night. Joles were not being shared and the dual rolling of the eyes not being performed. I was always told it is wondrous to miss someone you know will return.

Defying Gravity

Something has changed within me; something is not the same...it's time to trust my instincts... Never, ever have I been so close to assuredness, so close to love--true love. I'm defying gravity for once, thinking of what we will do together in 2008--a far step from thinking of what I am doing this weekend only. We are thinking of what we will do together in 2008, so when I see a photo of Leopoldo with my best friend, Jeremy, I smile and swell with happiness at knowing and having such people close to me. I am, indeed, blessed.

There is never a chance to rest; perhaps I could be locked up in a convent. Tonight is my self-appointed Tsar of entertainment, Carlos's, birthday. The town is, of course, choosing their best pearls and finest silks to attend the event, which is beginnning graciously at the early hour of 8 PM. A finer, more gentle, and intelligent person you could never meet than Carlos; he has lifted a great load off my back and propelled it into ideas that stun the inhabitants of this island. I remember the day I took this photo; I said, "Carlos, you must look regal if you are taking over the reigns." I then make two suggestions to hold which would cement his authority; I've been around a long time and I know cement.

It has been a weekend of sublime weather and love. But, Leopoldo's imminent departure for his native San Francisco has left me but one choice: volunteer for The Front. Yes, this was like a weekend in Paris as the Huns threatened the horizon, but I must now return to the trenches of politics to get Matti Bower elected. The outcome of this battle is grim; a very small percentage of original voters go back a second time. And, the turnout of gays was a total embarrassment; as I had written earlier, those who have the most to lose go shopping. The Hangman is just around the corner and this is clearly a battle between Good and Evil, with Evil having all the money and organization inherent is such a state. Maurice Ogden would be in heaven.

Leopoldo will be back the day before election; it will be a tense night as I sip my brandy in a mango-colored silk dressing gown, my hair neatly tied back in tension, my teal-colored nails running down his Latin cheeks. That man has stood behind every crazy notion I put before him, has been by my side for four months of tumultuous social and political weather, and has never, once, been anything but a true friend and lover. Lessor people have gone to heaven for that.

Taking a little break here on a Saturday morning after two nights at Mr. Astor's country estate, boys and girls are lounging around the pool, a tenderloin in the crock pot for when Mr. Astor comes home here tonight, and I just made a lovely casserole for KiKi. But before life settled back--at least for a day or two--to gracious normalcy, there had been some very glamorous affairs. One was at the palatial suite of The Countess in the nearby palace, The Carlyle; new marble floors made one's footing questionable and the master bathroom was larger than most studio apartments.
Some glamorous people, indeed, where seen entering The Countess's little gathering; here, Karl Lagerfeld and Anna Wintour were a bit surprised by the photographers. Others followed like Naomi Campbell (we had to hide the phones) and Kirsty Alley (we had to hide the lettuce).

But no bigger surprise was the arrival of two Dream Girls. Now I can't exactly say what stage they have been appearing in or who's dream they were, but I quickly introduced them to Kristy.

No big plans for today; I keep reminding everyone who moans of being tired that we have just emerged from the two week baccanal of costume parties, birthday celebrations, sleepless nights, and a host of other draining activities. "This merry-go-round has got to stop,"I say; and that's when they order a drink, take out a bottle of poppers, and start to laugh.

Momma and Papa, Ditmar's parents, are in from Austria and Papa's birthday will be celebrated tonight in Ditmar's Hapsburg pleasure parlor. As tradition dictates, the happy couple will dance to Straus's Blue Danube after the everyone sings "Happy Birthday". Things will get even more surreal when that is followed by a performance of songs from The Sound of Music by Tiffany.

Madness never stops.

There is, of course, no rest for the wicked. Not only have we remounted our stallions in preparation of the final charge on City Hall in the name of Matti Bower, but there are more close, family events to attend to.

Tonight we are giving a birthday party at D Bar for our long-time friend, Scott Simpson. I've known Scott for just about as long as I have lived here on this manic island, and we have seen each other through some rough, emotional times. Not the least of which was his dreadful battle with lymphoma, a time we all thought he'd be taken away. But, he still showed up each day, wearing a bandana to hide his loss of hair, and drink his Grand Marnier. (Some institute should look into the beneficial side of that stuff!)

He is a great friend and a greater institution on this beach. This was the first picture of him with Leopoldo; like all good friends, he was suspicious and fearful that I was going to be hurt. Like all the friends, he came to learn otherwise. Tonight the town will take a breather from politics and celebrate our deep friendship with Scottie.

It ain't over, but we did it. To my precise prediction, Matti Bower led her opponent, Simon, by 300 votes; but, because there were four candidates no one had a clear majority so a run-off will be held in two weeks.

My prediction: Simon uses he vast war chest to unleash a virulent ad campaign against Matti knowing she has no money of her own to answer his slime ball tactics. I loved his choice for a victory party: Star Island. What else speaks of his connection to big money? Matti was at a Cuban restaurant.

My knowledge: We will work like dogs in the the next two weeks to support her. The gay triumvirant of The Palace, Twist, and Halo will pull behind Matti again and show who really runs this town.

The outcome: Too early to tell, but contrary to the rest of the country, the voters on Miami Beach aren't stupid. It seemed as if I had 300 emails this morning declaring the fight is on and I thank every, single friend who listened to Matti and voted. Money can't win every race. I think the most intelligent email I got was the one that said, "Perhaps you would wear sensible shoes for the next two weeks."

And we all thought it was time to rest...

Tomorrow marks the end of one season--that of elections and Halloween--and the start of a new one--that of superb weather and lots of visitors. We've all worked hard to elect Matti Bower mayor; I'm proud of the support the gay community showed her and she deserved it. A true sign of desperation from her opponent popped up this weekend with a number of dirty ads unleashed; I doubt people actually pay attention to that nonsense here, but it does show how worried the other side is. My prediction: Matti wins in an upset by a few hundred votes.

We are all tired and I fall back on my honey, Leopoldo, for comfort. He informed me this weekend of his decision to move in with me on January 1; I would move to the end of the earth for that man, but that's not necessary now. The word "forever" has been spoken frequently this past week.

As if this town needed it, tonight is Sleepless Night in Miami. First hosted by Paris as "Nuit Blanche" and then taken up by Rome, Madrid, Brussels, and Toronto, a night with no end is unleashed for the first time in the United States here, tonight in Miami Beach.

From 6 PM to 6 AM, non-stop concerts, ballets, exhibits, art shows, and general mayhem will be encouraged by a city long known for its fear of such things. Who would have guessed? All I know is that Leopoldo and I will be dancing on Lincoln Road at our favorite restaurant, da Leo, to the entertainment of Geraldine and Juicy Pussy at midnight. One party on the beach across from The Palace lasts with silent movies until 5 AM; the city then announces a "sleep in" and serves breakfast at dawn.

Ask me why I live here, again.

Bower Power

I will let the pretentious night of Halloween On South Beach go by for one evening without thinking of the vanity and glory that encompasses that night. On Tuesday night, it didn't take more than a few minutes for Commissioner Bower to bond with The Countess. the two had met on Sunday's Emergency Room party at The Palace.

Matti is in the closing week of a closing race. Was it only a few months ago that she started her uphill race against fellow Commissioner Cruz, finding herself with absolutely no money or organization and requesting a meeting about how to get the gay vote? With the help of her staff, I began escorting this endearing, but unlikely candidate around Town. This week it was Sunday at The Palace, Monday at Twist, and Tuesday at Halo; Matti has handshaked her way into what I think is the most difficult crowd to count on. The gay vote is not dependable because of its likeliness to not vote. The seniors vote, the Cubans vote, the elderly Jews vote; but, the gays--despite all they have to lose--are always a question. Sometimes it seems we would more likely to shop than vote; meanwhile The Hangman is always around the corner.

Last week, The Miami Herald endorsed Matti Bower in an astounding slap to her opponent, Simon Cruz. Months earlier, in a time that Matti was collecting five and ten dollar bills to Cruz's $500,000 war chest established by developers and lobbyists, and couldn't afford an ad, The Wire newspaper--a gay publication--put her on the front cover as endorsement. Last week, the current mayor, David Dermer, endorsed her along with my long-time friend, Commissioner Saul Gross. The pace is quickening to a race; well-financed interests are now calling and telling of their long-time interest in Matti (even if they were late in thinking of it).

It's days to go for the little grandmother who asked a lot of questions of everything put in front of her and supported every gay legislation put before her. You, go, Matti.

Somewhere, here, the Bower Power is taking hold.